Call For Articles

I've just spent the last four hours trying to complete my one features page for the next issue of The Smoke.

I did not finish and I'm literally pulling my hair out!

Not to worry though - its not that great a features page!

But, if any Westminster students have any features they would like to see in The Smoke after Christmas, I will not say 'no'!

Also, I'm really interested in any travel writing as well as anything else - send me an email: smokefeatures@gmail.com

This is all.

12.05 University of Westminster

The main film studio, Harrow Campus.


Brightness. Big metal lights with big, black shutters glare.
“What you doin’ there?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know!”


The Essay.

Laughter and murmur.

“Anne sent an email”
Clink clink. Metal on metal. Screws unwind and come loose.
Tap tap. Bang.

“What kind of thing do you get analysed on for our essay?”
“What you mean?”
Mumble mumble. Inaudible sounds.
“Detail, detail, detail.”


Cone Head.

Lights glare.
PVC and a cone head. Red finger nails and a huge hooked nose – he looks confused. Is this normal? Everyone acts normal. They know what they are doing.

“Can I steal this chair?”
Cone head rolls the red chair away, wheels giggling on the floor.

A blonde girl wraps her hair around her fingers and talks about bread.
Cone head roams the room. Uncomfortably. The bread is fascinating.
Bang bang.

“Don’t move. We’re ready.”
“Are you guys filmin now?”
“I’ll sort you’re ‘ed out.”
The red finger nails caress the cone head.
Voices lower, inaudible murmurs.
Rustle rustle.

Cone head glides across the room, his black PVC cloak swooshing with his every movement.
“Does your nose get in the way of drinking that?”
“I need some sort of straw.”
“Imagine doin’ coke with a nose like that!”

Cone head admires his nails: “At this moment I couldn’t be much happier with life. It expresses my inner joy.”
“He was meant to be a Jew wasn’t he?!”


The Girl in The Green Jumper.

“Does anyone mind if I go out for a cigarette?”

Feet pace. Tapping sounds. Tap tap. Tap tap.
A zip. Rustling in a bag.
“Cunningly disguised as work”

The girl in green rolls a cigarette, tobacco falling to the floor. She taps her cigarette on the faux wood, cheap plastic table. A sound faintly heard.
She rustles her tobacco pouch and plays with a lighter.
Click click. It works. A yellow flame rises from its red encasement and she leaves.


Gaffa Tape.

The purple curtain drapes itself over a white wooden board.
“Where’s the rubber bit that needs to be on there? We need gaffa tape.”
A light goes out. A little less brightness in the black room.
“Hang on! I need to get some gaffa tape!”

“We need to take this camera off and reattach it.”
Clap clap. Clap clap. Click click.
The music of hands against thighs and fingers snapping.
The boy in the red t-shirt paces, his jaw clenching as he chews gum.
Money and keys jangle in pockets. Feet slide and scrape. Sniffing stuffy noses.

“Right down on the floor.”
The lines of ancient gaffa tape are right down on the floor. A mesh of wires snake around one another in a central heap.
“Anyone seen the roll of camera tape round ere?”
Bags rustle and feet scrape.

Gaffa tape. Everywhere. Everyone has gaffa tape.
“Where’s the fuckin line?!”


Focusing.

Scrape, screech. The chair moves.
Yawns and sighs.
Papers rustle.
“Is it focused?”
“Yes”
“What about now?”
“No”
“Tell me when it looks focused.”


The Shirtless Boy.

“The light readings”
Glaring. Bright. Blinding.
A boy sits in their focus. Shirtless. On his knees.
“What do you want me to do?”
Squeak. The chair again.
The boy squirms.

More lights. Brighter.
Laughter. Murmur. Fingers tap and pens roll.
Patter patter patter. Feet wander the room.


“Stand by on set!”
Silence.
“Action!”
The boy under the lights stares at his hands.

Darkness, except for a faint glimmer of light from the corridor.
Tap tap tap tap.
The relentless tapping pursues its cause.
“Cut!”

Just a thought but...

I was shocked to read in today’s Independent that Janjaweed’s scorched earth policy sees no signs of slowing down, never mind coming to a stop.

After terrorising the people of Darfur, the militia has now crossed the border to reign terror in Chad.

Innocent and defenceless men, women and children have been burnt to death as their attackers shout “This is our land now. This will become the second republic of Sudan.”

Although I’m probably repeating something I wrote in an earlier blog, I’m still bewildered at how easily and quickly events like this take place. How they are even allowed to take place.

UN peace keeping talks concerning have halted once again while the Sudanese government has a think about how many troops they will allow to enter the region. That is, if they allow any troops to enter at all.

According to the article in The Independent, at least 23 villages in eastern Chad have been attacked since November 4.

To my mind, the actions which the Janjaweed militia is executing, with what seems like implicit support from the Sudanese government, are actions of
genocide.

They are explicitly targeting an ethnic group and murdering them as we look elsewhere.

This might be really daft, but I simply do not understand how it can be allowed to happen following the lessons we supposedly ‘learnt’ from Rwanda, Bosnia and the Holocaust.

On Charity

A few weeks ago I was approached by someone asking me to sign a petition on behalf of the Oxfam ‘I’m In’ campaign.

I signed, mainly because he wasn’t hounding me for money like most charities seem to endorse. (See Chris Illman’s blog…)

To be honest, I didn’t really know much about the campaign.

Today however, I learnt a little bit more…

‘I’m In’ seeks to end world poverty and find long term solutions to the problem, much like the now very well known ‘Make Poverty History’ campaign.

It also aims to provide essential things to the people living in poverty stricken countries, including water.

Water is brilliant but it is just one of the many things that every day millions of us take for granted.

Water is something which I often forget that I couldn’t live without - we wash with it, water the plants, wash the car and drink it.

Water is beneficial to survive - it is a fact that most people would die within three days without it.

I can’t remember the last time I was really thirsty. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever been really, really thirsty.

I’ve never had to drink dirty, unhealthy water because it was the only thing available. I’m lucky because I don’t lack clean water or proper sanitation.

5,000 children die every day because of dirty water according to a recent report in the Guardian.

The United Nations Development Programme has also reported that this is not because of water scarcity but is due to poverty, inequality and government failures.

The main countries which suffer from this deficit include Bangladesh, Niger, Cambodia, Ethiopia and Mozambique.

With climate change as well, there will come the inevitable changes such as warmer summers and extreme winters.

But this will also reduce the availability of water, lower agricultural production and cause yet more hunger in these already poverty stricken countries.

Although there is little I can do to stop climate change, I feel so bad because I desperately want to do something to help.

I have so much more than so many people in the world, but as ridiculous as it sounds, I can’t afford to donate.

Technological Apocalypse

As great as technology is with all the things it is able to do and the wonders it can provide the modern age, I hate it with a passion - but only when it goes wrong or doesn’t do what I want it to do.

I recently uninstalled a useless program from my laptop which was designed to connect with my mobile phone.

Pretty straightforward operation – choose ‘uninstall’.

No. It was not so simple.

When I uninstalled it, it took other non-program related files with it.

These files aren’t ultra-necessary for my life but I wouldn’t mind knowing where the hell they’ve gone!

Following the advice of a friend I’m patiently for a virus scan to complete. Just in case.

‘Patiently’ is a lie.

I’m actually pulling my hair out in frustration and close to theoretically murdering all technology.

Although having previously ‘judo-chopped’ my laptop in an Austin Powers style, I’m slowly reconsidering this as a course of action.

Marjory (that’s my laptop) did not respond well to this – the letter ‘G’ flew off the keyboard and whacked me in the face. I did manage to reposition is thankfully.

I think it is fairly safe to say that I am a sufferer of Technology Rage.

If it doesn’t work as its supposed to or how I want it to, I resort to giving it a bang/kick/chop.

Failing that, I hurl some sort of profane abuse – ‘For F$*k’s sake man!’ being an old favourite.

Yes, when I’m angry I have a filthy potty mouth. Not exactly the behaviour of a lady, but a valid expression of emotion all the same.

It simply puzzles me at times that in an age where technology is pretty much the must-have accessory for everything, it can and will go wrong!

So to conclude, this evening I have learnt three things…
1. Technology (Marjory in particular) is not my friend.
2. My laptop does not have a virus.
3. I have slight issues with my rage.

Nip Tuck

It was around this time last year that I started giving serious consideration to going under the knife.

Following a pretty horrific accident, my nose has bothered me more than ever.

It is ridiculous though because there is nothing visibly wrong to anyone else, yet on a daily basis I scrutinize its appearance.

I’ve managed to convince myself that it is wonky and dabbled with scars.

When I do finally manage to think like a reasonable human being however, it is obvious that the only scars I have are psychological.

Subconsciously I feel that people are examining my face and the damage that was caused. In response I automatically cover the problem area as best I can.

I’m a rather self-conscious person anyway so this complex I have just makes it worse at times.

A large part of it is the discomfort I feel on occasion.

My nose is clinically disfigured and whenever I get a headache my nose feels it too. It pulsates.

In fact, it often feels as though it has doubled, maybe even tripled in size and this is no exaggeration. It is even tender to touch most of the time.

But is rhinoplasty really an option?

Our attitudes to cosmetic surgery in general are changing rapidly.

According to research carried out by various bodies, including the British Association of Plastic Surgeons, there will be an estimated 690,000 procedures undertaken this year. (Thanks to the Daily Mail for this information).

The idea of surgery itself is a relatively daunting one and no doubt painful.

A nose job costs anything from £4,500 to £6,000 and there are two possible methods, one of which will leave slight scarring.

When you wake from the surgery, which can last up to three hours, its highly likely that you will look and feel as though you have gone ten rounds in a ring with Mike Tyson. It will also take up to six months before your true profile will be seen.

Besides all the money, time and pain, it isn’t always certain that the results will be exactly what you want.

So why is it that so many people are content to spend so much in the quest for ‘perfection’?

Society places such a huge emphasis on an unattainable idea of perfection.

The size zero, botoxed, nipped and tucked celebrities that we see in the press, on our TVs, on our billboards, everywhere aren’t as perfect as they are made out to be.

They have gone under the knife and they are an outrageous size of skinny.
They aren’t perfect – they have been constructed. Put together like cloned machines.

Furthermore, size zero simply connotes ‘nothing’ to me and to be honest I’d much rather be ‘something’.

I can learn to live with my imperfections because ultimately, they are who I am.
They are signs that I am an individual and if we’re going to be deep, they are signs that I am a perfect version of me.

I Watched A Film.

On Saturday I lost the will to read.

After struggling through the finer details of media law and trawling the papers for inspiration I was reasonably tired so I had the bright idea to watch some mindless tat on DVD.

Having absolutely no idea what it was about, I chose Madame Bovary – something which I’d got ‘free’ with a weekend newspaper.

It is not mindless tat. It is a French film with English subtitles – something which needs a considerable amount of attention.

It is actually a brilliant film.

I quite enjoy foreign films because they make such a refreshing change from the so often mundane Hollywood Blockbuster.

The only problem is, that at 5’ 4, I’m usually unfortunate enough to end up sitting behind someone in the cinema who is ridiculously tall and whose head blocks out the most important parts of the subtitles.

It is usually a large, bald man.

Luckily, on viewing Madame Bovary I was in the comfort of my own room, or ‘palace’ as I sometimes like to call it.

The film is based on a classic novel by Gustave Flaubert. I’m not going to pretend that I have read it, because I haven’t but I’m giving serious consideration to reading it now.

The story follows Emma Bovary and her increasing descent into chaos and despair.

She is trapped by her marriage and therefore by society, eventually allowing her romantic fantasies to get the better of her and infringe upon her daily life.

This inevitably results in tragic consequences as she begins an affair.

Both the film and the story-line remind me of Tess of the D’Urbervilles (Hardy’s novel and Polanski’s film).

There is something utterly disturbing yet intriguing in the universality of Emma’s day-dreaming and Tess’s unfair treatment.

Madame Bovary is a spectacularly powerful film which brought a tear to my eye. Perhaps I’m too sensitive, but for me this is the mark of a great story.

On Politics.

American Politics scares me.

The USA is the most powerful nation in the world, and consequently whoever becomes President is the most powerful man in the world.

As most people agree from George Bush’s example, this is both a scary and dangerous prospect.

The Republicans as a group seem to me rather scary, and possibly dangerous.

Many of their overtly fundamental policies and beliefs are a hindrance to life as we know it.

This diatribe springs from an article I read in today’s Observer: ‘Disillusioned America set to turn its back on Bush’.

‘Hooray!’ I thought upon reading the headline. ‘This is just what the intergalactic planetary system needs!’

Even so, the Republicans don’t seem to be changing in the face of this threat, despite the Democrats cheering ‘We need change’.

What worries me most is that a lot of people in the States are staunchly Republican.

The Observer details Senator Rick Santorum of Pennsylvania; someone who advocates teaching intelligent design in schools, speaks out against homosexuality and believes that birth control should be outlawed. (!)

True, people are entitled to their own beliefs. However, I worry that beliefs such as these will see some sort of regression to the dark ages.
If evolution and Darwinism is not to be taught in schools, then perhaps Copernicus will be the next one to get the chop?

In other news, South Korea is to retract its law which bans miniskirts and hotpants.

Lost.

I’ve tried to be really productive today.

I read the required chapters in McNae’s Essential Law for Journalists, and even managed to do some of that dreaded shorthand practice I keep putting off.

Then I went to Sainsbury’s to buy a newspaper – and nothing else because I spend too much money on rubbish these days.

Even for all my accomplishments today – I went for a run this morning – I don’t actually feel that I’ve achieved anything.

I only semi-digested media law and fudged my way through shorthand. The Independent didn’t inspire me to write any great diatribe.

And now, I’m feeling a little too tired to do dome reading ‘for fun’.

I’m only twenty or so pages into Joyce’s ‘The Dubliners’ and it really bothers me that every time I catch the cover gleaming at me from my bedside table, I feel an enormous amount of disdain.

I’m actually losing the will to read.

This has never happened to me before and now I don’t know what to do with myself.