CUB Magazine

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This is where I share with you a rather large ray of sunshine - and not just any sunshine, a beautiful Peruvian inspired restaurant ray of sunshine.

Andina is the new treat served up  by Martin Morales, a name already familiar to foodies everywhere from his restaurant Ceviche in Soho. Inspired by Peruvian family-run, traditional restaurants called 'picanterias', Andina  dishes up all sorts of healthy and tasty goodies from breakfast through to dinner and beyond...

We were invited for breakfast, and left feeling inspired, energised and desperate for another Supay juice! (Orange juice, pomegranate, goldenberry and limo chilli, delicious!) I was adventurous and ordered Tamalito (steamed quinoa dumpling, filled with coriander, queso fresco cheese, with salsa criolla) with my partner sticking slightly closer to home with the Benedicto (smoked trout, poached egg with quinoa pancake, asparagus and amarillo chilli sauce).

The Tamalito was delicate yet filling, with the star performer of the salsa criolla making me wish my plate was never ending. There was also a certain novelty factor in working out how to eat the Tamalito (note: the wrapping is not edible, something I discovered in a mildly embarrassing fashion). The Benedicto was also a winner, with my eating partner being very pleased to find trout on the menu. This dish also showcased perfectly the fusion of South American and British cuisine that is unique to Andina.

Special mention must go to the juices, smoothies and teas on offer though. Packed full of vitamin goodness and dazzlingly bright in colour these have to be the ultimate winter blues buster. Made at the bar along the back wall, the drinks are also available to take-away - great for an on the go pick-me-up.

But Andina deserves to be sat in and enjoyed thoroughly, it is far too beautiful to waltz in and back out off. Personally I would happily move in tomorrow just for the light fittings, which appear to have had as much thought put into them as the menu; we were told the story of sourcing all the various bits and bobs artfully displayed around the rooms. Venture into The Music Room behind the front dining space to be greeted by one of the most welcoming wooden tables you'll ever see, behind which is a wall of Peruvian funk CDs and yet another great light fitting - described as a place to "eat, drink and work" by the creators.

Andina is immersive into the bright and colourful world of Peru, and should be on the list of every gloomy Londoner (as well as the not so gloomy ones!) as a place to eat. Personally I can't wait to return for dinner and some slightly naughtier drinks as soon as is humanely possible.

Lauren Cantillon - Editor in Chief Donate blood more frequently over the year as it's such a good cause and so easy to do! Click here to find out more.

Dandie Debieux - Features Actually read the texts on my course this semester.

Belphoebe New - Arts To be more creative, not sure in what form just yet, just something that means I won't be staring at Facebook for too long anymore!

Samar Malik - London Mine is to become a morning person!

Sophie Lyddon - Online Editor Finally lose some of the weight I gained in first and second year (and at Christmas)!

Nick Cleeve - Music I'm going to be listening to a new album everyday. Expanding horizons, massaging the mind and all that.

Becky Hipkiss - Columnist Mine is to learn how to say no once in a while. (Haha).

Hannah Ballard - Arts To have a more positive outlook, to do more exercise and more art!

Yuet Ann Chan - Deputy Editor Not to be so negative and temperamental.

Melanie Moran - Music My resolution is to smile less - I'm starting to get wrinkles.

Tim Picton - Music To exploit my natural talents more regularly and effectively, for example, karate, salsa dancing, fire-eating and bear wrestling.

Beth McAulay - Features This year I'm going to try to get out more, I found it too easy last year to get bogged down in work and other projects. Time to remember I'm 21 not 41!

Alice Owen - Travel Mine is to try and not become a victim of self-fulfilling prophecy (read: be more positive). Also, to spend less time at M&S reduced sandwich aisle.

Kumari Tilakawardane - Film To stop planning everything and actually let something unexpected happen without having a heart attack about it. And also to try and vaguely pass my degree.

Jessica Pratten - Film Mine is to become more zesty in the mornings - get up earlier and be more enthusiastic about it, not to forget about what I had previously said in a sleepy stupor and to thus get more done. Oh, and probably to stop biting my nails (this happens and fails every year).

Eden Gilby - Columnist Mine is to be more patient!

Sean Richardson - PR To achieve something significant.

No longer just a recording artist, Kate has made her mark in fashion, experimented with acting and been appointed as a global ambassador for female empowerment charity, plan, to work on their Because I Am A Girl initiative. She released her third album Girl Talk earlier this year, described by Kate as her best work to date.

We bagged this interview with her after a couple of cheeky tweets, read on to find out what we discovered...

What inspired you to take a completely new artistic direction with Death Proof?

It was what I was going through personally at the time. I needed a different outlet to deal with my personal life.

Did releasing Death Proof on your own label provide you with more space to experiment with your music?

I made the record whilst still on the label and then I got dropped a few months later. I guess there’s been a lot more freedom post working with the label. I can work with who I want and decide what direction I want to take my career in. It’s pretty liberating. I’m disappointed that they didn’t communicate with me more about what was going on and it’s definitely been challenging. There are great things about being on a label, but I love the freedom and the control. I’m a bit of a control freak, so it’s working for me right now.

You have done a lot of work in the past few years encouraging young girls to get involved in music. What would you say the biggest hurdles for women in music are?

Probably image-based ones. As women, we’re expected to look great all the time and that’s hard. And if we don’t look great, then we get slagged off for it. I would also say that it’s harder for women to be taken seriously. It takes longer to get to a point where you feel like you are being respected.

Your work as a Global Ambassador for Because I Am A Girl is inspiring. What encouraged you to work with the charity?

I like [the charity] Plan and I wanted to travel. Working with them enabled me to do a totally different kind of charity - going to Africa and meeting people with a totally different life to me, and being inspired by them.

Who are your feminist heroes?

Kathleen Hanna, my mum and Sarah Solemani.

Your upcoming film Powder Room is released in November. What drew you to the film?

I liked the script and the fact it had been a show at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. The all-female cast and female director was exciting. I think it’s a funny, relatable story that a lot of girls will love.

What was working with Sheridan Smith like?

Sheridan is so so sweet and so talented. It was really cool to watch her. She is an amazing actress. She’s pretty hard on herself, but everyone around her is always really inspired. She was very welcoming and is down to earth and funny. I love Sheridan.

Is acting something you would like to pursue as a full time career?

Yeah, I’d love to do more of it. When I get time to do some auditions, I will.

You must be super excited to have your music included in the new Broadway production Only Gold. Is theatre something you would like to get more involved in?

I love theatre. It’s such a raw and brave way to tell a story. I’m very excited about being involved with Only Gold. It’s a whole new world for me and I am very passionate about the project. I’m also very honoured to be working with Andy Blankenbuehler. He is so talented and passionate and hardworking. He really inspires me.

 You’ve been spotted at the recent London Fashion Week shows,W is fashion another artistic avenue for you?

Fashion is fun and it’s an important part of being a musician. How you dress is a part of your show, even if it’s casual. If I have something really fun to wear, I feel better on stage.

Television adverts form a large part of the Christmas buzz, with companies frantically attempting to promote their goods, products or services in the rush up to the big event. However, recently, Christmas adverts seem to be doing more than just promoting their company. Many are telling stories and creating special Christmas campaigns which become symbolic for the company itself. Is this art? Or is this just another form of capitalist propaganda?

 The epitome of the artistic 2013 Christmas advert has to be the recent John Lewis ‘The Bear and The Hare’ advert. The latest ad follows on from the success of their 2011 and 2012 adverts, one featuring a very cute little boy who can’t wait for Christmas, the other a snowman who makes a treacherous journey in order to give a snowwoman a gift. Over the years the company have become more and more creative with their Christmas advertising campaigns, creating some of the most memorable adverts of all time.

 Every year the advert has featured a slow, soft and enchanting cover of a famous song and this year Lily Allen took on Keane’s Somewhere Only We Know. Whilst some fans of the original song have criticised Allen’s version of the single, its number one position in the UK singles chart for the past two weeks proves its popularity. If we consider music as a type of art form, then the song must be recognised as part of the art of the advert. Furthermore, the advert’s likeness to a Disney masterpiece cannot go unrecognised. Spending £7 million on the campaign, John Lewis have practically created a short animated film with ‘The Bear and The Hare’. It has a strong narrative, interesting characters, a tear-jerking moral and an enchanting soundtrack. Many would recognise it as a type of creative art, perhaps a new form of advertising that is coming to the forefront of British culture. After all, this is not the first advert to use a film-like structure. Wes Anderson and Roman Coppola’s recent creation for Prada Candy is also a cinematic style television advert, one which, notably (and much to my delight), has been placed back on our screens for the holiday season.

But as I sit here, in a rather dismal – and largely deserted – business park in South London, I can't help but ask myself: What am I really getting out of this? I have no doubt – because the career gurus in the Queen's Building have told me it is so – that prospective employers will be deeply impressed with such an entry on my work profile, but I'm not entirely convinced it's benefitting me all that much. In fact, every week it's becoming clearer to me that internships, as things currently stand, are largely a facade – an empty, but sadly necessary, routine that our luckless generation are forced to endure in order to please the human resources interrogators.

Now, I'm not saying that my internship hasn't had its benefits, either for me or for the organisation for which I've been working. I've been able – along with my fellow interns – to make a contribution to an enterprise that serves its community faithfully and with the bare minimum of financial remuneration, and my time here has certainly given me an insight into the trials and tribulations of the so-called Third Sector (charities and stuff, in case you've never heard that term either). But I think the value of volunteering as a way of gaining professional experience is greatly overstated. Since I started my internship a month ago, I've received very little by way of support or guidance, and most of the research experience and knowledge I have gained has been mostly through my own initiative. Good practice, I guess, but not exactly an inspiring introduction to the office environment.

There is also another elephant in the cold, sparsely-decorated room of volunteering: the ever-present question of money. Now, I'm fortunate to have found – through Queen Mary's QProjects initiative – an internship that I can fit alongside my studies and part-time work (which I'll come back to later). The ‘best’ kinds of internship, however, are the more work- and time-intensive summer placements that many students undertake during their vacation time. But if, like me, you don't have the money to spend your summer working hard just for travel expenses and lunch (if you're lucky), you're missing out on a major opportunity. All in all, I'm pretty disillusioned and disenchanted with the job market and its demands for the sorts of work experience that you don't get paid for.

The moment you step into the compact theatre, the minimalist set transports you to Arabia. Despite the restrictions on space – Blue Elephant Theatre offers an exclusive viewing experience to about 50 audience members at a time – the bright colours and engaging decorations set the scene for some Arabian tales of princes and princesses in far off lands.

The play is Arabian Nights, and a chirpy and chatty Scheherazade (you can call her Shaz) greets you and helps set the scene of a heartbroken king who marries new women every day to have them executed the next morning. In order to try and stop the bloodbath, before the kingdom runs out of women, Scheherazade nominates herself to marry the King, and starts telling him stories so compelling that he manages to put off her execution just one day more.

In just an hour, the ensemble cast of five takes the audience to far flung and exotic destinations, where horses can fly, where men are turned into bees, where princesses are rescued from Genies, and eventually where murderous Kings have their hearts softened . A highly physical performance, the stripped back set and clothing enables the cast to capture your imaginations; a box helps a prince and princess ride an ebony horse, three actors can make a terrifying genie, and James Weal will provide you with the most convincing interpretation of a crab you will ever encounter. Despite spatial limitations, they keep their promise of exciting you, of scaring you and of making you go "awww."

Interwoven with this magical carpet of panto gold are stunning sound effects coming from George Mackenzie-Lowe, who sets the scene of a vast Arabia using his guitar, sitar and even some plastic bottles. Complimenting the energetic performances of such a charismatic cast is no mean feat, and as a whole, Hammer & Tongs theatre have managed to cast a spell over their audiences with their fun-filled and fantastical foray into the Far East.

And if the sprinkling of cheese is not quite enough to satisfy your Christmassy cravings, there's even a dress up box and photo frame for you to Instagram, Tweet or Facebook your festive experiences to everyone you know.

Being a lover of both the play, the era and the festive period I went in with exceedingly high hopes.

Entering what has to be the smallest professional theatre I have ever seen, I was automatically sold. The set, of course, had to be simple given the logistics of the room, but it just worked. A traditionally dressed Christmas tree and delicate table and chairs informed anyone who wasn’t yet aware that this was not going to be a truly literal or authentic playing of Much Ado. When the audience were seated around the edges of the stage- nobody could have been more than 10 feet from the actors- a maid entered in a simple black outfit and the (at most) 100 person audience fell immediately silent awaiting the action.

Opening with a simple tableau, they showed backstory of the war and added depth for the relationship history between Beatrice and Benedick. This decision allowed for a far more believable and real relationship that I have never seen in previous stagings of Much Ado. Dare I say it – not even the fantastic Royal Shakespeare Company production from a few years ago.

Obvious hat-tips to Beatrice and Benedick (Libby Evans and Garry Summers, respectively), who are always cast with the greatest care and had impeccable chemistry. However, the stand out of this interpretation for me has to be Margaret (Angela Ferns). The life and spirit afforded to the character in such a tiny cast left me, somewhat unusually, spellbound by her. And her fascination with whips. Not something normally seen in Shakespeare, but a welcome addition given the laughs the actress achieved with it.

Oh halo! You’ve just caught me at work. Mein name ist Fraulein PVC skirt, some call me pleather, others ‘high-shine’, but they’re skirting (pun intended) the kinky truth of me. PVC. Get me on… NOW! Give your backside a quick sharp slap. Hear zat? That’s PVC. The unadulterated, politically incorrect sound of S & M. You enjoy it don’t you? You dirty little…

You see, I’ve been brought upstairs, out of the dungeon and onto, what you English wursts call, the ‘high-street’. I’ve spent the last ten years slapping in San Francisco, groping in Graceland, biting in Budapest, being harnessed in Hong Kong, rutting in Rio, tromboning in Toulouse, licking in Luxembourg, clamping in Cleveland, tea-bagging Toronto, grunting in Georgia, squealing in St. Petersburg, I actually had to bark once in Berlin… anyway you get zee picture, yah? I’ve been around the brothel, I mean block, a few times now. And it’s fun; oh boy it’s been fun, but sometimes a Madame just wants to be taken out for a beer and a currywurst, not just kept in for a wurst, you know?

Und now! It’s Runways, offices, coffees and museums. All of the day and then all of the night! I’m even gracing the bottom of the monogamous London woman! Can you imagine? Und don’t I look the picture of sophistication? In midi-length paired with a Breton top, in pencil with a yummy Whistles shirt and buttock-skimming, a personal preference (old habits die hard, yah?), with a tucked-in luscious knit. I seem to have really captured zee zeitgeist, and I’m everywhere! Topshop, Antipodium, Zara, you name it – they’ve got me.

I do sometimes think back to my darker years and, yah, I miss them in a way so, please, don’t be too good. I do look spectacular with a mesh top, leather bra und fish-nets…

A whole semester has passed and it’s safe to say that the only blood split was over a bowl of Alpen cereal. It’s been great and I couldn’t have chosen a better bunch to live with. It never occurred to me that the problems we’d have would come in the shape of Property Management.

We chose to rent our four bedroom Poplar flat through a Letting Agent. We imagined that an apparently respectable Letting Agent would be reasonable and deal with any arising issues swiftly and professionally. It all seemed very legit’.

How very wrong we were.

Before signing the contract we had been shown around the property by one of the Estate Agents; he was somewhat unprofessional, arriving late without the code to access the gates for entry into the complex. Nevertheless, we gave him the benefit of the doubt when a student still living in the flat came down and let us in. The flat itself was spacious, secure and had a pretty impressive view of Canary Wharf. However, there was a lot of maintenance that evidently needed seeing to before we would be happy to move in, i.e. mould, crappy furniture and general filth. Our request to have all of this rectified was written into our contract, and we all happily parted with £1500 each to secure the agreement.

We rocked up on moving in day excited and relieved to be moving into our new home. Our preconceptions of a smooth transition and a jolly trip to Camden to buy throws and incense sticks were soon shattered by reality; the flat was disgusting, nearly every piece of furniture was broken and basically, none of the maintenance we signed for had actually been carried out. What was more insulting was the attitude of the Letting Agency. One of their Agents came over, looked me in the eye and told me the property had been ‘professionally cleaned.’ “You and I obviously had very different ideas of what constitutes ‘clean,’” I said, pointing to the sh*t of the previous tenants encrusting the rim of the toilet bowl.

We let it be, and spent months faffing about with maintenance issues: the extractor fan is broken, the kitchen worktop has rotted away, the boiler is broken etc. etc. etc.

So it was that on the first day of Christmas the Letting Agency gave to me, a lack of hot water caused by a broken, yes broken boiler, and just in time for a biting cold December! The Letting Agent, against the advice of four British Gas engineers, refuse to change the boiler, and will not do so until it is condemned as dangerous and a threat to our collective health. Apparently, gas poisoning, severe scalding, and being blown up ‘are not immediate health concerns.’ Need I say more about the tight-fisted callousness of these people?

And it seems we aren’t the only ones.

I spoke to fellow student Heulwuen Williams and apparently, renting directly from a landlord is no better “Our landlord is driving us insane. He's a liar and doesn’t listen to anything we say,” she told me. “We have loads of problems with the house, like plumbing in the kitchen, ventilation in the bathroom, heating. Our landlord is also the owner of the company, so we thought we were in the best position as he wouldn't mess us about. We've been asking for him to make changes and fix things since September we've not had anyone in.” Hold on guys, it gets worse. “Also, they scammed us - initially they said that rent would be £425 a week. Then we got the contract, it said it was £525 per week. We argued against it, they said that it worked out during the course of a year to be £425. At this point, it was too close to term time and we needed a house so we thought, we just need a place. False advertisement and neglect - standard student landlord.”

A group of friends of mine recently had a visit from the previous tenants of the Stepney Green property they rent. Apparently, their landlord neglected to secure their £3000 deposit in an approved Deposit Protection Scheme, therefore, he’s simply pocketed it. They are in the process of a court case, and warn my friends that the deposit they paid upon moving in is probably sitting right in his illegal kitty.

There is an undeniable trend then for Landlords and Estate Agents renting to students to completely disregard comfort, safety and basic living rights in the selfish interests of profit. They think that because we’re students and we don’t have the financial means or the experience necessary to deal with contractual discrepancies, they can screw us over again and again. If you find yourself in a difficult situation like that which has been described, passivity is not an option. Be calm, be pragmatic, and use the resources available to you. If you can’t get anywhere with the Landlord or the Agency you let from, take it to the Residences Office at Queen Mary. I have found them to be incredibly helpful and sensitive to my predicament. As my Mother always tells me, don’t get mad, get even!

Then, all of a sudden, I am told that an extenuation of the characteristics I have moulded myself to avoid is what is going to get me places. I need to be able to talk about myself at great lengths, highlighting what I am particularly good at and what I have done that is particularly good. Why would someone want us to display such a trait in order to reward us with a job? What happened to the value of modesty?

At a graduate convention I went to recently, whilst in a talk about how to successfully fill out an application, I was told about the importance of ‘selling myself’. The man who was taking the talk mentioned how the British were renowned for being particularly bad at talking themselves up in such situations. According to him, American’s were taught to be good at talking about themselves from a young age, which made me think, why isn’t it inherent in us Brits to be good at selling ourselves? Once we’ve got to the stage where we are going for interviews and handing in applications, it might be too late to learn.

The idea of being able to sell myself based on my bragging skills has become so repellent to me that I’m beginning to feel like I wouldn’t want a job that would place so much importance on something so artificial. I wouldn’t want to be ‘one of those people’, even if it did get me the job I wanted. If you gain a position based on your modified-interview-self, who could guarantee that the job wouldn’t change you into this?

I have always assumed that modesty would win the race. I naively believed that nice employers would see through the egos and give the underdog a chance. Something that only occurred to me recently is that the people who are in the position to employ could be ‘those kind of people’. The ruthless impressers, the ignorant boasters, looking for people who are going to be able to climb the ladder in the same way that they did.

Then there was Rebecca Adlington: the 24 year old Olympic, double-gold medal winning, world record-breaking swimming legend. I quickly fell in love with her girl next door exterior and no nonsense attitude. It was all going swimmingly (pardon the pun) until last week when viewers saw Rebecca reduced to a tearful, insecure wreck in the Bush Telegraph [Take a look for yourselves here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQFmoxPbjK0] after a heated beauty debate down in camp whilst comparing herself with her fellow campmate, and 21-year-old beauty queen, Amy Willerton.

“We’re made to feel like a size 12-14, like I am, isn’t attractive, that you have to have big hair, big boobs and all this and it just makes you feel so crap about yourself.”

As these words of vulnerability spilled out of the athlete’s mouth, I wanted to scream at the TV. “Ignore them girl,” you want to shout. Indeed, I do shout, and rant to anyone who will listen. It’s what we’ve all been shouting to our TV screens in frustration for the past 18 days. I wanted to jump on the next flight to Australia and walk into that camp just to give her a huge hug and say yes, me too. And approximately 95% of the female population, sweetheart. You’re not alone.

It was that night that the female half of the 13 million viewers watching identified with her insecurity and realised that, shock horror, she isn’t superhuman, she’s simply one of us. Because let’s be honest, every single one of us has been there.

“Where’s the sisterhood at?” I tweeted angrily. Women should be supporting one other, not comparing and judging - which is exactly what soap-stars and fellow campmates Laila and Lucy did: “You’ve got a gold medal; no one else has… that’s what should be celebrated in life, achievements”. Well girls, couldn’t have said it better myself.

“For me I was an athlete, I wasn’t trying to be a model yet pretty much every single week on Twitter, I get somebody commenting on the way I look.”

More vulnerable words. This is a young woman who has set a world record, won two gold medals at the 2008 Beijing Olympics and two bronze medals in last year’s London Olympics. Yet in the world of celebrity, that she has been forced to dive head first into on the back of her success, it seems the importance of beauty still triumphs.

Rebecca Adlington is a swimmer. No one enters swimming to be famous - I sincerely doubt when your Mum dragged you to swimming lessons every Friday at the age of 6 that your goal was to be an Olympic champion. So what the hell gives the hundreds of Twitter trolls that tweet Rebecca Adlington each week, the right to judge her looks?! And with tweets such as “Oh God you look like a dolphin”, or “I didn’t realise they let whales into the Olympics but at least you should be able to swim faster with a nose like that” being thrown at her timeline daily, it’s no wonder the poor girl’s so sensitive when it comes to her appearance. Hilarious, right? Wrong. One tweet was from someone saying that she was a “Jewish c**t because of her nose and should die like the rest of her lot in a concentration camp”. Not so hilarious anymore is it?

Rebecca’s right- the media do brainwash us into thinking that anything over a size 12 isn’t attractive, despite the fact that the UK’s average woman is a curvy size 16. Reality check here please: not every girl looks like the cover model of Nuts magazine. Beauty comes in all shapes and sizes – cellulite and all.

Personally, I want my kids to grow up idealising a size 12-14, four-time Olympic medallist and world record-breaker with ambitions and goals, rather than near-anorexic glamour models, who rely on push up bras, a team of stylists and their looks for their career.

‘She’s just jealous’ is what you’re probably thinking. But, no actually I’m not. Amy Willerton is undoubtedly stunning but if there’s one thing Rebecca Adlington has taught me by watching her in the jungle is that everyone is beautiful. And one needs to be beautiful on the inside to be truly beautiful on the outside.

In the last couple of years we have seen so many talented South London based artists overtaking the music scene that it is difficult to list them all: King Krule, Moko, Jerkcurb, Bradley Zero, Haraket, Psylus and Childhood are just a few names.

However, it was Jamie Isaac who mesmerised me the most: a talented bedroom producer, who since a young age, found his escape in making music. The nineteen-year-old is from Croydon, south of the river, and went to BRIT school along with Archy Marshall (aka King Krule). The pair have since remained good friends and collaborated with each other.

Despite Jamie’s background in classical music, he found his inspiration in jazz artists such as Chet Baker, Bill Evans and Dave Brubeck. In fact, Jamie’s sound recalls the dreamy elements of jazz music from the fifties, even though it is mixed with very strong electronic-ambient components.

Nothing is left to chance in Jamie’s music. Every sound is carefully weighted. Tracks build up a melancholic soundscape that can lead to the deepest questionings about the meaning of life, making your thoughts swing along with Jamie’s dark and nocturnal sounds.

‘Softly Draining Seas’ is the most powerful piece on his first EP, I Will be Cold Soon, with simple and straightforward piano chords leading the chilled electronic component of the track. ‘Hollow Words’ is real music for the soul, building up all the layers in a clean and minimalistic way. This track is all you need when laying in your bed want to pass from being conscious to a half-dream state.

Besides, although this may be a slippery slope leading to more eccentric past times such as bird watching (or, ‘Twitching’), it is a pragmatic response to a modern day dilemma; the luxury shoe’s shelf-life.

I seem to have an infatuation with wing tips. Dress them up, or dress them down, whatever; they go with everything from suits to sweaters, and are comfortable as hell, especially if they’re from a reputable manufacturer such as Grenson or Churchs. The simplest pairing in the world must be a white button-down, tight black jean and some nice wing tips, in any colour. However, what I came to discover whilst going through the standard motions of a student, which as you all know is not the cleanest of affairs, is that whilst shoes of this nature may look and feel great when you purchase them, once you were them out into the night a couple of times, they get completely and utterly trashed.

A combination of; spilt vodka-red bulls, other people’s grubby feet standing on you whilst you lose your shit to that new Bashmore song and walking through that puddle of liquid you would have noticed, were you not trying to neck that bird who you think sort of looks like the one in that Robin Thicke video, will turn what was once a luscious walnut, into a sooty, angry brown. And suede…. Forget about it. They will start to resemble your Grandparents’ old carpet faster than when the cashier rigged them up for you and fleeced you of your student loan.

Moving onto the point of this article, a few months ago I became so disheartened, watching my shoe-collection gradually turn into a black mess, that I invested in what I think of as the perfect student shoe; the Doc Marten. Being on the side of the fence which is quite hotly opposed to the current sneaker fashion that has infiltrated menswear, I couldn’t face just buying a pair of Nikes and pretending I can stand on a skateboard without falling over. Which, just to confirm, I cannot. As a slight tangent, I don’t care if they’re the latest Margiela’s, who on earth ever thought sneakers were the appropriate shoes to match a suit?

I digress, there’s a reason why the sturdy ‘Docs’ have been in favour with so many rebellious youth movements of the years. Whilst they’re not the most flattering of shoe, in my humble opinion your foot ends up resembling a hammer (incidentally, they can be used in this way), they do the job and they do it rather well. You can subject them to all manner of elements that would leave a Grenson wing-tip in the bin; wade through mud, get puked on, miss the urinal… you get the picture.

Secondly, Docs, whilst far from being the cheapest shoe on the market, are competitively priced. This is especially true when you consider how many pairs from Topman you’d be buying in their place over the course of a Doc’s lifetime.

Thirdly, the unisex nature of the shoe, means that you and your other half can match. Always a bonus for couples who start to spend so much time with one another that they may as well be a single body.

As a final plus, the extra inch will help the height-conscious individual meet the bartender’s eye at the bar. This will help to ensure that the Hollister wearing twat next to you doesn’t beat you to the last Red Stripe.

However this is not the issue I am contending here, I have ample respectful for most political beliefs across the spectrum, and as my Nan used to say ‘it wouldn’t do if we were all the same, would it?’ My issue with Katie Hopkins and her beliefs is that they tend to attack those who haven’t even formed their own beliefs, children- not to mention the fact she becomes personal, inappropriate and insensitive (and have I mentioned she seems to go out of her way to humiliate those who are in opposition to her using these same methods?) Oh yes let us not forget that it seems she only displays these so-called beliefs when she needs to throw some fuel on the media career fire.

Katie Hopkins may be one of the most bigoted people I have had the misfortune to sit and watch. Other than inducing intense apoplectic feelings in almost everyone, what is it she is actually qualified in doing and so to discuss? After doing a little research on her, it is not the origins of children’s names, child obesity or even methods in parenting a baby. Why is it then, that she is employed onto television programmes to discuss all these topics when she has no mandate in doing so? After realising she was unsuccessful on three reality TV shows and organising her wedding through a television programme, what she really craves is quite clearly media attention.

After a little more research I found that her ‘Business woman’ status, that she uses to justify many of her arguments- neglecting her children on their birthday being one (and celebrating this with them for her, is being ‘over emotional’) is just as invalid as her stance and as a paediatrician, or anything else she shouts about. As the only shareholder and director of her business ‘Katie Hopkins Limited’ she is responsible for the company’s net loss since 2009, and June last year the company had a net worth of –£11,927 without turnover. Oh Dear Katie.

I know all this is a little delayed, but after seeing her utter callousness at the time of the horrendous helicopter crash in Scotland, it got me to thinking, why do we endure her? Yes she is ‘controversial’ and often manages to make me wince when listening to her. But her tweet about the crash ‘Life expectancy in Scotland based 07/ 08 birth is 59.5. Goodness me. That lot will do anything to avoid working until retirement’ comes with appalling timing and she almost dismisses the calamity. With some people suggesting this is a racial, and quite rightly an altogether despicable comment it appears she will enter very dangerous territory in order to be provocative, and cause a reaction to encourage this caricature she portrays herself as; Lady Tabatha wearing wellingtons and a fox around her neck with right wing controversial comments (and no Katie, I don’t have an issue with the name Tabatha).

Occasionally she raises some valid points surrounding issues we should be debating, such as what we should do about one in ten children aged four, entering school is already obese. This needs combatting, but not by psychologically damaging a child with her overwhelmingly obtuse methods. When this is pointed out in arguments or whenever she is faced with facts or statistics opposing her opinion she simply retaliates with personal jibes. I am incredibly tired of her receiving air time. Exasperated. Irritated. P****d off. I am bored of watching a thirty-eight year old woman utilising playground politics on television where these serious debates should be conducted by qualified people with a passion and knowledge in each area.

This is a woman who agrees with implementing a class system at school based on the name of a child, restricting the opinions and experiences of her own children due to her prudish belief that a ‘Brandon’ (which happens to be my brother’s name) ‘Hasn’t done the homework, will always rock up late and has the mother signing in, reason for being late: running late.’ I can tell you for nothing Katie that those are the last things my working class parents would allow. Education, mainly mine and my brothers was absolutely paramount to them, even if they do not fall into a certain wage bracket.

However, the weather was rendered completely insignificant, as I had to remind myself once again that, yes, I had finally arrived in Nepal. The 2 weeks of volunteering I had been obsessing about since November had finally begun.

Helping the less fortunate has been ingrained in my mind ever since I can remember. Participating in charity events and assisting children living in an orphanage with their homework never failed to put a smile on my face. But I had always wanted to volunteer in an unknown environment, away from the comfort of my own home. Therefore, the idea of a care & community volunteer in Nepal, which successfully combined my love for children and Asia, where I had spent 4 years of my life, was the answer I was looking for.

Looking out the window of our cramped bus, I couldn’t stop staring at the town of Kathmandu. Everything seemed so unfamiliar, from the monkeys hanging from the telephone poles to the commotion on the roads. Tomorrow was fast approaching and I couldn’t wait for us to start! When we arrived at the school the next morning, the younger students had prepared a special welcome for us. The cutest little girls were dressed in formal Nepali clothing with heavy eye makeup and the traditional tikka, a red dot worn between the eyes. The first girl wrapped a khatak, a silk ceremonial scarf, around our necks and then placed the tikka on our foreheads, while the rest of the students were clapping. Their gratitude was heart-warming and I felt overwhelmed with emotion, as the tikka and the khatak had been used to honour us. After spending quality time with the elementary and middle school students, introducing ourselves and playing Nepali games, it was finally time to get serious. We were split into groups and my team and I were lucky enough to be in charge of the nursery, which also meant playing with the chubby, adorable 3 year olds in the next classroom.

As I look back, the welcoming day was perhaps our only chance for the next two weeks, to savour the summer feeling of having to do absolutely nothing. We found out the hard way that our work was extremely exhausting and not all fun and games; the fumes from the paints caused headaches and when we returned back every afternoon I would fall into hibernation like sleep. However, painting the Parthenon, Australian wild animals and an enormous tree with English alphabet adorned leaves was very rewarding. I felt that this change of scenery would certainly be a source of wonder to the sweet children spending half of their days in the room. And that was exactly the reaction we would receive from the older girls and boys that would visit and assist us with the designs. Sometimes the kids were quite ‘naughty’ since they would start singing or perform dances and demand we follow along, never accepting no as an answer! However, these minimal distractions, the way their little faces smiled brightly back to us and the gratitude they were constantly showing were more than enough to keep us pushing for perfection. As well as the fact that the children loved our work and us, winning the competition for best room simply added to our growing confidence as the “best group in town”.

To reward our hard work, we embarked on a torturous, never-ending 6-hour bus drive to Chitwan, a district of Nepal, where we would bathe with elephants in the river, or so we thought, and ride through the forest on top of them. I had been anticipating this trip since forever and it had secretly been one of the reasons I chose to apply to Nepal. To our surprise, however, the actual event didn’t consist of us bathing the elephants, but rather of the elephants bathing us, by spraying water from their trunks. Even though the water was filthy, beyond imagination, I couldn’t stop thinking how wonderfully crazy were these moments, with us sitting on top of the elephants and swimming amongst hem. The second weekend, we walked around the well-known Kathmandu Durbar Square with its pointy, Hindu temples. But the moment the living goddess, Kumari, appeared through a high window of the ‘Kumari Ghar’ and simply looked at the tourists that had visited her with her huge made up eyes cemented my fascination with Nepali religion and culture.

Bob Dylan, Liam Gallagher and Alex Turner are all names that spring to mind when asked to describe the music, or behaviour, of Jake Bugg. After a debut that resulted in a certain amount of grooming by almost every musical publication and journalist in the country, Bugg, releasing his follow-up Shangri La is now contending with the consequences, i.e. dizzyingly-high expectations.

Despite his home-grown appeal, Bugg is not a newcomer to influential leg-ups. His debut was largely co-written with Iain Archer (think Snow Patrol’s ‘Run’), Crispin Hunt and Matt Prime and now ‘big time’ producer Rick Rubin is onboard collaborating with Bugg at his Shangri-la Studios in California hence the album’s title. To be brutally honest, the name makes my skin crawl. ‘Shangri-la' seems to be the buzzword of the music world at the moment, or perhaps it’s just my ears pricking up to the mention of it creeping into Arctic Monkey lyrics, or last summer’s Glastonbury festival area, or the fact Stevie Nicks and Mark Knopfler have both used the word in album titles.

Its meaning of a fantastical earthly paradise just seems to me an idea incongruent with authenticity, which unfortunately for Bugg is his primary crutch. Which makes me wonder: is every teenage fan from the estates of Clifton, also now scratching their heads and wondering why their homebred hero needed to go all the way to Malibu for inspiration? How exactly can the ‘Messed Up Kids’ of the Nottingham estates have their corner fought all the way from the West Coast? And how does the ‘Slumville Sunrise’ compare to the daybreak over his luxury resort? (Disclaimer-I am merely hypothesising as to his conditions of living.)

But enough of scrutinising Bugg’s methods and on to the content of the new album: The Dylan-esque electric leap comparison is irresistible, but to credit Bugg, whilst there is a marked change of direction to his style, he also stays true to some of the country influences he’s been celebrated for, as seen in the opening track ‘There’s a Beast and We All Feed it’. The social commentary of his first album continues in ‘Messed up Kids’ but is not done with much subtlety, ‘The messed up kids are the corner with no money/They sell their time, they sell their drugs, they sell their body’. And Johnny and Jenny. Really?

Bugg can not afford to deal in clichés, and this is my major problem with the first single from the album ‘What Doesn’t Kill You’. It’s probably the most ‘electric’ of the album. It’s punchy and fast, coming in at 2.09, perhaps reminiscent of the early lyric-spitting style of the Arctic Monkeys, but gives off the impression that he rushed through writing it too. It’s just a little too teenage angsty and coming from someone the same age as Bugg, I feel I have the authority to criticise him on that front. (At least we are relieved from some of the more naively lovelorn tracks of his debut-‘Someone Told Me’ and ‘Someplace’ spring to mind).

In contrast stands, ‘All of your reasons’ which is slower with carefully constructed guitar solos, seeming perhaps to be a nod to Neil Young-an influence frequently cited with ‘Hey Hey My My’ featuring often in his live repertoire. Bugg tells us, ‘It’s my heart’s desire to set the world on fire’ and his openness is endearing, a refreshing contrast to the cold persona we are used to offstage.

The final track seems to engage in an odd continuity stunt with the first album, like ‘Fire’ on the debut, ‘Storm Passes Away’ sounds distinctly ‘old recordy’ (I believe that is a technical term). However, as I went back to confirm this hypothesis, I realised that this final track actually sounds a lot like all the other tracks on the debut. Only then did I realise how clean-cut, and dare I say it, boring the production on Shangr La is. It sounds exactly as I would expect an alternative rock album to sound, and that disappointed me-I’m sure his collaboration with Rubin cost him enough.