THINQ

Accessible intelligence
6/2010 £3.95

Generation
Afghanistan
Special report
Africa’s last
COLONY
Ken Clarke
‘It’s difficult to get used to when
your boss...is younger than your
own son’
THE ALICE JOHNSON INTERVIEW
Richard E Grant
www.thinqmagazine.co.uk
CONTENTS June 2010
70
Features

12 Richard E Grant
Editor, Alice Johnson chats over coffee
and bruschetta with the ageing film
icon about his troubled childhood.

Regulars
Notes from the editor
Contributors
Letters
9
10
11
19 Africa’s last colony
Dom Sztyber explores the last threads
Top ten - disapointments 36 of empire as the Western Sahara fights
for independence from Morocco.

Thinqing
Greenwashing - Dominic Sztyber explores the practice of greenwashing and lets you know 46
24 Ken’s world
Thinq meets with the new Lord
what to look out for.
The Future of Music - Isabella Qvist explores where the industry goes from here. 50 Chancellor to find out what the
Bushfires: Alice Johnson talks to Sonja Parkinson about her miraculous survival of the 2009 54 outspoken veteran politician really
Australian bushfires.
Facebook - Who owns your photos, how private is your profile and can they fire you for it? 59 thinks about his boss, his new role
Natalia Acosta takes a look at the practicalities of the social networking phenomenon. and the new Conservative party.
Up and coming - Ben James compiles this year’s up and coming most influential which 62
includes a wag, a rock star and a 14-year-old blogger.

30 The Devil’s Mountain

Travel Photo essay
Vietnam - Michael Bishop looks beyond Vietnam’s backpacking culture as he travels the 66 Sixty five years after Hitler’s death,
country on a rusty Communist era motor bike. Thinq photographer, William Hull,
70
Alexandria - Arghya Gupta follows in the bloody path of Alexander the Great to the city of returns to capture the Fuhrer’s secret
one of ancient wonders of the world.
training camp in North Berlin in an
eerie reminder of a failed empire.
24
Culture & Style
38 Generation Afghanistan
Eurovision - Two Thinq writers argue it out whilst Natalia Acosta delves into the 72
competition’s voting patterns.
77
Cover feature
Summer BBQ - Thinq’s newsroom invite the guests to their fantasy dinner party and provide
a couple of summer recipies too.
Reviews - Sex and the City 2, Bad Lieutenant, Faithless and more. 82
Naomi Adelamn - Alice Johnson chats with Orange New Writers Award winning novelist. 87 As the death toll nears 300, Karl Hod-
dell explores the personal experiences
of the men behind the statistics in the
Afghanistan War.

36
Note from the editor
E
very generation that’s
been marched off to war
has some defining feature.
The First World War had
the mud, sweat and de-
spair of the trenches, desperate holes
dug against the tyrannies of attri-
tion. The Second saw the tragedies of
the Holocaust, an event which con-
tinues to reverberate within the psy-
chological recollections of millions.
Vietnam retreated deep within the jun-
gle and The Cold War teetered des-
perately on the edge of the nuclear.
Whether it’s the canary girls of the
ammunitions factories, the sex-mad
wives lusting after the ‘overpaid and over
here’ US commandos or the anything
goes love of the 1970s war protests, mil-
itancy has continued to have a profound
effect on our culture and our identity.
And don’t we just love to remem-
ber it? From the final scene of Black-
adder to Tom Hanks’ bid to finally
save Private Ryan, the biggest names
in film history are often intrinsi-
cally centered on battles of the past.
We teach it in the schools, we ponder
it in the Universities and on the ap-
propriate days every year the citizens
of various nations come together
to inhale, reflect and to remember.
This month’s special report Gen-
eration Afghanistan goes directly to
the frontline to discover the ways this
wave of soldiers think about themselves
and their legacy in our long history of
warfare. Four Thinq reporters bring
you the stories of a soldier waiting to
be deployed, one Facebooking straight
from the frontline, a newly returned
combatant, an eagerly awaiting girl-
friend and the mother turned perma-
nent carer for the most injured British
soldier to ever survive their wounds.
We‘re giving you the breadth of experi-
ences of the war that will be seen to de-
fine our own generation, as the conflict
sidles over into its ninth bloody year.
Switching continents, Dominic
Styzber explores the problems fac-
ing the Western Sahara in his piece
Africa’s Last Colony, whilst photog-
rapher William Peter Hull provides
this month’s photo essay with a look
at an abandoned radio tower in north
Berlin which boasts a long and tur-
bulent history. Isabella Qvist investi-
gates the future of our much debated
music industry and goes head to head
with columnist Ben James over the
spectacle of the Eurovision finale.
Also, with the election finally com-
ing to a rather anticlimactic conclu-
sion and the new coalition government
taking shape, Ben James talks to new
Lord Chancellor Ken Clarke about his
new job, his boss and Nottingham For-
est. I had lunch with British film icon
Richard. E. Grant and heard about
why he went undercover to reveal a
multimillion dollar AIDs scam be-
ing sold to his Swaziland hometown.
We hope you enjoy the issue.
Alice Johnson
Editor-in-chief
9
 Contributors
Ben James Isabella Qvist
Born in Nottingham, he Born in Munich, raised in Born in Buckinghamshire
moved to Sheffield in Sweden she moved to the he moved to Sheffield in
2007 to study journal- UK to study journalism 2006 to study journal-
ism. His interests include and German. Interests ism and German. His
Nottingham Forest and include languages and the interests include cricket
political history. great outdoors. and
www.thinqmagazine.co.uk
Watch
Listen
Comment
10
Karl Hodell Natalia Krzywicka-
Acosta
Born in Szczecin, Poland,
she she moved to Sheffield
in 2007 to study journal-
ism. Her interests include
languages, fashion and
football. travel.
Online
Get behind the scenes with
exclusive video content.
Discover bonus audio from
extended interviews.
Discuss everything from film
reviews to our next front cover.
Dom Sztyber
Born in Sussex, Dom
moved to Sheffield in
2007 to study Jornal-
ism. His interests in-
clude politics, history and
alternative media.
Letters
Speak up
I enjoyed last month’s inter-
view with Tony Benn very much
(May 2010). Where have our great
Parliamentary orators gone? At the
dispatch box now we have to put up
with Brown and his dour delivery
of bad news or Cameron’s scripted
nonsense sound bites. Now Brown
has gone it isn’t likely to get much
better anytime soon. It looks like
it will either be dumb and dumber
(or the Milliband brothers as some
call them) or Ed Balls. We haven’t
seen a Gladstone, a Churchill or a
Bevan for decades and even the in-
fluence of more recent orators such
as Robin Cook, Michael Foot and
Mr Benn have failed to transfer. No
wonder people are so turned-off by
politics. Let’s just hope those newly
elected have a bit more to bring to
the house than just sound bites.
David Warne
Gloucester
No girls?
I was disappointed when read-
ing your feature ‘Greatest Inventors’
(May2010) that no women were in-
cluded. How can you leave out the
likes of Dianne Croteau, inventor of
the CPR mannequin. Admittedly
not everyone has one but the thou-
sands of lives that woman has saved
surely ensures her a place on your
list. Then there is Mary Anderson
who invented the windscreen
wiper, Stephanie Kwolek,
Kevlar, Josephine Co-
chran the dishwash-
er and how on
earth could you
leave out Marie
Curie. Simply un-
beleivable. It was
an embarrassment to
read. Shame on you Thinq.
Dr Julian
Whittle
Witney,
Oxford
Send your letters to:
Letters to the Editor, 28 St James’s Street, London SW1A 1HG
or email thinq@magazine.com. Letters may be edited for reasons
of space or clarity.
Hello bi
Thanks for your article on bi-
phobia, the issue isn’t addressed
deeply enough within contemporary
society. I just regret that your writer
had to rely on tacky pop culture ref-
erences (see extensive descriptions
of Katie Perry film clips) to paint
an image of sexual experimenta-
tion. It’s a real issue and it’s deeper
than the media’s obsession with
young girls embarking on a faux-
sexual foray or viewing it as sim-
ply a stop-over to lesbianism. Give
the issue more credibility please.
Clare Gibb
Brighton
Too much
I particularly enjoyed your spe-
cial investigation into Japan’s whal-
ing practices. The Greenpeace inter-
view was excellent, but the photos
were just too graphic. I know it’s
realistic, but the bleeding whale
on the cover was a bit off putting.
Ed Parham
London N16
Whitehall
Your photo essay of Whitehall
was truly inspiring (May 2010).
Not only were Mark Hooks’
photographs stunning , I re-
ally didn’t realise how much
history was attached to the
place. I really got a sense of
what it would be like to work
there – the honour and priv-
ilege. So much so that I’ve
quit my media relations job in
Glasgow and applied for jobs in
the Civil Service. Thanks Thinq.
Karen Moxen
Glasgow
It’s not fair
So he did it. Just. Dave is our
new Prime Minister. But Nick
Clegg as deputy? What a farce.
How can a man who only has 57 of
the 650 seats have so much power?
This mess needs to be sorted out and
fast. Cameron and his new coalition
just about have the public’s trust -
no thanks to Mr Laws - at the mo-
ment and need to use it to reform
our political system. All of a sudden
Brown’s bunch don’t seem that bad.
Paul Brown
London SW1
Pictures?
Last month’s True Life fea-
ture on shark diving was exhil-
erating, but where were the im-
ages? Your writers are excellent,
but nothing quite gets the mental
picture of a Great White’s jaw
spread like some great pictures.
Phillip Oaks
Bristol
Standards?
Why do you continue to adver-
tise products that don’t meet up to
their ethical promises? There’s no
point having such high editorial
standards if the companies which
fund it simply aren’t on par. I buy
this magazine because it does pro-
vide something different to the
rest - a thoughtful analysis of the
issues I care about. You covered
Earth Hour and you sent a reporter
to Copenhagen. If the environ-
ment matters, then prove it in your
advertorial and stop giving space
to ethically negligible companies.
We’re an educated readership and
we like to buy accordingly. Your
production isn’t excluded from this.
Gemma Forster
Claygate, Surrey
11

Ageing
Grant enjoys a drink in Richmond’s
Carluccio’s
The
Pimpernel
Alice Johnson talks to veteran
British film icon Richard E Grant
and learns why he just can’t let
go of the past
R
ichard E Grant The parched red planes of Swaziland now seem
penned the first entry a very long way away. They are a lifetime from this
in his diary the day generic Italian chain cafe, one of many stuffed to
his mother betrayed bursting with stainless steel on beige, the smells of
him. Or so the boy of biscotti and the whirr and crush of coffee beans. It
nine came to think of could exist on any damp and cramped stretch of a
it, as he lay face down London road, bordered by some rainy day pub or
on the gleaming another. Clusters of children escaping baking heat
Chevrolet’s neatly under white camisole shade cloths seem even fur-
blanketed backseat. ther from Grant, this pale English gent whose squint
The car was parked in a dusty Swaziland paddock borders on a glare, his jacket brown tweed and shirt
as it squeaked and rocked under the weight of the immaculately pressed. But in the words of the Wil-
two adults’ passion. His mother had pulled her liam Faulkner, Grant’s past is not dead. In fact, it’s
lips briefly away from his father’s closest friend, not really even past. Look a little closer, it’s still
checking Richard’s eyes were firmly clenched there. In brown sunspot smudges from lazy days in
shut. Almost as briefly as she had pressed the African summers, to two antique watches that never
same mouth against his cheek the following leave his wrists. One, set permanently to Swazi time,
morning and told him he needn’t go to school his homeland time, belonged his father, long dead.
that day. She had left for England, his father Grant has agreed to meet here on
had started to drink and that had been that. the vague connection of a friend of my >>
13
reasonably well connected Aunt. Such a link doesn’t prove a very
substantial one for the actor. A sworn teetotaler, he orders himself
an orange juice which he slurps through a straw. After a grimace at
the slender waitress, he returns his preoccupied glare back to me. He
is, from the outset, doing his best to remain incredibly intimidating.
He is far better looking in the flesh than you’d expect despite the
prominent, long forehead and layers of wrinkling flesh around his
eyes. And Faulkner’s right. Grant’s past roles are not dead. They’re just
visible in hints of pomp and ceremony (Mansfield Park), sleek and
greased (time spent in Transylvania) and drunken shambling (With-
nail and I). Yet of course, he is anything but the sum of his parts.
Born in a nation railing against the final threads of empire, Grant
belonged to the people who desperately clutched at its last remains.
They were the white and wealthy ruling classes of colonial Africa, in-
heriting power just a few years too late to enjoy a lifestyle they be-
lieved was owed them. A people who regarded themselves as more
British than the good folk back home, who clutched at phrases like
“hubbly-jubbly” and “jolly good” when the world was beginning to talk
the language of Civil Rights and Nuclear Warfare. The son of Swa-
ziland’s Minister for Education, Grant says his childhood was spent
trying to reconcile the differences between the publicly handsome,
charismatic man and the person he was forced to care for in private.
“I told my Father what I saw on the backseat that night,” Grant says.
“He listened silently, watching me intently from the doorway of my bed-
room. I suppose he had always known and I had simply forced his hand”.
There had been one of many rows. His beautiful, blonde mother
had methodically folded and packed away her life into a match-
ing brown leather luggage set. His father had unlocked the liquor
cabinet and just as methodically downed its contents. Today Grant
is remarkably open about the memory, recalling quite calmly the di-
vision between a man whom he adored by day and feared after dark.
“I did have a very difficult relationship with him, but only by
night,” he says. “As anyone who knows somebody under the influ-
ence of addiction will understand, their personality changes in such
an extreme and terrible way. The person is subsumed by the drug
they are on. So the father I adored by day was by night just one
consequence of a drug after another - and a terrible one at that.”
One humid evening, at the age of 10, Grant poured the con-
tents of his father’s whisky bottles amongst the creeping Lan-
tana vines in the family backyard. Drunk beyond reason, his father
chased him with a shotgun across the sagging colonial homestead
and its creaking wooden veranda. Bare feet slapping on dark soil,
Grant turned to watch his swaying father take aim, shoot and miss.
He finally collapsed against the stone garden wall. Returning to the
house after sunrise, Grant slipped into his mosquito-netted bed. He
lay awake listening until his father staggered to his parents’ master
bedroom, the sheets of the bed left permanently crumpled and un- A ‘brutal’ portrayal: Richardson as Grant’s long Nicholas Hoult as the teenage Grant,
kept. The following afternoon his dad restocked his whisky cabinet.
These bizarre events were all dutifully recorded in the pages of estranged mother, Lauren Gabriel Byrne watches on
the boy’s diary, a tattered book which would turn into stacks of jour-
nals piled against his back bedroom wall. From his days in boarding
schools, to his father’s hasty marriage to Ruby, the American flight at-
tendant, the long days and nights in Cape Town University and the “A native school friend had recently done an evangelical train- French Producer Marie-Castille Mention- Schaar seemed to have made The ghosts of his African childhood were not left undisturbed
early years spent scraping by as the struggling actor looking for the big ing course in America and just as the coffin was lowered into the a shambles of things, with large portions of the film’s finance eventually by the film. Throughout three months in Swaziland, Grant lived
break. Today they fill the draws of the mahogany writing table in the soil he jumped into my father’s grave. He chanted and wailed in coming out of Grant’s own pocket. But the aggression and intensity with amongst the children of his former servants, was a guest in lav-
study of his London home. Some 44 years scrawled, documented and some ritualistic attempt to bring my father back from the dead. He which the actor turned on his former colleague is uncomfortable to bear ish houses that once belonged to his parent’s friends. And the de-
finally, in 2005, transformed into film. Wah Wah, his first foray into even ripped the lid of the coffin. There was my Dad lying amongst witness to. It is however, one of the few topics he gives any passion to, with struction of the AIDs virus was everywhere. The estimated 60
the world of directing, sought to capture the polite desperation as Brit- some flowers and velvet in his Sunday finest. I mean it could per cent infection rate across Africa rendered his childhood
ain lost its political grasp across the furthest flung stretches of Empire. have been something straight out of Monty Python, it was trau- haunts and hang outs mere gaunt versions of their former selves.
“I’d always wanted to make a film about my childhood. I knew matic, but it was also just bizarre and funny and a bit horrifying.” “There is something terrible about eating from the
it stood for something bigger, it was the end of an era, the story of
our last gasps of Empire if you will. What’s more is that every time
The production of Wah Wah proved as comically far-fetched as some
of its contents. A difficult relationship with the film’s producer ended
Grant had turned to watch staff buffet and being legally obliged to warn the ac-
tors of the health risks of the nearby infected children.”
I described my childhood to somebody, they would marvel at it and
say you should write it or film it. I suppose I was encouraged by
with Grant desperately begging an audience with the King of Swaziland.
“Well, her company has since gone bankrupt, need I say
his swaying father take aim, Perhaps the most vivid of Grant’s resurrected ghosts
was the forced reunion with his long estranged mother.
that. So I wrote a screenplay which took some five years, then, af-
ter what seemed like a lifetime of hurdles, made a movie out of it.”
more?” He doesn’t really want an answer to the question.
“She’s fucked over so many other people so I suppose there’s
shoot and miss. He finally with
“I watched
her
a
before
private
the
screening
premiere,”
of
Grant
the film
says.
Some of the script of Grant’s life does indeed seem designed
for the big screen. His father’s alcoholism spanned some twenty
some satisfaction in knowing it wasn’t just me that had to experience
this nightmare. She claimed she had done all of the financing before
collapsed against the stone “I’m not sure why I felt I owed her that, but it was certainly for the
best. Miranda’s (Richardson) portrayal of Lauren’s behavior was brutal.
years and actor Gabriel Byrne was finally assigned to play the pub-
licly cuckolded man. Young British actor Nicholas Holt, who shot
we got there, she also said that the work permits for 125 staff were
done and when we got there, they obviously hadn’t. She as a produc-
garden wall.’ What was most uncomfortable was that she admitted it was exactly what
she deserved. If nothing else, I now see my mother every couple of weeks
to cult stardom through his lead role in the TV programme “Skins”, er failed on every level and various other people were left to pick up instead of every few years. I’m still not quite sure how I feel about it”.
was cast as 15-year-old Grant. Grant described it as a “bizarre expe- the pieces. So in the end, I had to go and beg an audience with the large portions of his recollections delivered deadpan, staring forward va- The desperate state of his homeland was again
rience”, the translation of the private contents of his boyhood dia- King of Swaziland and plead our case to be allowed to continue film- cantly, heavily bejeweled hands clasped lifelessly. It is as if his time on brought to Grant’s attention, when in 2006 he helped
ries often meant reenacting some of the darker moments of his life. ing. You obviously could never do this in a first world country. This is the film’s promotion trail, months spent hawking his private reflections BBC’s Newsnight uncover a £51m AIDs cure scam.
“For his funeral, my Father requested a small, non-religious ceremony, the definition of complete and utter arrogance and incompetence.” to chat show hosts and junior film critics erased any real feeling the “My neighbor actually approached me claiming a good friend of
befitting his own perspective on religion” Grant explained. (“What about He tells the story with a delicious sense of menace and aggression. memories held for him. He is keeping busy, he quickly assures us, playing hers had discovered a cure for AIDs,” Grant explains. “Straight away >>
you guys?”he asks briefly of me and my photographer,“still believe in god?”) To be fair, the project was an important one to him and by all accounts tennis with an Australian neighbor and attending the theatre regularly.
14 15
 Emily Watson as Grant’s stepmother
‘I still get punctured tyres
and my daughter’s windows
have been smashed on
several occasions’
Grant on the set of Wah Wah
16
Richardson with Byrne
I say, sure, haven’t we all? (he shrugs suggestively, finally showing
some animation). So in November she took me to meet Michael Hart
Jones, who handed me brochures with all of the theories backed by his
company Commercial African Resourced Development (CARD). It
turned out he was trying to sell a $100 million scam all over the country.”
CARD’s promotional material quite rightly set off alarm bells for
Grant. Pictures depicted stretchers and stretchers of infected soldiers,
pale and hollow cheeked. The ‘after shots’ appeared indeed miraculous,
as the goat’s serum formula which CARD claims to used as a treatment
seemingly returned them to the peak of health in a matter of mere hours.
“So I got in touch with an investigative journalist at Newsnight
and went under cover. We arranged another meeting with Hart, I was
bedecked in hidden microphones and wires and posed for several hours
as another potential backer, promising the lunatic everything from ce-
lebrity funding to big name contacts. The scheme was devised between
Hart and a New Zealand doctor who claimed to be an AIDs specialist.”
Unsurprisingly, Hart’s “medical special specialist” wasn’t re-
motely qualified. And Hart had since been connected to eve-
rything from murky dealings in diamonds and gold mining to
South African mercenary training and various private armies.
Already wanted by the police, Hart was sought by authorities after
attempts to sell an uncut ruby for £13m. When its retail value came it
at an estimated £450, he abandoned his dealings in precious gems and
tapped into the crisis affecting one in four citizens in Swaziland alone.
Goat serum was banned by the US Food and Drug Administration in
1996 due to its devastating effects on trial patients. Bizarrely, Hart still
managed to secure the backing of the Swazi Royal Family, including
support and funding from King Mswati III and his son Prince Lindani.
“I suppose people will believe anything when they are that desper-
ate,” Grant says. “He’s an absolute crook but he’s still not in jail. I still get
punctured tyres and my daughter’s windows have been smashed on several
occasions. There’s random violence and then there’s this lingering knowl-
edge that for some reason this complete scuff ball is still on the loose.”
The interview is stretching on towards its second hour. Our cof-
fees are finished, every sprinkle of cappuccino froth and flaked choco-
late scraped clean. As a final lull spreads over the conversation, Grant
makes another grab at controversy. “So you two, you’re shagging
right?” At this point we all know the interview should be coming to a
close. Jackets are swept on, he insists on the bill and hands are shook.
What are our plans for the rest of the
day? The Tate and a train journey back north.
And him? He’s going home to write another entry or two in his
diary. To transcribe another day, which is now hundreds of pages in
bulging journals and polished films away from the days and the ways
in which it all began. And as we turn to leave through swinging glass
doors polished clean to transparency, he calls out, that tonight’s en-
try, not unlike this article, would be written entirely about meeting us.
Alone in the desert
Africa’s last colony

Marrakesh is the exotic location of choice for the quick weekend break. Cheap flights, camel rides
and couture riads with beautiful courtyards to shield the weary tourist from the bustle of the
bazaar. What more could be desired? Dom Sztyber investigates.
W
ell, the freedom of a nation of course.
Behind the sweet mint tea and mountains of
spice hides a lost people without a home. The no-
madic tribes of the Western Sahara, collectively
referred to as Sahrawi, have been living in refugee
camps since 1975. With three quarters of their homeland occupied by
Morocco they have little choice.
One such forgotten Sahrawi, the intelligent, passionate and op-
pressed, Elkouria “Rabab” Amidane is far from in the shadows though.
Last year she won the prestigious Student Peace Prize. It recognises her
contribution to raising the profile of the Western Sahara and its occupa-
tion by Morocco.
The 23-year-old takes photographs and writes reports for the Col-
lective of Sahrawi Human Rights Defenders (CODESA) chaired by
award-winning Sahrawi independence activist, Aminatou Haidar. She
also published videos on the internet of students being attacked by the
police.
Despite her non-violent protests, trouble stalks Rabab. Whilst ac-
cepting her award in Norway her home in Layouune, Western Sahara,
was being raided by Moroccan authorities. Stuck, helpless, in a foreign
land she told me of the emotional torture as she waited for any droplets
of news.
‘Being an activist As details finally trick-
led through from friends
means spending and neighbours the pic-
ture that her family had
your time in one been detained, including
her 14-year-old sister,
prison or another’ was etched in her mind.
The turmoil grew later
as she discovered her
grandparents’ home was searched and her closest friend had his house
stormed and was himself detained.
The events served as a timely reminder to just how relevant and ongo-
ing the oppression is. It may be shocking to us but Rabab accepts it as a
way of life. “Being a Sahrawi is a problem to the Moroccan authorities.
Being an activist means spending your time in one prison or another.”
In the past she was expelled from school three times for her part in
protests against occupation. Rabab tells me she has lost track of the
number of people she knows who have been beaten or detained by of-
ficials for peacefully protesting. She has witnessed a friend lose an eye
after being beaten by police and watched as another had their stomach
split open with a knife during a similar clash.
However, she remains focused and determined, never forgetting that
it is a movement of many. Elkouria “Rabab” Amidane
“They are not afraid of me. They are afraid of the voice of liberation. poses at home in Layounne.
Any Sahrawi, any sound of freedom or justice and they will harass it as

much as they can.”

Saharwi refugees offering The claims of human rights abuse are not unfounded. Amnesty Inter- Western Sahara at a glance: Key dates:
a message of peace national documents unfair imprisonments, torture and enforced disap-
pearances, as do other groups including the Red Cross, Human Rights
Watch, Reporters without Borders, Freedom House and the United Status: Disputed territory claimed by 1884: Spain colonises Western Sahara
Nations (UN) Commissioner for Human Rights. The constant pressure Morocco and Saharawi’s seeking self- 1973: Polisario set up
on Morocco to end their human rights violations and the calls for a
referendum on independence are going unanswered.
determination. 1975: World Court rules people should
This April’s UN report was met with disappointment and anger by Population: 260,000 (2004 estimate) decide on sovereignty
Sahrawis, who pointed to the failure of the UN to uphold its obligations Main town: Laayoune
under article 73 of its own charter regarding human rights in non-self- 1975: “Green March”, Spain agrees to
governing territories. The report, which will inform the drafting of a new Area: 252,120 sq km (97,344 sq miles)
hand over to Morocco, Mauritania
Security Council resolution, acknowledged human rights violations in Major language: Arabic
Western Sahara but failed to offer a mechanism to address them.
Major religion: Islam 1976: Spain withdraws, SADR declared
Minurso, the UN mission for Western Sahara, has the dubious dis- 1979: Morocco annexes Mauritania’s
tinction of being the only contemporary peacekeeping mission without Life expectancy: 62 years (men), 66
a mandate to monitor human rights and human rights defenders in years (women) (UN) share
the disputed territory where there are regular victims of arbitrary arrest, 1976-1991: Guerrilla warfare
sexual violence, torture and disappearances. Morocco opposes human Economic resources: Phosphate
rights monitoring and at the UN last year, France was the key country deposits, fishing, possibly oil 1991: Minurso established
to block its implementation. 1991: Ceasefire declared
Close to the time of the report, a Norwegian fish oil importer, GC
Currency in use: Moroccan dirham
Rieber, stopped all trade from Morocco and the occupied Western Sa- Displaced Refugees: 155,000 (Polisa- 1996: UN suspends referendum moves
hara due to ethical pressure from its main customers. ro Front) or 90,000 (UN food pro- 2001: Baker plan
Despite the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs strongly recom-
mending against business deals in Western Sahara, and other oppressive>> gramme). 2007-8: Talks fail to reach resolution
20 21
regimes, the company had been operating there since 2000. A lonely teapot abandoned
Support for resolution and change exists but the Moroccans continue
to stall, content to let the occupation grind. The Free Western Sahara
in a refugee camp.
Activist Network, lead by journalist Stefan Simanowitz, has a diverse
international membership of over four hundred members. The charity
Sandblast does its best to raise awareness and aid for refugees. Famous
supporters of the Sahrawi people include musician Brian Eno, Spanish
actor Javier Bardem and director Ken Loach. A screening of Loach’s
latest movie, Looking for Eric, was even shown under the battered can-
vas of a refugee tent
‘We shall not give to 300 enthralled Sa-
hrawis, as part of the
up one inch of our FiSahara film festival.
But without political
beloved Sahara, will, nothing more has
been done.
not a grain of its The King of Mo-
rocco, Mohammed
sand’ VI, opposes any refer-
endum on independ-
ence and has said he will never agree to one. “We shall not give up one
inch of our beloved Sahara, not a grain of its sand”.
Instead, he proposes a self-governing Western Sahara as an autono-
mous community within Morocco. His father, Hassan II of Morocco,
initially supported the referendum idea in principle and signed con-
tracts with Polisario and the UN in 1991 and 1997, guaranteeing a ref-
erendum. However, no major powers have expressed interest in forcing
the issue and Morocco has historically showed little real interest in a
conclusion.
As the UN pledges to remain for another year between the tents,
the land mines and the despair perhaps Rabab and a new generation of
independence campaigners can build enough international pressure to
force action.

A Sahrawi woman sits in a tent

supplied by the United Nations.
22
 The world
according

Ken
to
Well past retirement age and one of the
oldest Members of Parliament, Ken Clarke
is back on the frontbench. Ben James met
the Lord Chancellor and Justice Secretary
either side of this year’s election.

F
our middle-aged men wait nervously
in the late-medieval vestry of St
Giles church in West Bridgford. They
flick through their reams of colour-
fully labelled notes while sipping on
Sunday communion’s red wine that
the vicar has corked for the occasion.
One of the men paces over to the full
length mirror and straightens his green and
blue Marks & Spencer tie before walking
back to the comfort of the other three. One wears a red rosette, the
others: yellow, green and purple. They all wait for blue.
The talk’s small. Their chances of taking the seat are smaller.
At 6:58pm – the others have been here for a good 50 minutes –
the blue arrives. Ken Clarke sidles his Hush Puppy laden feet into
the St Giles hustings with that awkward waddle unique to robust
gentlemen of a certain age. Each of his rival candidates for the
Rushcliffe constituency in the general election approaches him one
by one and looks him in the eye in much the same manner a five-
year-old does when meeting Father Christmas at the local depart-
ment store. Excitement in the presence of that big beast off the TV >> ‘Getting his point across’ by Geoff Page
24
 mixed with sheer terror from the reputation that precedes him.
“No, we haven’t got a chance,” Mr Clarke tells Liberal Demo-
crat candidate Karrar Khan as he gleefully accepts the vicar’s offer
of Merlot. “We haven’t got the experience, we haven’t got the big
performers and we certainly haven’t got the leader.” Mr Clarke’s ad-
mission of his side’s chances are a shock to all in the back stage area
of the final public debate before the election. His side, of course, are
Nottingham Forest FC, contenders for promotion.
“G
entlemen, shall we?” BBC Radio Not-
tingham’s Colin Slater - chairman for
the evening – beckons the candidates
to the cool grey stone nave. “Well,
back to business,” Ken says as he
leads the other four through to the audience of 300 electors.
As he sits down, second from the right on the Question Time
style panel, he takes an A4 sheet of paper from his pocket which has
been folded so many times it more resembles a child’s attempt at
origami. He appears unprepared next to the vast array of binders,
arch back folders, colour-coded dividers and plastic wallets the oth-
ers have. I ask him later what was on his sheet. “I need to know the
names of my competition,” he says with a wry smile.
Competition they were not come polling day. The Rt Honour-
able Kenneth Harry Clarke MP QC was elected for the 11th time
with an increased 51.2 per cent of the vote.
Ken was born in Nottingham on July 2, 1940 to humble begin-
nings - his father a watch maker, his mother a teacher. He gained
a scholarship to Nottingham High School and then Gonville and
Caius College, Cambridge, where he graduated with a 2:1.
Following university he trained as a barrister and toured the
West Midlands putting his charisma and enthusiasm to use in the
courts before deciding to take a different direction. He unsuccess-
fully challenged the safe Labour seat of Mansfield in the 1964 and
1966 elections. Undeterred he returned in 1970 to stand in Rush-
cliffe, taking the seat from the Labour’s Tony Gardner. He has held
two of the four major offices of state, challenged three times for
leadership of the Conservative party, survived seven different Prime
Ministers, four changes of government and become in the process
one of the most prolific, influential and popular politicians in the
I
house.
’ve arranged to meet Mr Clarke at his first surgery following
the election. It’s at his constituency office in the unasham-
edly middle-class Nottingham suburb of West Bridgford,
right in the middle of his Rushcliffe stronghold. It’s the first
proper day of summer with the mercury hitting 25 Celsius
and I turn up to my 9:50 am appointment in plenty of time. I buzz
the door, tearing away from the Daily Mail’s Weekend magazine
what must be his oldest member of his staff. He looks going on 90.
“Mr James,” he says. I nod. “Take a seat in the waiting room, Mr
Clarke will be with you shortly.”
I join a 40-something-year-old primary school teacher, from
Ruddington, a nearby village, who is here to ask for money to better
train classroom assistants. Next to her is a blind man from a small
town three miles away, Radcliffe-on-Trent, who wants to voice his
concerns about potholes.
It all seems small-fry compared to the to do list the new coali-
tion have but nonetheless there is something quite humbling in that
uneven pathways and dealing with the country’s near £1 trillion of
debt are both occupying the 69-year-old’s mind today.
Adorning the walls are framed newspaper cuttings from 1966
of a young Clarke announcing his candidacy for Mansfield along-
side faded portraits of past leaders of the party - John Major, Iain
Duncan Smith and a rather disturbingly youthful looking William
Hague – minus the baseball hat. The Iron lady is significantly absent
from the portrait gallery but a new face sits on the shelf next to the
Rushcliffe Conservatives’ committee’s gavel and sound block. Top
button undone, navy blue cardigan and toothy smile, it’s Dave, the
new Prime Minister.
“Mr James,” his secretary calls. “Mr Clarke will see you now.”
“Oh do come in, Ben, take a seat,” he says. I catch him slipping
a coffee stained note into the top draw of his mahogany desk. My
heart sinks as I fear I may be the subject of one of his name reminder
notes. I resist temptation to ask him and we exchange pleasantries.
“It’s been a lovely week - nothing too strenuous at the moment. I’ve
just been getting sworn in all over the place really.”
Earmarked for Business Secretary, Nick Clegg had his way and
Vince Cable was appointed instead. Mr Clarke instead became
26
Mr Clarke’s trademark battered Hush Puppies
‘Let’s put it this way, it’s
difficult to get used to
when your boss and leader
of the country is younger
than your own son’
Justice Secretary and Lord Chancellor at an opulent ceremony at the
Royal Courts of Justice.
He is scruffier than the last time we met. His eyes puffier, his hair
seemingly thinner and his florid complexion similar to that of Sir
Alex Ferguson. His corduroy trousers are as deep a red as the Merlot
he drank at the church and his greasy grey hair shines under the desk
lamp. He rocks back in his executive chair, arms round the back of
his head exposing his pot belly through his loose checked shirt. He
is clearly relaxed. This is nothing new to him.
“I didn’t know I was getting this job but with the coalition a lot
of us have taken jobs that we weren’t expecting and certainly hadn’t
prepared for,” he pauses as he lifts his Nottinghamshire County
Cricket Club mug of coffee to reveal a coaster with a caricature of
Gordon Brown on it. The coffee’s thick, strong and almost black – I
could smell it as soon as I walked through the door.
“It’s a fascinating department and my political career has now
gone full circle as I was at the bar when I first became an MP.” The
only thing he has had to defend recently are his expenses claim but
nonetheless he remembers some of the teachings from law school.
“When I was sworn in last week I had to get the full kit on, but I
found when putting the robes, knee breeches, buckled shoes and wig
on, I still knew what I was doing.” He runs his little porky fingers
through his greasy thinning hair, clearly quite pleased with himself.
“I enjoyed my time as a barrister. I was reminiscing actually with
the current Lord Chief Justice, we were both at the bar together in
the West Midlands and faced each other many a time at jury trial.
“But I decided to go into politics instead. I’m a political junkie
and without sounding too pompous I’m obsessed with government
and how to improve it. Of course I could have got paid more at the
bar, but there is the feeling with this job that you can really make a
difference.”
“I always said that I would only carry on as long as I enjoyed it
and 40 years on I still do. I mean, this government has taken on a
calamitous series of problems but in a way that only increases my
enjoyment of the job because I do enjoy a crisis, it really gets the
adrenalin going.
His hang dog features are a complete contrast to the vivacity
and enthusiasm he obviously still has for the job. He remains one of
the most popular MPs in the commons, proudly counting members
from all sides of the house his friends. His honesty and frankness
also ensure he is kept in high regard with the public and regular
appearances on Question Time and The Andrew Marr Show only
serve to enhance his reputation.
Since Margaret Thatcher was ousted in 1990, Mr Clarke has put
himself forward as a candidate for leader of the party three times,
losing out in 1997 to William Hague, to Iain Duncan Smith in 2001
and in 2005 to David Cameron. “Yes that became one of my hob-
bies,” he guffaws, with a sense of regret he is trying to hide. “I haven’t
been left permanently traumatised by it but of course it’s something
I look back on with disappointment – it was the height of my ambi-
tion and I never achieved it.” He hurries onto our next topic.
Following his defeat in 2005 he retired to the backbenches, a
role he says he enjoyed very much. But in 2007 with New Labour
very much on the ropes, David Cameron looking to finally knock
the opposition out for the count brought his veteran big hitter back
into the ring. He was appointed shadow Business Secretary with his
opposite number being a certain Lord Mandelson.
However, press speculation has hinted at a far from harmoni-
ous relationship between the then leader of the opposition and Mr
Clarke with their differing views, particularly on Europe, forcing
them to agree to disagree. But what of his much talked about rela-
tionship with David Cameron?
“Weh, weh, weh, well,” his characteristic stutter still evident
even into his fifth decade in politics, “David and I get on fine.” He
pauses, running through the possible headlines that might come
from the next sentence he utters. “Let’s put it this way, it’s difficult
to get used to when your boss and leader of the country is younger
than your own son.” We both smile at each other and he looks me in
the eye trying to decipher the headline I’m thinking up. He rocks
back in his chair again leaving an awkward silence as he takes a few
sizable gulps from his now tepid brew. “I’ve never told a journalist
this before, but back in 2005 David and I were very close to form-
ing an alliance,” he finishes off the last few dregs of coffee, “we were
‘This government has
taken on a calamitous
series of problems but in
a way that only increases
my enjoyment of the job
because I do enjoy a crisis,
it really gets the adrenalin
going’
both at the one nation end of the party and talking about getting it
back to the sensible centre ground and away from the right wing and
obsession with just a limited number of subjects. Our close friends
persuaded us to think about an alliance and we reluctantly arranged
to have a meeting together.”
O
ur interview has now stretched way past the twenty
minute slot I was promised and I can hear the blind
man is getting agitated through the paper thin walls
of the mid-60s semi-detached townhouse. His sec-
retary knocks on the door to ask about the delay but
it seems Ken isn’t ready to talk about potholes just yet as he orders
another coffee. “Just the usual. Nice and strong,” he says. >>
27
 “Where were we,” he leans forward. “Ah yes. At the time I didn’t
think much to him. I thought he was inexperienced, a bit of a light-
weight and certainly didn’t think he had a chance of winning. So we
met up for lunch and I had the view that David would make a
fantastic number two for my campaign who in due course would
take over when I stood down. David thought I would make a bril-
liant number two for his campaign so the talks fell apart and there
was no alliance. I really didn’t think he stood a chance – he just
hadn’t been round long enough.”
Ken’s tone of voice switches with a regretful sigh as he rocks
back once more, “But that all changed at the party conference where Clockwise from left to right, Mr Clarke at the State
he delivered a quite remarkable speech. All of a sudden my support
started to melt away as people saw someone who was standing for Opening of Parliament May 2010, joking behind
all the same things as me but was younger and without the political David Cameron at the Party conference October
baggage from all the wars I have fought.” 2005 and smoking one of his trademark cigars
“But I’ve accepted now that it is the Cameron and Osborne
generation who will now lead this party and I will fully support them
as best I can.”
There is a knock at the door again - a polite reminder to get
me out and the next one in. “Yes, yes,” Ken is in no rush. After all
reminiscing about your life in politics with – if I do say so myself - a
polite young reporter is far more relaxing on a Saturday morning
than telling your constituents there is no money left for a new path-
‘I’ve accepted now that it is
way, local policeman, swings or teacher training.
He tells me he has no plans to retire despite fast approaching
the Cameron and Osborne
70. But what of his lasting legacy? “I would like to think that I made
a difference in every department I’ve been in but I’m most proud generation who will now
of my time at Treasury.” He is now sitting in his chair properly for
the first time in the interview. Back straight, chest out and chin up
(all four of them). “I took over with the country recovering from a
lead this party and I will
serious recession - there were high levels of unemployment and a
serious fiscal crisis, but with basic principles of fiscal and monetary
fully support them as best I
policy and a lot of persuasion to coax the government into doing
what I said I helped our economy recover and begin to prosper. So can’
my proudest achievement is handing over a healthy economy to
Gordon Brown – who then completely wrecked it.”
And his regrets? “None at all.” I don’t believe him.
He slams his mug down on Gordon Brown’s exaggerated face,
calls for another coffee and prepares to give his full attention to
pot holes.

28
 Welcome to Devil’s
Mountain
Teufelsberg, Berlin.
Towering above the constantly evolving city of Berlin,
this derelict Cold War relic whispers of forgotten Nazis,
bombs and espionage. Photos by William Peter Hull .
Words by Isabella Qvist.

The Berlin listening station used during the

Cold War is officially closed off but curious
explorers regularly climb through the fence,
stepping back in time as they do
 A
t first you can’t see it. All you can hear is
its structure creaking, the torn tent like
materials flapping in the wind and an
eerie feeling comes creeping as you leave
the leafy forest behind and are faced
with a place veiled in mystery. The inscription on the faded
blue sign directly ahead welcomes you to Teufelsberg, The
Devil’s Mountain.
On the foundation of a Nazi college so sturdy it
couldn’t be bombed away and on top of the rubble from
400 000 destroyed Berlin houses, the spying station used
by the Allies during the Cold War is a place full of intrigue
and plots. Hitler wanted to train future military generals
here. But the Führer’s chief architect Albert Speer, the man
entrusted with building the perfect Germania, had not
completed the shell of a military-technical college when
the Second World War broke out. So the design stayed
untouched as the bombs rained down on Europe.
Once Nazi Germany was defeated fifty percent of Ber-
lin’s inner city consisted of little more than dust, yet Speer’s
project remained standing - a needle in the eye of the
Allies who were determined to destroy it. But the founda-
tions withstood their explosives and so the architectural
relics of Berlin were dumped upon it, creating the biggest
and most historical hill in Berlin.
Used as a ski resort for a short while, the occupants
soon discovered its peak was perfect for picking up East
German radio signals. A listening station was placed on
top of the capital’s crumbles.
They may look like super sized golf balls, but the
spherical towers overlooking the Grünewalde forest con-
tained a high tech spying centre. They were used for many
years by the British and American intelligence services
working side by side to thwart Moscow. >>

Everything was dropped as Teufelsberg was evacuated in 1991.

Since, visitors have added their own colourful touch to the site.

Two tourists enjoying the view.

32 33
 It would have been one of Russia’s primary targets
had the Cold War actually erupted into open warfare.
Thanks to the spying equipment on Teufelsberg the
Western Allies could listen in on every word the Rus-
sians were saying, and the Eastern enemy had no idea.
On the 9th of November 1989 the Berlin wall
came down and with it the iron curtain dividing
Europe for almost thirty years. Teufelsberg radio sta-
tion was no longer needed and so the Golf Balls were
evacuated, spying activities dropped and unimportant
equipment abandoned. To this day you will find cables
hanging out of the now graffiti sprayed walls.
But that is not all. Having passed the faded blue
sign and climbed through holes in the fence surround-
ing the officially closed off area, you find yourself
inside a warehouse. Stepping on shattered glass, the
walls are sketched with messages from old Allied spies
alongside last week’s tourists. Through a tight porthole,
you ascend the rust riddled stairs leading to the blank
white domes. Here the acoustic is so eerie that your
voice automatically drops to a whisper and your arm The broken stairs and shattered windows are not for
hair bristles much like the torn canvas fluttering high the faint hearted
above the rounded roof.
Stepping out onto the terrace that connects the
domes, the wind grabs your hair and you really have to
really watch your step amidst the potholes and loose
floorboards. But your eyes are inevitably captured by
the sights Here you admire a bird’s eye view of Berlin
and its many new buildings, like a castle a debt strewn
economy simply cannot sustain.
Bang in the middle, on the tourist crammed
Museum Island an entertainment palace stood proud
during the GDR times. It was a symbol of what the
authoritarian state wanted to be and something a re-
unified Germany simply could not keep. Asbestos was
blamed when it was torn down in 2006 and now this
prime space is about to be filled with the reconstruc-
tion of a former royal castle.
Walking back down the green hill towards the
bike you left at the bottom, the tingling Teufelsberg
sensation stays with you and you can’t help but wonder
how a place like this could be left to rot.
There have been attempts at new projects on top of
Devil’s Mountain. In the late 1990s the plan to build
a luxury hotel and apartments on the site was much
debated but eventually collapsed. In 2007 Hollywood
director David Lynch, together with the Maharishi
Peace Trust, planned a world peace school on the site.
They soon found the government had classed the area
as forest, making any building on it impossible and so
again plans were abandoned.
For almost a decade the pale ghost of Devil’s
Mountain has been left to disintegrate and now the
government is finally debating its future. It’s too late
to turn the vandalised site into another well-kept
war memorial, yet many lobby against the suggested
destruction of the place. Old veterans feel it has too
much sentimental value, explorers love visiting it and
the general feeling is that the Berliners quite like the
thought of a self-made memorial keeping watch at
all times. An authentic, be it scrubby, memory layered
with mysteries from times forever lost. It seems ap-
pealing to a city that destroyed its GDR Palace in
favour of a new shiny castle.

Photographer William Peter Hull is a recent

graduate from The University of Sheffield
now living in Berlin

34 35
 10 Disappointments
Top
Ben James compiles this month’s top ten things in life that
promised so much, but delivered so little

1 8
1 Prince William - He graced the walls
of every teenage girl circa 2001. The regal
blond locks, toothy smile and his mum’s
charm. What on earth happened?

2wouldNostradamus – In 1999 “a great leader

come out the sky” and the world
would end in multi-million-pound Holly-
wood blockbuster fashion. It didn’t. He also
predicts that the world will end in December
2012. Let’s hope he continues to disappoint.
8birthplace
Greece: The centre of the ancient world,
3off pathway
Stonehenge - You shuffle round a roped
of democracy, the Olympics and
land of the Gods. It’s now slumped in the
with innumerable bum-bag gutter of Europe begging for spare change
wearing American tourists whilst holding off the Union. Zeus would be disappointed.
what looks like an pre-1990s mobile phone
to your ear - let’s face it, probably in some
form of rain. You can’t touch them, you can’t
walk under them, in fact you can’t really get
9worldThewasMillennium Bug – The Western
going to plunge into darkness,
within 30 metres of them. tinned food sold out across the country and
scaremongering secret government contin-
4ise travel
Segways: It was supposed to revolution-
gency plans were leaked. Nothing happened.
and change the way cities were
10

3
designed. Faster than walking and without Tim Henman: For two weeks every
the physical exertion of a bike - they should year in late June near 60 million people got
be brilliant. They are in fact bulky, expensive behind a well spoken buck toothed chap
and in 2006 a software glitch caused the from the home counties and every year he
machines to suddenly reverse causing riders would bottle it. Now we rest our hopes on
to fall off. No thanks. some angsty little brat from Scotland.

10
5thereTheas new Star Wars films - We’ve all been
a kid, standing in front of the mirror
in your dad’s oversized dressing gown whilst
waving around your mum’s roll of tin foil
pretending to be Mark Hamill and Harrison
Ford. Jar Jar Binks and Liam Neeson some-
how just don’t have the same effect.

5 6 Lost: Can you remember the first

couple of series? Compulsive viewing.
Proper water cooler stuff. Newspapers were
full of supposed leaked scripts and writers
were kept anonymous. Then things just got

7
too weird.

7 Swine Flu: Diana and Maddy were

bumped off the front page of The Express
and Tamiflu became Christmas 2009’s most
wanted. The words ‘pandemic’, ‘epidemic’
and ‘underlying health difficulties’ were
muttered in every other sentence and we
all came a little too familiar with a certain
Sir Liam Donaldson. It all turned out to be
little more than a mild flu.

36
Generation Afghanistan
I
t’s been nine years since we watched the planes career into the Twin Towers. Everyone
remembers where they were when it happened. How it felt to watch those early images
of smoke plumes rising up from the debris and knowing it was the start of something
significant. A month later George W Bush announced Operation Enduring Freedom
and the Coalition went to war with Al-Qaeda.
Few generations have escaped the effects of militarism. Ours is no exception. As this issue
goes to print in June 2010, the British death toll is nearing 300, the injured almost 4,000 and
there are only vague strategies and dates for troop withdrawals in sight. This month’s Thinq
cover story talks to the people behind the statistics. The foot-soldiers in Bush’s War on Terror,
we find out what it’s like to be on the frontline of the battles that will define nearly a decade of
conflict.
These are the faces and the stories behind Generation Afghanistan.
British troops board a Chinook British troops on a foot-patrol Helmand Province

night shift. You have to be prepared for the unexpected. of explosives (a large one is normally around 50 kilograms). Thankfully

The frontline soldier

But this flexibility and ability to work effectively regardless of what there were no serious casualties in the attack and we have our more
time you got up, what you’ve eaten, or what time of day it is, is a point advanced equipment to thank for this.
of pride amongst the men. It’s our unique quality. It’s what sets us For many out here – myself included – the hardest part is the con-

2nd Lieutenant
apart from our civilian counterparts and something we are very proud tinuous feeling of missing loved ones, friends, families and weekends.
of.
And the work is demanding, on the body as well as the mind. Our
kit alone can weigh up to 50 kilograms, but you have to remain sharp

Ross Keiderling due to the complexities of a counter insurgency war and the hundreds
of potential hiding places from which a gunman could hit you.
Before each patrol and before leaving the safety of the operating
‘It can be difficult to
comprehend at times, when
Age: 22
base, there is the natural wave of nerves which accompany the aches
and rubs of the heavy kit. I always think that moments like this must
trouble the minds of the commanders more than the rest of us. They your enemy is mixed amongst
have to make the split-second decisions which could put us all in
danger. the local population. In a
Of course we’re troubled too. But our own worries are quickly
moment a situation can shift

I
t’s not much, but it’s home. For now at least. This personal
space – however small or basic – is vital for me if I’m going to
be operationally functional for the duration of a six month tour.
It’s not exactly comfortable, but the personal touches, a letter
from home, a photo of my fiancé – they provide all the comfort
I need. And it’s vital to take advantage of any amount of luxury I can. I
doubt many at home would regard one shower per week as luxury, but
out here, that’s exactly what it is.
You have to settle in quickly, but conditions don’t always make that
easy, what with the heat and the dust. You have to acclimatise almost
straight away. And out here, no two days are ever the same. One morn-
ing you will be having a 4am breakfast and the next could be dinner at
6pm and the first meal you will eat that day, before starting work on a
40
overridden by the task at hand, whether it’s pushing into insurgent
strongholds, clearing routes of Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs)
or engaging with the local population. A private soldier can find
themselves doing any number of these tasks in any one day. It can be
difficult to comprehend at times, when your enemy is mixed amongst
the local population. In a moment a standard situation can shift to a
matter of life and death.
It’s the IEDs that remain the greatest threat here, regularly
claiming lives and limbs. What saves us is the effectiveness of our kit
and the thoroughness of the drills we are taught in countering them.
During my tour with the Royal Welsh, the number of IEDs found
and destroyed before they had a chance to damage us tallied way into
the thousands. On our first patrol, the lead Mastiff tank was hit by an
IED. The engineers estimated it to have contained 150-200 kilograms
to a matter of life and death.’
Many will get the chance to have rest and recuperation time at home
following a six month tour. What a lot of people don’t realise is that
following their leave, a battalion will begin preparations for their next
tour almost immediately.
My time spent in Afghanistan has generally been positive, this
is after all what my months of tedious and relentless training were
for. But positive aspects can be hard for those back home to find. The
negatives are always the focus of the media. >>
41
 I
t feels like something out of a film.
You’re just doing the ironing or painting your nails during
the adverts of Neighbours. You’re often talking to someone you
love, your Mum over the phone as she clears out a wardrobe or
your best friend whose convinced she’s too fat.
And it’s just when you feel so comfortable and so in tune with the
boring and normal parts of everyday life. That’s when it happens.
News reports interrupt more than just the programme you’re
watching. They interrupt everything. They disrupt you mid sentence,
mid breath and mid gesture. Even the regular patterns of your heart,
something as normal as the basic functions of the body, come to a
crashing halt. Everything pauses as you tune into the familiar phrases.
“Car bombing, casualties, soldier injured.”
Or maybe a raid gone wrong, reported deaths but unconfirmed
names and numbers.
“Families are yet to be notified.”
Then that horrible guilt when you hope it’s someone else’s boy-
friend and someone else’s phone call.
What people don’t realise about war time is that not a great deal
changes when the love of your life is deployed to Afghanistan. My
boyfriend Heath left three months ago to serve in the 4th Regiment
Royal Artillery and it has kind of gone just as expected. I cried louder
than our two-year-old ever managed, I miss him more than I can

The girlfriend possibly explain in this quick article. But life goes on much pretty
undisturbed. In school we learned about the Total War efforts of 1914,
when whole countries put their heart and soul behind the troops

Samantha Sherring
serving abroad. I just go to my job as a hair dresser five days a week.
Sometimes it sort of catches me out just how smoothly things have
gone- it feels like we’ve had it perhaps a little bit too lucky. Like we

Age: 25
‘I cried louder than our two-
year-old ever managed, I miss
him more than I can possibly
explain in this quick article’
still have everything to lose.
What’s new about our war is we are more connected with the
troops than any other generation of loved ones waiting at home. I’m on
Facebook, Twitter and Skype. I’m also a member of SWAGS (Soldier’s
wives and girlfriends), so I’m constantly in touch with other people
in the same position. The moment we hear about a reported injury or
death, hundreds of women are immediately online, comparing stories
and trying to piece together information.
We also have an email service that prints off our messages and de-
livers them to the frontline within a week, though I’m not so keen on
it because I’m pretty sure someone along the line reads it. I see Heath
over webcam every couple of weeks. It’s not in the flesh but you have
to be grateful cause it’s a hell of a lot more than a letter sent on some
ship that hopefully reaches the right muddy trench. He’s had friends
from his regiment killed and he can mention it to me but can’t really
tell me details. I often don’t know how to be there for him or comfort
him when he’s so far away. We both know I have no way of compre-
hending how he’s feeling.
He’s due home in exactly three weeks, four days and nine hours
as I type this. It doesn’t matter how comfortable or normal it starts to
feel, I’ll always keep counting down.
The returned soldier
Rifleman Jet Ryan
Age: 23
Wotton Bassett pays their respect to more
fallen soldiers
while that this day was coming and I’d had time to well and truly get Another thought that weighed heavily on my mind when serving,
my head around everything.
But I couldn’t believe how dusty it was. We had been warned about
often in the down-time when I wasn’t under any direct threat, was the
question of how morally correct my time in Afghanistan had been.
it, but nothing could have prepared me for field after field of empty On some occasions we had to refuse the civilians medical treat-
landscapes. It felt like entering a parched wasteland and the heat was
oppressive. Suddenly the tasks we had trained for, like carrying more
than half of our body weight in the bags on our backs, were new and ‘On some occasions
stressful again. But this is what we were trained for. This is our job,
and that often seems to be forgotten – the fact that the majority of we had to refuse the
these young men and women wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I can
remember being far more worried about my girlfriend at home than I
was for myself in Afghanistan.
civilians medical treatment
and send them away. We
It is a surreal experience watching the coverage of events from the
frontline on television. From the high points to the terrors, our time
there isn’t something that could ever be compressed into a 30 second knew their injuries were bad
enough that it meant we
news clip and it certainly doesn’t fit into the formats of the movies. I
know they want the ratings and I understand bloodshed sells, but it
can be a frustrating to see how much emphasis it always receives.
In the heat of the moment, every second is vital. As soldiers we
were sending them to die, but
rely on information given to us by people in better positions to pass
judgment. We then have to act immediately on this information. It’s a
we just weren’t allowed to let
matter of trust and often when we are sent to carry out a planned task, them in.’

I
n Afghanistan, often without any warning, situations change
entirely. I had just sat down for dinner when there was a loud
explosion. I looked up and there were tracer rounds flying just
above me. I remember thinking it looked like Star Wars. We all
ran up onto the roof and returned fire at the enemy position.
The smell of cordite filled the air and the plumes of smoke and fire cast
an eerie glow over the landscape. I remember the thrill of the adrena-
line, it was like nothing I’d experienced before.
When I arrived in Afghanistan I felt calm. I’d known for quite a
42
somewhere deep in the back of our minds, we naturally wonder if this
mission could be the last.
Late one evening, we were asked to lay an ambush on a known
enemy supply route in the green zone. I was at the rear of the group,
trying to protect the patrol from attack. It got so dark so quickly that I
couldn’t see more than five metres in front of me.
That was probably the most scared I was the whole six months. We
were in direct contact with the enemy and I thought I was going to
get shot. It’s not something you can ponder for long, your friends are
depending on you to remain calm.
ment and send them away. We knew their injuries were bad enough
that it meant we were sending them to die, but we just allowed to let
them in.
These are the situations in war where you heart thinks you should
do one thing and you head thinks another. But at the end of the day
you have to follow orders, and that’s what I was there to do.
They like to say that all’s fair in love and war. But it’s certainly
never easy. Take it from someone who was there. >>
43

‘The other three walked away
without a scratch but Ben got
his legs wrapped around the
gun turret which kept him in
the blast. The injuries were
horrendous.‘
‘Ben will need care for the rest
of his life. He’ll never do the
ordinary things, he’ll never
drive, it’s very difficult to see
that he’ll ever have a family of
his own.’
44
The wounded soldier
Lance Bombardier
Ben Parkinson
Age: 26
Ben Parkinson is the most severely injured British soldier
to make it home from Afghanistan. Along with numerous
broken bones, he also suffered brain damage – which
has severely affected his speech. His mother, Diane, spoke
for him.
H
e had less than a fortnight until he was due home.
We were sitting in the living room when there was
a knock at the door. There was a man standing in
a green army uniform so we knew it wasn’t good
news. I panicked and started screaming “Not my
Ben, not my Ben.” It was just pure disbelief.
He had wanted to be in the Army since he was a small boy –
pretty much as soon as he started talking. He joined at 16 and travelled
all over the world. Then at 22 everything changed.
He was in an unarmed Land Rover with three friends. One was
driving, one in the passenger seat and Ben was in the gun turret at the
back. They were crossing a dried-up river bed when they hit a 30-year-
old Russian land mine. The explosion was right under the back axel
and Ben took the full force. If it was an armoured vehicle then he
would have died but because it wasn’t he was just picked up and
thrown. The other three walked away without a scratch but Ben got his
legs wrapped around the gun turret which kept him in the blast.
The injuries were horrendous. He lost both his legs above the
knee, he lost his spleen, both lungs collapsed, broke four vertebrae in
his back, broke his coccyx, his pelvis, his left arm, six of his fingers,
his jaw in four places, his cheek, his nose, every single rib and had five
fractures to his skull. But worst of all was his brain damage.
Ben will need care for the rest of his life. He’ll never do the ordi-
nary things, he’ll never drive and it’s very difficult to see that he’ll ever
have a family of his own. The army have been absolutely magnificent.
Ben’s regiment were devastated, they lost two young officers just before
his injury and they just didn’t know what to do. They’d been through
the war in Iraq and hadn’t had a single casualty and then all of a sud-
den there was this. The boys came in droves to visit him straight off
the plane from Afghanistan, often before they went to see their actual
families. His regiment have been second to none.
Most boys with Ben’s level of brain injury go into residential care,
we but we weren’t going to have that for Ben. As a family we were in
the very fortunate position that we could help him. We modified the
bungalow which meant that we virtually rebuilt it and the local news-
paper even bought him a car to help us take him down to the Army
Rehabilitation Centre, Headley Court, in London. They were fantastic.
The Ministry of Defence (MOD) is a completely different story.
They were completely and utterly unprepared for the thousands of
injuries and hundreds of deaths. Misinformation, lack of facilities, lack
of training, the pitiful income scheme, and the constant changing of
staff. It has been a nightmare, an absolute nightmare. We care for every
one of these boys, they are our boys. We’ve seen them bond as a unit
and how they care for one another and then to witness the complete
lack of any strategy or planning - I can’t even begin to describe how
angry it makes me.
But there are good people at the top. General Dannett spoke out
for his men. He didn’t do what most people in his position do and wait
until they have retired and have a book coming out. He spoke up there
and then for his men and was denied the top job because of it. General
Dannett had the support of the boys and he was a good General.
Now there is just this revolving door policy at the MOD. There
is a constant stream of people going in and out. It’s like they are just
putting them there until they find somewhere better to move on to. It’s
a disgrace and it’s not good enough for these boys.
he was patrolling the market place. He still thinks about it but he can
live with it because he did what was required to protect himself and
the people around him. I’d like to think I could deal with it in the same
way. My biggest fear though is being shot down and captured. We’ve
had extensive training to prepare us for it but there is pretty much only
one way that it’s going to end if you fall into the wrong hands.
I had to write my will last year which was really strange. You kind
‘I’m keen to get out there...
It’s not a case of war
mongering or bloodlust. It’s
to do with wanting to be in-
volved and make a difference
in what has really become
the war of my generation.’
of finally face up to the fact that you could die at any moment. To be
honest worst of all though was realising that I had nothing to give
away.
Waiting to be deployed As I say though, despite all this I can’t wait to get out there. As a
pilot, we work generally out of a main base and have little contact with
the locals. It is a shame as the Afghans have such a rich and interesting
Flying Officer Tom Hobbs
culture and it would be nice to be able to work with them personally
like the soldiers on the ground do. The work is tough - 24 hours a day
and seven days a week, so there’s little scope for time off. From what
Age: 23
my friends say, it’s a good place to save money and get fit.
I honestly believe that we are doing a good thing out in Afghani-
stan. We are helping to make Britain a safer place and also trying to
help empower the people of Afghanistan. So many people say we
shouldn’t be there because war is a bad thing. I agree, war is a terrible
thing but so is international terrorism and religious oppression. You
can’t make a difference by sitting around and moaning about the state
O
of the world. I hope that what we are doing out there is for the greater
f course I’m scared of dying. It’s just something I try not good of Afghanistan.
to think about. From what my friends say, when you’re
getting shot at you get used to it very quickly and learn
to carry on with the job in hand. I think fear will keep
me focused and that’s probably a good thing, but I don’t
want to die - there’s so much I still want to do.
I joined the Royal Air Force (RAF) when we were in both Iraq
and Afghanistan and so I knew full well that I would probably see
action in one of the two theatres. It may sound strange but I’m keen to
get out there and put my training to good use. It’s taken me over four
years to get to this stage where I am able to be deployed as a front line
pilot and many of my close friends are out there as I write this. It’s not
a case of war mongering or bloodlust. It’s to do with wanting to be
involved and make a difference in what has really become the war of
my generation.
All my school friends went to different Universities around the
country to learn skills to help them get jobs and hopefully benefit soci-
ety. I joined the RAF instead and I hope I can benefit society as well.
The training has been very thorough and intense and I have no
doubt that I have the skills to survive out there. Whether anyone can
ever feel fully prepared to go to war though is another matter. There
is a lot at stake if you mess up. It’s frustrating seeing my friends go
before me. I have lots of close mates out there now, doing the job,
saving lives and getting shot at. They come home with great stories
and I do feel left out at the moment. Then there’s the flip side. I know
people who have been badly injured. I tend not to worry too much
about my friends out there. They’ve had the same training that I’ve had
and I wouldn’t want people to worry about me. In a military career it’s
inevitable that you will lose friends but I’ll worry about that when it A Chinock on operations in
happens. Afghanistan
I do think a lot about what it will be like out there. People often
ask me if I would be able to kill someone. I think killing becomes a lot Generation Afghanistan contributors:
easier when they’re trying to kill you. I have a friend who had to kill Karl Hoddell, Alice Johnson, Ben James and
someone at close range in Iraq when a man pulled a gun on him while Chris Anstey.
45
 FIBBING
Environmental claims that are
simply false.

Example – products commonly

claim to be Energy Star certified or
registered.

WORSHIPPING FALSE LABELS
A product that, through either words or images,
gives the impression of third-party endorsement
where no such endorsement exists. Fake labels,
in other words.
NO PROOF
A claim with no easily accessible supporting
evidence or any from a reliable third-party
certification.
Example – Face or toilet tissues often claim
various percentages of post-consumer recycled
content without providing evidence.

The 7
sins of THE HIDDEN TRADE OFF
When a product is suggested to be green but
WHAT TO LOOK OUT FOR

greenwashing
its narrow set of attributions don’t take other
important environmental issues into account.

Example - Paper. Not necessarily environmen-

tally-preferable just because it comes from a
sustainably-harvested forest. Other important IRRELEVANCE
environmental issues in the paper-making An environmental claim that may
process, such as greenhouse gas emissions, or be truthful but is unimportant or
chlorine use in bleaching are equally important. unhelpful for consumers seek-
ing environmentally preferable
products.

Example - ‘CFC-free’
CFCs are already banned in this
country.
Thysanocarpus curvipes - (Lace Pod) from Antelope
Valley California. Photo Stephen Reynolds. LESSER OF TWO EVILS
A claim that may be true

I
n the cold neon glow of the supermarket lights thou-
sands of products line the shelves. They compete for our
attention, our money, our loyalty. But with peaking inter-
est in climate change many consumers wanting to make
a more informed decision are being misled. This act of
being duped by marketing claiming false environmental
credentials is known as greenwashing.
This good natured attempt to make small changes
and help the planet is being exploited. With vague
claims and unproven promises, companies have discov-
ered that consumers are also
willing to pay more for an
eco, green, polar bear friendly,
‘98% of the
product.
Labels boasting environ-
products broke
mental benefits are far from
new. However, it is a growing
at least one sin’
trend gaining momentum. Green advertising has nearly tripled since
2006 and increased almost 10 fold in the last 20 years, according to a
2009 TerraChoice report.
Another study published in June 2009, by Consumer Focus,
indicated that, despite 54 per cent of consumers buying more envi-
ronmentally responsible products than two years ago, 64 per cent find
it difficult to know which products are better for the environment.
Nearly the same number also believes some companies pretend to be
green simply to charge higher prices.
within the product category,
but distracts from the great-
er environmental impacts of
With environmental buzzwords flying around such as ‘carbon the category as a whole.
neutral’, ‘zero carbon’, ‘eco-friendly’, ‘natural’ or ‘sustainable’ it is easy to
get caught up in the confusion. Example - Organic
The positive side is that if marketers are responding to the demand cigarettes or a more
for sustainable products a positive trend may be emerging, behind the fuel-efficient sports car
greenwash.
However, if left unchecked it creates significant risks. Especially
as the most common household products such as kids toys, baby gear,
cosmetics and cleaning products have the highest concentration of
greenwashing claims.
If consumers are being misled, trust is misplaced and the potential
for an environmental benefit of a purchase is wasted. The increased
competition in the sector will reduce market share of the legitimate
products on sale, slowing the spread of real innovation.
Cynicism and doubt creeps in and spreads to cover all environ-
mental claims, effectively ruining it for everyone. Consumers may also
give up on trying to make a difference if the perception is they are
having no impact. VAGUENESS
We should not be too disheartened though. This fundamental A claim that is so poorly defined or broad that
increase in ‘green’ product selection is a strong signal that the green its real meaning is likely to be misunderstood by
consumer movement is having good effect. the consumer.
The challenge laid down by TerraChoice is to discourage green-
washing by putting practical tools in the hands of consumers and com- Example - ‘All-natural’
panies, while still encouraging and rewarding genuine efforts towards Arsenic, uranium, mercury, and formalde-
sustainable innovation. Their Seven Sins of Greenwashing is a guide hyde are naturally occurring, and poisonous.
on how to dodge the bogus claims. ‘All natural’ isn’t necessarily ‘green’.

46 Dandelion in the wind. Photo Rob Veen

 THE
Isabella Qvist investigates the elusive future of
the music industry, discovering that it concerns
FUTURE OF MUSIC?
not just high flying record company bosses and
struggling artists, but people like you and me.

T
he contemporary world of music is a
strange place. Lady Gaga tops the charts
worldwide with her CocaCola sponsored
hairstyles, Facebook petitions deter-
mine the Christmas Number One and
we can’t imagine life without Spotify on
our iPhones. Few things are changing as
quickly as our attitudes towards music
and while our love for it is universal, the
way we access it is not.
With Obama rolling out public wifi in the US, empowerment
through digital access has become reality for over 300 million
people. While many of us can’t imagine life without it, the internet
was only commercialised in 1996. The question of copyright and
access to online content has been debated ever since, yet it was not
until Napster appeared in 2000 that the tingling worry at the back
of the minds of record companies burst into a full scale headache.
The record boom of the 1980s, the decade when a whole generation
Madonna. Eventually most major record companies came together quality will be lessened and finally they will experience a complete their music. Or whether the alternative, that technology will contin-
replaced their vinyl collections with CDs, was over and hardcopy
to sue Napster on three separate points of copyright infringement internet cut off. The act was debated for three hours in a deserted ue to outsmart a long time money making industry, will continue to
was going to mean nothing in the age of downloading.
and in July 2001 the service shut down. Parliament but was finally passed and will come into effect on June flourish. Record companies have in Lilian’s mind, survived way past
Keith Blackhurst, Senior Vice President of OfficialCommunity,
Yet the world had only seen the beginning of file sharing. Once 12. It was virtually un-reported in the media. their sell by date. “The record company is a dinosaur, its prime days
the leading company for creating artist’s online communities, was
the idea was born, there was no stopping it as LimeWire and other Online, people went crazy. were in the 1980s when everyone replaced their vinyl with CDs.”
part of that boom. Together with fellow student Peter Hadfield in
similar services flourished. The government is hoping to scare file sharers through asking Scott Cohen understands how hard it is for large companies,
1987 he founded DeConstruction Records. The label was heavily
Fourteen years later the traditional music industry is facing Ofcom for offenders’ IP addresses. As to how they plan to prove who with millions invested in their old ways, to change. He argues that
involved in the early days of the house scene and later signed artists
was using the computer at the time is still unknown. the love for music isn’t lost because of their money fixation. “It’s still
such as Kylie Minogue. He remembers a time when music sharing
Lilian Edwards, Professor of Internet Law at The University of about art and magic… That’s the great part of the music industry, it
via the Internet was something only “some smart kids at university”
Sheffield and the country’s leading expert on the matter, is sceptical. just happens, we just have to find who it is happening to.”
were fiddling around with. “The major record labels at the time were
so busy wallowing in the flow from the CD boom that they really
didn’t think that the internet and digital delivery was going to be as
‘The record company is “The people who are going to get caught are the people who are re-
ally very innocent, like your nan or a young child. There are so many
And happen it does. The fans love their idols as much today as
they did when Madonna touched the charts for the very first time.
big a factor as it was. It wasn’t really taken seriously.”
Someone who saw the internet’s potential from the beginning
a dinosaur, its prime days ways of getting around it and the people it will catch are those who
don’t understand or who only download one or two songs.”
Only now their expectations no longer rest on MTV showing them
the newest video but on regularly updated Twitter, Facebook and
is Scott Cohen. Today manager of the band The Raveonettes, he is a
highly regarded thinker in the digital music age. In 1997 he founded
were in the 1980s when What really upsets her is the bill’s potential threat towards basic
human rights. “It’s guilt by accusation. The case is only taken to the
MySpace accounts.
The fans have gone digital. Now the industry needs to follow.
what became the digital distribution site The Orchard.
“We would log onto AOL and see people chatting about Nine
everyone replaced their vinyl court if the accused person wishes to appeal. Meanwhile the cost of
appealing and how evidence would be gathered is still unknown.”
Perhaps the answers lie overseas. In Sweden, the land that gave
us Spotify, new ideas keep on appearing. Martin Thörnqvist is from
Inch Nails and then we would send each person personalised emails
saying ‘hey we have an artist called Godhead, check it out and we
with CDs’ The idea of a three strikes system comes from France, where it
has been knocked down as unconstitutional twice but it keeps com-
a company called Swedish Model. He says it’s impossible to say yes
or no to file sharing.
ing back. “It is something that exists and can’t be removed. Get started
can send you a CD.’ We started thinking, if we could send informa-
On April 12 2010, Gordon Brown made a speech calling the and put the energy towards driving the development instead of try-
tion, why not send music online?”
internet a basic human right and still, because of the internet’s ing to slow it down…if you are creative and the music you make is
Then in 1999 came, what Keith Blackhurst called, “the big
importance in terms of freedom of speech, education, work and e- good then there will always be space for you.”
change”.
a crisis. We are no longer interested in paying to fill our houses government access, criminal courts have deemed it undemocratic to In a year’s time The Digital Economy Bill will face its first review
Napster arrived, paving the way for anonymous peer-to-peer file
with plastic cases when we can put all their content onto one little disconnect anyone from it. and another vote is to be held in Parliament. By this time Facebook
distribution programmes. It was the first to offer user friendly file
portable device for free. The problem the music business now faces Lilian also remains dubious about a government banning tech- campaigns may well be able to determine more than simply the
sharing and it posed an open challenge to the major record compa-
is convincing us to pay for something we are used to taking as we nological advancements. Christmas Number Ones. Where the music industry will stand by
nies.
please. “It’s about progress. We didn’t pass laws to make hand weavers then it is impossible to say. All the experts know is that it needs to
All was well until heavy metal band Metallica discovered their
The Government is attempting to tackle the problem by intro- illegal.” change, but one thing remains certain - that music will always em-
entire back catalogue, including an unreleased single, was available
ducing the Digital Economy Act 2010. The act will work on a three Time will only tell if government action will scare us into paying power people, people like you and me.
via the site. They filed a law suit against the company, with rapper
strikes system. Warning letters will be sent out, offenders’ internet for the blood, sweat, and broken guitar strings an artist has put into
Dr Dre soon following suit, as well as other big names including

50 51

Machine Head guitarist Phil Demmel is a
musician behind the goods we are fighting over.
He gives Isabella Qvist the insider’s view.
Where do you stand on downloading, streaming
and the future of the music industry?
You know, it’s just about following the technology, man. I can’t say
that it sucks because I used to do it when I was a kid. I was syncing
up my dubbing station with my cassettes… I was doing the same
thing. It’s always been a part of what’s going on, it’s just that it’s so
easy now when it’s just a flick of a button and you don’t even have to
know somebody who has the record, you just go online. It’s just the
nature of the beast.
Where do you think it is all going?
I don’t know, I don’t know. I mean the whole Internet thing in
general can be very evil if you use it for wrong. It’s like a super
power, do you use it for good or for evil? It’s about how people use it
and hopefully it is for the greater good.
New bands depend on social networking sites
such as MySpace and Twitter.
I think it’s a great tool for bands on that level. I mean it’s great to
52
‘The Internet is like a
super power.
Do you use it for good
or for evil?’
Machine Head guitarist Phil Demmel
be seen and it’s great to be noticed. The whole Twitter thing, I don’t
know. It’s cool for kids, but I just think it turns adults into kids. I’ve
seen some really immature things happen to 40 year olds with that
thing but as far as bands go I think it’s an amazing tool.
Do you still buy CDs?
Sometimes, yeah. But I’m on the road a lot so it’s easier for me to just
go to iTunes and grab it or take my buddy’s and rip it, you know. Yes,
I do that, I do that. Everybody in my band does that and everybody
I know does that, so if anybody’s going stand up there and be all like
preachy then it’s like ‘you’re doing the same goddamn thing so shut
up!’
Is touring necessary in a different way now that
people don’t buy CDs?
I think it’s absolutely necessary, yeah, especially for a band like us.
We have to tour, that’s how people know us, that’s how we’ve have
maintained our popularity. We’re a great live band and that’s what it
comes down to. You can play all you want but if you’re not good then
people aren’t going to come back.

‘I was screaming for my husband to
come under the blanket with us
because I wanted him to die with me’
Surviving the inferno
Every year, bushfire season in Australia heralds the approach of
three months of heat, destruction and inevitably human deaths.
Sonja Parkinson tells Alice Johnson what it was like to be trapped
in the centre of the worst blaze in the nation’s history.
T
he coarse hessian sack thin creek which snakes across the
is damp against your northern end of your citrus orchard.
skin as you fold it The fire is burning 30 meters higher
across your son’s small than the tips of the foliage. And as the
blonde head and push flames eat towards ground level, they
him under the water. All you can hear sear through the oxygen around you.
are Eucalyptus trees exploding. Euca- Your thin cotton dress melts away from
lyptus oil, lifeblood of the ancient trees, flesh. Your skin peels back from the
is being brought to the boil, erupting muscle. You hold your son tightly, sink
the thick brown stumps with a violent down into the hot water and through
heat which presses against flesh and the murky liquid watch as the red
melts rubber soles. After three hours blossoms of the firestorm close over you.
on the move, the only place left is the
54
Ash settles on the burnt-out bushland near Wittlesea
Smoke dominates Wittlesea’s
skyline.
S
onja Parkinson’s day had
begun much the same as any
other in bushfire season. By
mid-morning, the heat had
settled over the house like
a blanket and the stillness of the outside
world was interrupted only by the squeals
of her young son in the living room as the
regular news reports crackled across the air-
waves. Everyone was aware of the fire’s pres-
ence, the smell of smoke sweetly familiar.
Sonja and her husband Colin had dutifully
readied their small mud brick-home. The
gutters cleared, the lawns mown, buckets of
water dotted across the old wooden veranda
like footsoldiers guarding a fortress. “We all
knew what we had to do,” Sonja said. “The
fires had been a threat every year, so we had
the process of getting the property ready
down like clockwork. It was just at that
point where all we could do was wait.”
The question was murmured on eve-
ryone’s lips throughout the small outback
town as old women sold raffle tickets and
young girls skipped under sprinklers. “What
if the fire reaches us? Should we run, or stay
and fight?” Young and old men of the local
Fire Brigade lingered along the dusty main
road, leaning against park railings, tipping
their brimmed hats at one another and lick-
ing a finger to check the direction of the
wind. The entire small community, like all
of the villages along the Victorian coast-
line, was holding its breath, quietly packing
up family photos, name-tagging any ani-
mals and smiling brightly for their children.
Colin and Sonja had agreed a plan. When
the time came they’d pack their bags and
drive their two-year-old to safety. They were
not firefighters and they had no plans for he-
roics. “I knew a lot of our neighbours were
planning on staying,” Sonja said. “They’d
been on the land all their lives, they had seen
fires come and go. They couldn’t comprehend
not fighting for their homes and their liveli-
hoods.” Both ex-musicians, Colin and Sonja
met in a small Melbourne jazz club in the
1960s. Switching off the flickering television
images of yet another small town gutted by
the progress of the fire, the pair had played
the mellow sounds of their instruments.
The day had passed drowsily, the night had
settled if not cooled. The family had slept.
I
t wasn’t the drone of a jet engine
as Sonja had drowsily imagined.
It was a sudden realization that,
in the early morning stillness, the
blaze had jumped the southern
firewall. She and Colin threw on the closest
clothes, a thin cotton dress she had worn the
day before. Grabbing a bag of nappies and
the computer hard-drive, they bundled Sam
into his car-seat of the old Ford and set off
away from the hot spot.
She knew it was pointless within min-
utes. The fire lapped closer to the road side.
A black scarred eucalyptus had fallen across
the road ahead and as they silently turned the
car around, streams of animals began emerg-
ing from the bushland. Sonja watched the
gruesome parade through the soot-streaked
window, as kangaroos hopped desperately
beside cattle and sheep, fur and flesh con-
sumed by angry flames. “It was sickening to
watch. It seemed as if everything was alight >>
55
Blaze rips through the Victorian countryside
Water carrying helicopters hover above the Australian bushland
and we could feel the heat against the sides of the car. At one
point Sammy started to cry after touching the boiling windows, but
then he was screaming when he saw a little wallaby hopping along on
fire. There was no way Col or I could even begin to explain it to him”.
Back in their drive way, Sonja waved over their three next
door neighbours and quickly bundled back into their house, lay-
ing the dogs and children on the cool lino floor. They couldn’t
escape by car. Running on foot was a death trap. To divert the
‘Believing this to be the end,
Sonja hummed the melodies
of an old blues tune to her
softly crying son.’
fire’s path they would have to rely on the preparations of their
house - the empty space of their mown lawns, the garden hos-
es saturating the soil and the massive rock-wall to the south.
The three families all knew this was pointless the moment
the ember attack began. Burning chunks of wood and trees mis-
siled down on the small house. Coals lodged in gutters, wedged
between roof tiles. Their home was ablaze within minutes.
Sonja scooped up Sam and ran through their home,
56 Sonja, Sam and Colin inspect the damage
to their property following the fire.
now collapsing under their pressure of the flames.
“The two front rooms were ablaze,”
she said. “I couldn’t see. It was black.”
She remembers hearing her husband’s shout to head to the creek
bed, running through darkness as her kitchen erupted behind her.
“As we left the house, I thought that we were going to die. When
our house was burning, the roof and attic about to fall in, we ran out the
front door, knowing we’d no choice but to take our chances outside.”
Sonja ran past the old Ford Sedan, now ablaze and gutted.
Past the swing set bought for Sam’s second birthday, also alight.
The Wittlesea evacuation station lay eight kilometers to the
east, and the hundreds of small crown fires which race through
the highest points of the treetops had finally joined together.
Down the steep embankment and into the muddy waters. “It
was shallow, a summer creek, but there was just enough water,
a puddle.” Wrapping Sam, Sonja submerged herself. “We had a
blanket over us in the creek and we huddled with the dog and two
neighbours and two lyrebirds. I was screaming for Colin to come
under the blanket with us because I wanted him to die with me.”
The blaze lasted nearly an hour. Sonja remembers the hot breath
of her Border Collie, the quiet whimpers of her son and the constant
deafening drone of the fire. More and more native animals crowded
under their makeshift shelter, seeking protection as their habitat
turned to ash. The water of the small creek bed which sheltered them
was brought to the boil, and finally evaporated. Believing this to be the
end, Sonja hummed the melodies of an old blues tune to her softly cry-
ing son. She couldn’t believe how bravely he had acted. Just as the thick
moist blanket, the final line of defense, combusted, the winds changed
direction and raced the layers of flame and smoke away with them.
Sonja, Colin and Sam survived. The family
stumbled up the embankment streaked in muddy
soot and broken skin. Their home was left as rubble,
the twisted and smoking metal of their instruments
one of the few things which remained. More than
170 Victorians did not. They died in a natural disas-
ter which ranks as the worst in Australian history.
Over 400 individual fires were scattered across the
countryside on February 7 2009. The damage and
loss of life has been remembered simply as ‘Black
Saturday’. The majority of the blazes are thought to
have been lit deliberately, the product of a pyroma-
niac’s craving which Sonja and Colin simply cannot
comprehend. One year on, the armed forces have
been marched out of the devastation and the police-
man’s red tape removed from the derelict shells of
former towns. Finally the new threads of Eucalyp-
tus leaves break through blackened soil. But every
year the familiar heatwave returns and as the land
dries up, the country will ready itself once again.
Don’t add your co-workers on Facebook, let alone your
boss. Natalia Krzywicka-Acosta checks who is looking at
your social networking profile.

59
 You have 1 new notification
You’re fired
Facebook
A brief history
From humble origins to world-wide
phenomenon, Facebook began in a
Harvard dorm room in 2004. Crea-
tor Mark Zuckerman, then a sopho-
more, originally produced the site
as a University “Hot or Not” voting
page dubbed “Facemash”. The pro-
gramme allowed bored students
to compare the university’s less
attractive students to farm animals.
Drunkenly blogging after a painful
relationship breakup, the computer
science student confided, “Perhaps
Harvard will squelch it for legal
reasons without realizing its value
as a venture that could possibly be
expanded to other schools... either
way one thing is certain, and it’s
that I’m a jerk for making this site.”
Ethical qualms aside, it’s safe to say
the young American could never
have envisaged the scale to which
it would grow. Today, if Facebook
was granted terra firma it would be
by population the world’s third larg-
est country.
With all of the hype, controversy
was bound to follow. At differ-
ent stages Facebook has been
banned by the governments of
Syria, China, Vietnam and Iran. It’s
been slammed for providing public
forums for eating disorder sufferers,
such as, “Get thin or die trying” and
“What nourishes me destroys me”.
The Catholic Church in England
has warned it’s going to lead to
teenage suicide through a dehu-
manised society and historians have
forewarned a revival of Holocaust
denials. Even the New Oxford
Dictionary is in on the debate, torn
between the inclusion of “unfriend”
or “defriend” for its 2009 Word of
the Year.
60
K
imberly Swann hated her job. Every day she scanned,
filed, photocopied and stapled her way through un-
til five o’clock. The 16-year-old’s best years were es-
caping her, as she was to confide to a two metre by
How to delete your
one metre mdf desk. So one evening she logged into
her Facebook account to make her feelings known. “First day at work.
omg (oh my God)!! So dull!!...all i do is shred hole punch n scan pa-
account
per!!! omg! ‘im so totally bord!!!” Three weeks later she was fired. With its peak in popularity, the site
Even though her profile was set as private and not intend- has come under scrutiny about
ed to be seen by outsiders  -  least of all her employer – Ivell Mar- what information it makes available
keting & Logistics decided they didn’t like what they had seen. and who has access to it. At the
“He called me into the office and said ‘I have seen your com- end of the day users do have ulti-
ments on Facebook and I don’t want my company being in the mate control of their page’s privacy-
news’,” she said. “I didn’t even use the company’s name. I just put
but they have to sort through 50
that my job was boring. They were just being nosy. I think it is re-
different settings and around 170
ally sad, it makes them look stupid that they are being petty.”
The letter terminating the contract said: “…we feel it different options to do it. However,
is better that, as you are not happy and do not enjoy your arguably one of the greatest feats
work, we end your employment with immediate effect.” in Facebook functionality is the
Yes, Facebook can get you fired. ability to delete your own account.
Once companies fretted over their workers’ Internet access, cer- More than just the click of a mouse
tain they’d spend the day e-mailing, shopping or visiting porn sites. away, Thinq explains how to com-
Nowadays, with nearly half a million members, Facebook, is a per- mit “Facebook Suicide”:
fect habitat for employers’ prying eyes. Contact details, exam grades,
friends lists, diary of events, political views and hundreds of pic-
1. Send a message to Face-
tures are now just a modem and a couple of mouse-clicks away.
book, requesting the perma-
Kevin Colvin was one of the first to discover that Facebook could
lose you your job. Working as an intern at the Anglo Irish Bank, he nent deletion of your account.
e-mailed his boss to say that he couldn’t be around the office on Octo-
ber 31 because of a ‘family emergency’. His co-workers quickly learnt 2. Log on to Facebook, then
from his Facebook the family emergency was actually a fancy-dress paste the following address
Halloween party. The real reason, along with an incriminating photo in to your browser window:
of a smiling young man dressed in a winged fairy costume holding a http://www.facebook.com/
wand in one hand and a can of Busch Light in the other, landed on help/?faq=12271. It will take
the boss’s desk. He replied: “Thanx for letting us know – hope eve- you through to a help page
rything is ok in New York (cool wand).” Attached was his dismissal. comfortable giving away forever. Want to close your account? So-
cial networking websites still have the right to anything you slap on
that describes the difference
Twitter now has 100 million users but just because the mi-
your profile and may use it any way they please. Facebook has faced between deactivating and
croblogging site only allows you 147 characters to vent
your spleen don’t think that it won’t get you into trouble. a barrage of criticism from users over a series of tweaks that left its deleting an account. At the
In March 2009, Connor Riley, a soon-to-be Cisco Systems em- members unsure about how public their information had become. bottom of the second para-
ployee, logged in as “theconnor” and tweeted: “Cisco just offered me Facebook founder, Mark Zuckerberg, admitted the set- graph is a link, which takes you
a job! Now I have to weigh the utility of a fatty paycheck against tings had “gotten complex” for users. “We needed to simplify con- through to a page where you
the daily commute to San Jose and hating the work.” It wasn’t long trols” he said. “We want people to be able to share information submit your deletion request.
before a manager at Cisco replied: “Who is the hiring manager? in the way that they want. We’ve focused on three things: a sin- Click on the link, read the
I’m sure they would love to know that you will hate the work….” It gle control for your content, more powerful controls for your ba- warning entitled “Delete my ac-
sic information and an easy control to turn off all applications”.
didn’t matter that she almost immediately hid her tweets. The damage count”, and then click Submit.
was done. Needless to say she was fired before her first day at work. The latest changes in Facebook privacy settings enable us-
Online screenings are now commonplace in the 21st century hiring ers to see all their information in one grid and apply privacy set-
tings to each.  Also, like changes made in last December, they will 3. The account is deleted im-
process with busy professionals who have little time for face-to-face in-
terviews increasingly relying on social networking sites to assess appli- be able to choose to share their applications with just “friends”, mediately, but it can take up
cants by their online reputation. A Microsoft study found that 79 per cent “friends of friends” or “everyone”. Those settings will need to be ap- to a fortnight for Facebook to
of US hiring managers used the Internet to check on applicants whilst plied to every new feature introduced on the site. From the end clear your information from its
Viadeo UK found that 62 per cent of British employers did the same. of May 2010, whichever privacy preferences chosen for “Shar- cache.
Reasons given by employers included photographs show- ing on Facebook” will automatically be applied to any new products.
ing drug or alcohol abuse, racially offensive comments and reveal- However, not everyone is satisfied with the extent to which the pri- 4. Congratulations.By this
ing clothing – anything that raise concerns about reputation damage. vacy reforms have gone to. Simon Davies, director of the watchdog, stage Facebook has discarded
Privacy International, said: “They want sufficient privacy to attract us-
“Social networking is a great way to make connections with po- all “personally identifiable
tential job opportunities in 2010 and promote your personal brand ers into service and take advantage of it but some sharing of data is
also required in order for Facebook to make money. That’s where the
information”. Except of course
across the Internet,” said Farhan Yasin, president of CareerBuilder
rubber hits the road at a legal level.” As the European Commission for the copies of any material,
EMEA.  “Make sure you are using this resource to your advantage by
conveying a professional image and underscoring your qualifications.” still calls for companies to set defaults for the minimum sharing of in- including your photos, they’re
As a result, job seekers and their potential employers eagerly formation, for Davies and many others the real battle is “yet to come”. entitled to keep for “technical
took up the social networking hide and seek with the former drop- Realising your boss has a Facebook account is as dis- reasons”.
ping their last names, using nicknames or tightening privacy settings. turbing as finding out your parents have joined. But while
Meanwhile make sure you never upload anything you don’t feel the latter is embarrassing the former may cost you your job.
61
 The most influential people in the world are on every news
bulletin, in every daily rag and on website. But who will be
The WAG The new
national
next? Who are the next leaders of the free world, trend-setters,

Thinq’s
role models and icons? Ben James provides:

treasure
A
few years ago
Ian McEwan
was known only
to literary buffs Ian McEwan
but following
the release of the all con-
quering Enduring Love the public - which our new Prime
and Atonement he is Minister willfully exploited in
now enjoying his new a photo shoot when he was pic-
status of national treasure. tured travelling by tube – yes tube

annual
It’s an exclusive club, the
likes of Dame Judi Dench,
Stephen Fry and Terry Wogan
currently reside, but few others.
– with a copy of Booker Prize
nominated On Chesil Beach.
He has that ever so sort abil-
ity of tapping into our current

up and coming
Born in 1948, he read
English Literature at the Uni-
versity of Sussex before going
on to study creative writing at
the University of East Anglia.
His early work is indistin-
guishable from his recent with
and deepest fears, then exhibit-
ing them on every page. Critic,
Jake Kerridge says to read a
McEwan sentence is to “set off
a time bomb, your expectations
explosively reversed by the end
of it.” Sometimes he structures
a whole book in this why – the

most influential
his 1978 collection of short sto-
ries Between the Sheets featur-
ing castration, bestiality and love
affairs with lesbian love midgets
Sam at the 2009 party conferance – a far cry from 2007’s Saturday.
last two pages of Atonement
altering your understanding of
every word that has gone before.
It took years and com-

2010 W
He achieves that near im- mitment and not only popular
possible for writers of being but critically acclaimed output,
ell, he finally got in - and he owes it largely but he’s earned his new sta-
to a certain Samantha Gwendoline Shef- popular with both the critics and
tus and should be cherished.

The Blogger
field.
Despite no clear political ambitions
herself, SamCam, as she has been christened
by the red-tops, has done more for the modern Conservative
Party than 100 rent-boy hiring, asphyxiation loving, expense

P
fiddling Tory MPs.
She is the sounding board for our new Prime Minister’s erhaps the least Her frank assessment of the
ideas, his very own focus group, pressure group, spin doctor known and certainly work of industry professionals of-

The next world leader

and policy maker – all without a vote to her name. the youngest on this ten four times her age led the fash-
As one of the Prime Minister’s former University friends, list, this 13 year-old ion world to label her a fake. But
Andrew Feldman, put it: “Sam is a good barometer. She has has sharply suited when the Mulleavy sisters, from
a good sense of what’s important and what’s not, but also of middle aged men in tears, beg- fashion label Rodarte, emailed

I
t would be pretty safe
money to bet that the
older of the Milliband
brothers will one day call
10 Downing Street his
home - and for this reason alone
he makes this list.
This relatively young Shadow
Foreign Secretary, at just 44, is
the real face of the post-Brown
Labour Party.
Ideas, drive, initiative, looks,
charisma and crucially, influence,
Milliband has a major role on the
world stage to fill.
He studied philosophy,
politics and economics at Corpus
Christi College, Oxford gaining a
first class honours.
Before standing as an MP he
was Tony Blair’s head of policy
and a major contributor to La-
bour’s 1997 manifesto and even-
62
tual landslide election victory.
Nicknamed ‘brains’ - after
the Thunderbirds boffin - by
Alistair Campbell, Milliband was
gaining quite a reputation in New
Labour. He was elected to the
Labour safe seat of South Shields
in 2001 and in the years that
followed was made Communities
Secretary, Environment Secretary
and in June 2007 he was ap-
pointed to one of the great offices
of state, The Foreign Office.
In his three years as Foreign
Secretary he almost single hand-
edly held the ‘special relationship’
with our North Atlantic cousins
together – often through his
rather too cosy friendship with
Hilary Clinton.
Standing firmly to the left
of the post-Brown/Blair New
Labour, he is dragging the rest
of the Party to something more
reminiscent of the Labour that
opposed Thatcher for so many
years.
He’s got it all. He’s one of
few Labour Ministers that came
out of the last couple of years
of Labour rule with his integ-
rity and reputation intact and
David Milliband
is now the bookie’s favourite to
be named the next leader of the
Party.
New Labour is dead. But
rising up is a new Party. With
Brown now on the backbench
and Milliband leading, don’t
count on Cameron’s band being
in power for long.
what’s important to other people. She may be from grand stock ging for her approval. asking for her help with their new
but she’s tremendously grounded.” The self confessed “little line she was revealed to be the
The pair met as teenagers and she has influenced her hus- dork who wears pretty hats” used dorky pre-teen kid she claimed.
band’s outlook ever since. Whilst still at University she is said to hide in her room and type Unfazed by the fashion glit-
to have angrily disagreed with his views on Section 28, which away on her computer. Her par- terati falling at her feet, Tavi
banned councils from promoting homosexuality – of course
eventually persuading him to her point of view. Tavi poses for Love magazine
It’s also rumoured that when working as a special adviser
at the Home Office he opposed Michael Howard’s crackdown
on raves. Not because of the media’s absurd moral panic but
because his other half was attending them.
And whilst not extensively trained in the art, she excels
in political spin and public relations. She is always on cue to
glide into a crowded room of bloodthirsty hacks baying for
her husband’s blood, ready to deflect their attention to her
perfect figure. Her long slender thighs are interrupted only by ents were clueless until one day, last year managed to persuade
the classical curves of her hips, waist and breasts. Her gaze is when their first-born asked for her dad to let her have a week
direct, you know you shouldn’t but you want to stare right back. permission to do a photo shoot off school to work at New York
She is as much a face of the new Tory party as her husband for the New York Times. Tavi Fashion Week for Pop magazine.
and Osborne. Hell, it’s not as if there are many other blues who Gevinson is a fashion blogger. She now has a regular col-
can be coherent, graceful and photo-friendly. From her bedroom in umn and other job offers filling
If you have the Prime Minister’s ear you can be the suburbs of Chicago, Tavi her inbox – not bad for a girl who
hugely powerful, but if you also have his heart then your amassed a following of four mil- can still get a child’s bus ticket.
influence is unheralded. lion to her blog ‘Style Rookie’.
63
The Leading Lady
A H
merican actor Rodney Danger-
field once said: “Acting deals
with very delicate emotions. It
is not putting up a mask. Each
time an actor acts he does not
hide; he exposes himself.”
Only with the best in the profession do you
get this impression. Depp, Hoffman, Streep,
Hanks, and now add to that list another name.
Carey Mulligan, at 25, has gone
from struggling extra to Bafta-win-
ning stardom in just 95 minutes.
Her portrayal of love-stricken school
girl, Jenny, in An Education has elevated
her to the top of every Hollywood direc-
tor’s wish list. With upcoming roles in the
new Michael Douglas film Wall Street:
Money Never Sleeps, not to mention ru-
moured parts in the remake of My Fair
Lady as Eliza Doolittle and the lead role in
the English version of The Girl With The
Dragon Tattoo, this self confessed tomboy
‘She is young, smart, talented, English
and has all the makings to be one of
the greatest’
The Musician
N
ow hear me out. I know he’s
hardly ‘up and coming’ but only
now that Mr Turner has passed
through his angsty teenage
phase and became known to
64
has the acting world on both sides of the
Atlantic at her rather well grounded feet.
Her love for acting came from watch-
ing her older brother performing school
plays and she confessed she would
cry as she was too young to perform.
Despite a number of rejections from
acting schools she persisted and got her
break in 2005 with a part in the television
production of costume drama Bleak House.
At such a young age she has already shown
her versatility in a number of roles – from the
delicate English rose of Kitty Bennet in the
film adaptation of Pride and Prejudice to
hooker come bank robber in Public Enemies.
She has the charm and sophistication of
Kiera Knightly, the power and substance of
a young Judi Dench and the look and Hol-
lywood quality of Audrey Hepburn. She
is young, smart, talented, English and has
all the makings to be one of the greatest.
more than just the NME and MySpace faith-
ful, can he rightfully be called influential.
Alex Turner, better known as the front
man of dare I say it ‘iconic’ British band The
Arctic Monkeys, now features as much on the
front pages of the redtops as he does music
magazines.
The Monkey’s released their debut album
Whatever People Say I am, That’s What
I’m Not in 2006 and it became the fastest
selling debut album in British history. Their
follow-ups Favourite Worst Nightmare and
Humbug’secured them the title of Britain’s
biggest and most important band.
The acne’s cleared up, the hair’s been
trimmed and he’s even got himself a girlfriend
– the one thing though that hasn’t changed
is his ability to capture the mood of his age
group and weave it into a three minute pop
song.
His portrayal of life growing up in a
northern industrial city on their debut album
can sit comfortably along side Betjeman’s ten
stanza depiction of Slough and Wordsworth’s
various odes to the Lake District. With
“The lairy girls hanging out the windows of
limousines” in The View from the Afternoon
replacing “Fluttering and dancing flowers by
the water’s edge” in Wordsworth’s Daffodils.
As a musician he has made the near
impossible jump from underground to
mainstream whilst retaining his integrity
and respect. His popularity stretches across
genders, age groups, political persuasion and
class. He is a role model, a mouthpiece and a
figurehead for a generation.
His appeal and influence over his genera-
tion is something our leaders in Westminster
could only dream of. He’s an example of how
to do Rock n Roll properly. When he talks,
people listen and with album sales in the mil-
lions that’s quite an audience.
Carey Mulligan at
The business man
the premiere of An
Education e is known by his peers as politics. He stood in a failed bid to become
the modest, scruffy oligarch. Mayor of Moscow, receiving 13% of the
An oligarch nonetheless, he votes but losing out to present incumbent
is reported to be worth £1.3 Yuriy Luzhkov. Last year he announced
billion. Alexander Lebedev
has rarely been out the papers this year.
Why? Because he has started buying them.
Son of a teacher and national water-
polo player, he was born in Moscow in 1959.
He studied Economics in the capital before
working as an economic researcher.
Alexander Lebedev then slipped under the radar
Lebedev now as he joined the KGB where he worked
owns The Evening undercover in London - he later said that he
often used the Evening Standard (the paper
Standard, he now owns) to research his assignments.
Independent and He eventually came in from the cold and
Independent on entered the world of banking where he made
Sunday his billions.
In 1995 his company bought Rus-
sia’s National Reserve Bank. On the verge
of collapse his decisive decision making
transformed it into one of the country’s
largest. It was so prosperous that it was one
of only two of Russia’s big banks to survive
the country’s 1998 financial crisis. Among
the bank’s assets are a 30 per cent share in
Russia’s national airline, Aeroflot, a 44 per
cent share in one of Russia’s largest aircraft
building companies and various shares in
Russia’s vast energy industry.
He achieves the most difficult of things
as a Russian oliogarch – popularity. He
condemns all the trappings of the average
Moscow billionaire, including refusing to
use the preposterous VIP lane that dissects
the highway between Moscow’s centre and
his exclusive neighbourhood.
He has even been labelled a philan-
Alex Turner, at just thropist and with his generosity and charity
work he now calls the likes of J K Rowling
24, has head- and Tom Stoppard his friends. There is a
lined Glastonbury, refreshing frankness about him. He was one
released his own of the first global billionaires to admit that
collection of short he was a victim of the global recession whilst
stories and sold the rest of his peers were desperately trying
to save face.
millions of albums Not content with his hand in Russia’s
banking industry he decided to try his luck
as a newspaper proprietor. He now not
only owns the Independent newspapers
and Evening Standard but he is also part
‘In the British media owner of the celebrated Russian rag Novaya
Gazeta. Best known for being the paper
he would also run for the Mayor of Sochi,
Murdoch still shouts of the murdered Anna Politkovskaya, the
Gazeta is one of very few fierce opponents of which will host the 2014 winter Olympics.
Humble, outspoken, fearless and with
the loudest. But the Kremlin – a brave thing for an owner to
endorse when four of the paper’s journalists billions to throw at the flagging British
newspaper industry, Alexander Lebedev
there’s a whisper in have been murdered in the last eight years.
Following Politkovskaya’s shooting he may soon replace Roman Abramovich as
this country’s most influential adopted Rus-
the distance – and praised his reporter for her fearless work and
offered a reward of £750,000 for information sian oligarch.
In the British media Murdoch still
it’s getting louder.’ leading to the arrest of her assassins.
Lebedev stands out as one of very few shouts the loudest. But there’s a whisper in
the distance – and it’s getting louder.
of his peers who openly mixes business and
65

Sunrise over Halong Bay
‘In an adolescence fed on the heroism and the harrowing
despair of Apocalypse Now, travelling to Vietnam evokes
images quite unlike the world I had entered’
66
Sunrise
on a new
Veitnam
In 2008 Australian travel writer Michael Bishop
looked beyond the neon facepaint and vodka
buckets of Vietnam’s backpacker party culture.
Straddling a rusty Communist era motorcycle,
he journeyed across a country economically
looking towards the future, yet so culturally
gripped by its war-torn past.
N
arrow streets wind out from a central fountain, a maze
of bustling laneways bound by timber-boarded houses,
dotted with square windows and sloping red tile rooves.
Gloved hands soak up the warmth of steaming mugs in
streetside cafes, as the dense early-evening fog brings
forth a discernible chill. The eeriness is broken by the hum of holi-
daymakers who stroll throughout the town centre, anticipating dinner
matched to fine white wines from the surrounding vineyards. Such is
life in Da Lat, Vietnam.
In an adolescence fed on the heroism and the harrowing despair
of Apocalypse Now, travelling to Vietnam evokes images quite unlike
the world I had entered. We arrived in Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC),
or Saigon as most Vietnamese will tell you, just a week before. The
initial chaos of travelling from the airport to the city in evening peak
hour never really subsided. Most of the energy seemed to ebb and
flow in the most unusual of paradoxes, as black Mercedes and Audis
forced their own path through the masses of scooters, none appear-
ing to make much progress at all. Weathered old men pull Cyclos, or
Rickshaws, in front of towering glass-and-steel skyscrapers, while a
tout sets up his stall of Uncle Ho-themed souvenirs in front of posters
celebrating the first anniversary of Vietnam’s accession to the World
Trade Organisation. So it goes in this one-party state, the old ambles
along with the new and the ‘socialist-oriented market economy’ is king.
And so on leaving HCMC, we decide to avoid the vodka buckets
and fluoro face paint of the beach resorts of Nha Trang. Instead we
toured north to Da Lat, Vietnam’s finest kitsch alpine resort. Since it
was the French who built it, the alpine vibes of Da Lat are not inci-
dental. During their occupation of Indochina, the French ruling classes
longed for a high-altitude respite from the tropics, and all the better
if it felt remarkably like home. They even built a radio tower with a
resemblance to the Eiffel Tower to perfect the Gallic ambience. And
yet as a scattered dusting of snowflakes signals the call for the indoors,
the path to Da Lat’s finest rice wine bar reminds me that Da Lat is, at
the same time, typically Vietnamese.
The joy of rice wine is that no matter how much you drink of it,
nor how heady its effects, you wake up in the morning with the strang-
est sense of sobriety. Alcohol in Vietnam, whether it is rice wine served >>
67
Vietnam: A brief history
In the beginning: The first
established civilization appeared
around the 2nd century BC in the
area that is now South China and
North Vietnam.
Chinese Invasion: In 111 BC,
Chinese armies conquered Nam
Viet (later re-named Vietnam)
and absorbed it into the growing
Chinese Han Empire. The Chinese
language was introduced and
Chinese art, architecture, and music
exercised a powerful impact on
Vietnamese culture.
Independence: In 939 AD,
after a 1000 years of Chinese rule,
Vietnamese forces took advantage
of chaotic conditions in China
to defeat occupying troops and
preceded to set up an independent
state. In the 11th century the first of
the great Vietnamese dynasties, the
Ly dynasty, was founded.
Le Dynasty: Vietnam grew in size
and power under the Ly dynasty
and continued to grow under the
Le dynasty. However, by the late
18th century, rivalries among the
rulers had left the country on the
verge of collapse.
French Invasion: With the
country now vulnerable, the French
under Napoleon III invaded and in
the1880s the Vietnamese accepted
French rule.
Occupation and fight back:
Vietnamese resistance culminated
in 1946 with an eight year war
broke out between the French and
the communist Vietminh Front with
the French eventually conceded-
ing defeat. At the following peace
conference the country was split,
with the North being transformed
into the Democratic Republic of Vi-
etnam, a communist state support-
ed by China and the USSR whilst
the South was for the French and
their Vietnamese supporters.
American War: However,
conflict wasn’t far away - When the
staunchly anti-communist president,
Ngo Dinh Diem, came to power in
the South with support from the
Americans, the communists decided
it was time to resume their revolu-
tionary war. The communists were
within touching distance of an early
victory when American President,
Lyndon Johnson, approved an
intensive bombing campaign of
North Vietnam with the inclusion of
chemical arms and the devastating
Agent Orange. However, US troops
were eventually forced out of the
country in 1973 after a devastating
loss of life following the guerrilla
warfare tactics of the Viet Cong and
in 1976 the Socialist Republic of
Vietnam was officially proclaimed.
The Socialist Republic: The
North and South were united once
more but futher conflicts in the
decades that followed weakened
the country. It was not until the
late 1980s that the strict socialist
economy was lessened and bonds
began to be formed with the west-
ern world, including the onslaught
of tourism which was to follow.
in recycled Coca Cola bottles, Soviet-inspired
vodka, or the supremely clean-tasting Bia Hoi, is
made to be drunk. Bia Hoi is usually brewed in the
morning and boozed by nightfall.
Refreshed by the Vietnamese breakfast staple
of Pho, a rice noodle soup capped with shredded
beef and drowned in that very Vietnamese aroma of
coriander, we set out on our next leg. Riding shotgun
with our three ‘Easy Riders’, motorcyclists who go
where tourists please, no matter how far up or down
the country that may be. Our riders were Huong, the
straight-edged natural guide, a man never too hum-
ble to not mention his children; Giap, the ‘American
War’ veteran; and a tall, bespectacled rider only ever
referred to as Mr Windy.
The Easy Riders thrive on the hordes of back-
packers who travel to Da Lat, seeking that unique
and enlightening travel experience, but end up on the
rears of Soviet-era Minsk motorcycles ridden by men
weaned on Vietnam’s skeletal highways. That does
not make the journey any less spectacular – com-
ing down out of the hilltops encompassing Da Lat,
the empty and crumbling roads cross endless fields,
producing the sorts of crops this homebound cor-
respondent didn’t realise existed beyond his mother’s
refrigerator.
Of course, being in Vietnam, the ride is inter-
spersed with coffee breaks – coffee unlike anything
I had tasted before. Ca phe is coarsely ground and
drip-filtered to produce a thick and sickeningly
tar-like brew. What is bitterly undrinkable becomes
teeth-rottingly sweet when it is mixed with equal
parts sweetened and condensed milk and perfected
with two to three teaspoons of sugar. Across the
country toothless Vietnamese men convene at
alfresco cafes, ca phe in one hand and Marlboro in
the other, to debate and to remonstrate, insofar as it
delays whatever tasks are at hand.
To be fair to our recently-dubbed Three Mus-
keteers, we spend much more time riding than
ranting, and we are soon moving across the Central
Highlands. Our path casually takes in some of the
most stunning sights and experiences the nation
has to offer. From the smallest man made ventures
with villages of only three smiling families, to the
breathtakingly natural world in Halong Bay’s pristine
waters. We traverse the scarred scenes of some of the
fiercest fighting during the American War. Here is
where the US Air Force was most willing to ‘defoli-
ate’ in order to uncover North Vietnamese fighters.
Phuong Chu poses outside the
orphanage on the outskirts of Buon
Ma Thot
The windy roads of the Central
Highlands
Our bikes pull into an orphanage on the fringe of
Buon Ma Thot, and we see the resounding effects
of a distant war. Generations of small children, who
were born into a different millennium to the fighting,
are crippled with such severe physical and mental
disabilities that their peasant parents simply cannot
care for them. Two elderly Catholic sisters assist the
orphanage director, a retired high school teacher, and
they show so much love and compassion it is easy to
forget the real hopelessness of these children’s futures.
Beholden by a desperate guilt I hand over 30 US
dollars, knowing that the orphanage receives no help
from the Vietnamese government, who are no doubt
distracted by the ‘future opportunities of economic
openness’.
As our journey continues north, in a brief
moment of roadside rest under unfamiliar spiral-
ing clouds, my pilot Mr Windy laments the bare
and faded green landscape. This is the land scarred
by Agent Orange operations, and for a moment I
am confused – it reminds me of rural Australia, a
landscape I understand far more. It is only once we
continue north that I understand Mr Windy’s sad-
ness – here exists tall and impenetrable rainforest, cut
only by the dual carriageways of the recently built
highway. Most of the Central Highlands was like
this 60 years ago, the Americans did well to realise
the success of Vietnamese guerrillas in using the
tropical environment to defeat the last remnants of
the French empire in the 1950s. What is left, nearly
40 years later, is a mournful reminder of the battles
the Vietnamese have fought to defend themselves
over the past millennium – defying the Chinese, the
Khmer, the French, the Japanese, the Americans. It is
little wonder the continuing authority of a ‘com-
munist’ system leans so heavily on such idealised
memories of past triumphs.
A few days later, our bikes roll into the Hoi An,
a beautifully rambling stretch of architecture spared
the destruction of the 1960s and 1970s. It used to
be a major port of the South China Sea, though its
modern economy depends mainly on tourists revel-
ling in the tailor shops that line every block in town.
Store after store partakes in what is only the latest
trade that the Vietnamese people have mastered.
And while I and every other tourist in this legen-
dary backpacking hub stroll the avenues of what we
know as Vietnam, it is hard not to imagine what the
numberless Vietnams that came before it may have
looked like, sounded like, smelt like, tasted like.
 Alexander the Great

Ice Cold in Alex. A

figure in history that perhaps
doesn’t get the recognition he
deserves – and certainly not
the film – Alexander the Great
forged the greatest empire the
ancient world had ever seen.
His vast empire stretched from Greece
in the east all the way to India in the west,
taking in 17 modern states along the way
Australian travel writer Arghya Gupta follows and of course the Egyptian coastal city of
Alexandria.
the bloody path of Alexander the Great, to Born into the Macedon royal family he
discover a more civilised world in Alexandria, was later educated by Aristotle. He took
Egypt. the throne in his early twenties after his fa-
ther’s assassination and set about waging
war with the mighty Persians from the east.
His military genius and tactical virtuos-
ity was soon evident as a series of crush-
ing victories against the Persians saw his
Macedonian horde progress east.
After taking much of the Mediterranean

A
he went south, taking Alexandria, before
hmad walks across the dining room for what must heading east taking Babylon and every-
be the fifteenth time in the last five minutes, piles of thing on the way to North India
Crushing empire after empire, Alexan-
plates on each of his arms, catering to the whim of der, – still in his twenties – was revered as
every diner in the restaurant except for me it seems. a god.
Of course, calling out his name would be pointless, as
all of the other waiters at the restaurant are also named Ahmad. Ini-
tially, I think this is just the Alexandrian word for “mate”. Turns
out, however, that a bit more than half of the city’s male population
share the name from birth. And for the rest of the men, Mohammad,
or its many spelling variations, seems to be the moniker of choice.
I’m sitting here at “Fish Market”, Alexandria’s top culinary stop. As a sea-
side city, it is known for its delicacies caught fresh everyday from the roll-
ing waves of the Mediterranean, but that’s only one of the things which
make it one of the best holiday cities in the world. While politically it is in
Egypt, both its people and its atmosphere represent something between
a Grecian port mixed with the vibrancy of an Indian metropolis. Islam is
still the majority religion, but probably the most moderately followed in
the whole of the Middle East. But what sets Alexandria apart from many
other coastal towns are the relics of its living and breathing histories,
narratives which would fit right into a Greek mythology compendium The iconic Stanley
Founded in 331 BC, as Egypt’s capital for over a 1000 years be complete without mention of the great Library of Alexandria, Alexandrina came to life. I have been to many a reference library in Bridge
Alexandria was a jewel in the crown of the short bloody rule of which contained millions of the scrolls of both the ancient Roman and my time, but the sheer sight of the sunken ellipse from the outside,
Alexander the Great. The aggressive militant tactics of Alexan- Egyptian empires. Messengers journeyed from as far away as Scan- and the eight cut in levels inside, make you marvel at what the an-
der extended the Greek empire and culture from the shores of dinavia and India in order to archive the intellectually potent scripts cient Wonder may have incited among the people of their time.
Syria to the realm of Persia, and the legacy of a man who was nev- which would be passed down to future generations. With the passing The winner of an UNESCO architectural design award, it is some-
er defeated in armed combat seems incongruous with the sites of of time, century’s worth of lootings, fires, and earthquakes, meant the
physical and architectural wonder scattered throughout the city. library itself was lost, as well as the documents in its holds. With it
The most magnificent of these was said to be the Pharos, or the went a realm of knowledge which would have helped to piece together
Lighthouse of Alexandria. One of the first of its kind, it provided a the past of western civilisation more than anything else ever found. Bust of Alexander
light from a height of 140m to weary Mediterranean sailors heading
towards the city of Alexander for cotton or gold, the two main ex-
But when there’s hope, success follows. A plan by Alexandria au-
thorities to recreate the area where the library once stood by erecting
‘mystery surrounds the the Great
ports of the time. Today, the ruins lay at the end of a wharf of tetra-
pods, after a series of earthquakes in the first millennium of its exist-
a new library in its place was actualised, and in 2003, the Biblioteca whole city…some think
ence brought it down, a wharf which I can now see from the dining
room of “Fish Market”. Some of its ruins were allegedly used to cre-
Alexander’s body itself is However instead of raping and pillag-
ing as he went Alexander was determined
ate the Citadel of Qaitbey, a site created to celebrate the Islamic
warrior who restored the city as a major trading port. You can’t tell
buried somewhere in the The Library of
to govern well. He forbade his armies to
plunder conquered lands and set up new
which of the stones may have belonged to the Pharos, but the physi-
cal remnants of the ancient city continue to tease your imagination.
depths of the city’ Alexandria democracies to replace the oligarchies that
stood before.
He could however be ruthless at times.
Of course, the missing remains of this lost world wonder aren’t the When he took the throne from his father
only mysteries which punctuate the cityscape. In fact, mystery surrounds he executed all rival claimants, including
thing that anyone with even the vaguest love for literature must see.
the whole city. No one knows where the old relics of the town are. Some his infant half-brother.
But before leaving Alexandria, there is plenty more to see and do.
think Alexander’s body itself is buried somewhere in the depths of the It’s said that he wept to his generals
While the obligatory dinner must be had at “Fish Market”, a walk down that there were no more worlds to con-
city. Perhaps it is somewhere in the Catacombs of Kom El Shoqqofa,
the Corniche from the Citadel to the Library is needed to take in a breath quer.
yet to be found. Six metres underground, the series of tunnels and rooms
of this city. And if you ever need an energy hit, there are 24 hour juice bars On his death bed with half the world’s
lay untouched for over a thousand years before a donkey fell through a
making the freshest mango, orange, coconut, and pomegranate juices for kingdoms under his control he was asked
hole in the ground to land in the middle of the catacomb system. Not
5 EGP (60p). And while you’re here give the staple meat shwerma a miss who he would leave his empire to. “To the
remarkable from a structural point of view, but amazing to see how the strongest,” he replied, but nobody could
and enjoy a calamari option instead. When in Alexandria, take all the
dead were kept in a place away from the Pharaohnic idolatry of Giza and follow him and after his death his empire
city has to offer. You will not run into such a unique clash of the cosmo-
Memphis. Amazing enough to be considered on some Wonders lists. disintegrated.
politan and the historically rich within another single city anytime soon.
However, no Wonders list or historic account of Alexandria would
70 52
The politics
of
Eurovision
Every year European countries battle it out
for the honour of having the least bad song.
Natalia Krzywicka-Acosta investigates whether
Europe gangs up against Britain in Eurovision
Song Contest.
T The Viking Empire
he very thought of the Eurovision Song Con-
test will make most Britons cringe. In other coun-
tries, however, the anticipation will create a tin-
gling sensation of joy as the event becomes a
higher power each spring. Both cases will end in
disappointment. Either way, when it comes down to it, the Eu-
rovision Song Contest isn’t about the songs. It’s about politics.
Political voting has always been a part of the fun of Eurovision.
Over the last 50 years, the three leading winners have been Ireland,
the UK and France and the countries participating were clustered into
three regions: Western, Mediterranean and Northern. The Western-
ers enjoyed three advantages - surplus votes due to their commercial
dominance in Europe, the mutual musical contempt between Medi-
terraneans and Northerners, and the large number of Western votes.
Yet in 1992, after that part of the continent that lies to the East -
and smells of abundant alcohol - was allowed to enter the competition,
coupled with increased migration within the European Union (EU),
the Western hegemony collapsed. As hardly any votes managed to cut
through the newly formed Eurovision Iron Curtain, the Big Four still
bankrolling the contest (France, Germany, Spain and the UK) found
themselves at the bottom, spluttering allegations of political skuldug-
gery.
By way of a quick recap, since the second half of the 1990s each
of the 42 competing countries, including those who have not qualified
for the final, held a national phone vote to choose the winner from a
potpourri of second-league artists presenting their dubious vocal skills
in ‘toilet-break’ songs.
72
The result was transferred into points for the top 10 participants,
with 12 points for first place, 10 for second, and eight to one points for
the remaining eight places. The rules prevented countries from voting
for their own song but proved powerless to prevent hordes of Eurovi-
sion tourists travelling to the closest foreign state to enthusiastically
spend a fortune on the televote just to hear “nul points” for the UK.
Various experts including sociologists, engineers, mathematicians
and even a molecular geneticist attracted to analysing the phenom-
enon, came to a conclusion that in order to win, UK would have to
follow Yugoslavia’s example and split itself into smaller countries that
would award points to each other.
In his 2006 study, geneticist Derek Gatherer used a computer to
generate thousands of random simulations of Eurovision song contest
results. Using data on all the votes cast since 1975, he found five main
geographical cliques shamelessly back-scratching their neighbours:
the Viking Empire (Norway, Sweden, Estonia, Denmark, Iceland,
Finland, Latvia and Lithuania), the Balkan Bloc (Croatia, Macedonia,
Slovenia, Greece, Cyprus, Serbia and Montenegro, Turkey, Bosnia
Herzegovina, Albania and Romania), the Warsaw Pact (Poland, Russia
and Ukraine), the Partial Benelux (Belgium, Luxembourg and the
Netherlands) and the small Pyrenean Axis of Spain and Andorra. The
old top winners, Ireland, the UK and France, were abandoned – nul
friends, nul votes.
Eurovision expert John Kennedy O’Connor wrote in his The
Eurovision Song Contest: The Official History book that historical
wounds are often reopened by the opportunity to snub the musical
efforts of ancient foes. “Ireland and Malta have found a neat way to
European block voting map
The Balkan Bloc
The Warsaw Pact
The Partial Benelux
The Pyrenean Axis
retaliate for centuries of British Imperialism by refusing to award
the United Kingdom anything more than meagre scores, while the
British in turn treat the French and Germans with similar contempt.
The Nordic countries will reliably band together and, despite freeing
themselves from the Iron Curtain and Russian oppression, the newly
enfranchised Eastern Bloc will rarely vote for anyone outside their
regional alliance. Greece and Cyprus are guaranteed top marks from
each other before a single note is sung, while both will ignore Turkey’s
effort completely.”
2008 was a year of change. Veteran BBC commentator Terry
Wogan was the first to voice his discontent after Eastern European
voters seemed to care more about secure Russian gas deliveries than
the artistic merits of the UK contestant, who finished with the lowest
overall score. “Over the last few years, the scoring has undoubtedly
become ridiculous,” Wogan said. “The voting is so influenced by Baltic
groups, and Russian groups.”
The same year Austria decided to quit from the contest, citing
the overly political results of the televote as the reason. After that the
Eurovision big wigs, European Broadcasting Union, put their faith
back in the jury to ensure the voting system would seem as fair and
apolitical as possible. The new system works like this: with the national
phone vote conducted as usual, its result counts for only 50 per cent of
the total vote for a contestant. The other 50 per cent is to be decided by
five jury members in each state made up of the cream of the country’s
music industry figures, who will listen to the song several times before
deciding how to vote. Last year proved there is indeed a very big gap
between the jury taste and the European public. The UK performance
was ranked third best by the jury, lifting it to an overall fifth place.
It is probably at odds with Marcel Baison’s expectations. Half a
century ago, Baison came up with the idea of Eurovision basing it
on the San Remo Song Festival. The contest was supposed to bring
the continent together, rather than re-open old wounds from the
Second World War. And indeed, due to the contest, various alli-
ances were born, including Scandinavians sharing top votes within
their geographical bloc and the enduring Greek-Cypriot partnership.
Eurovision could handle the most painful divisions. Once regularly
shooting each other, citizens of the former Yugoslavia now happily
vote for their neighbours. Even though the rigged match resemblance
wasn’t a part of Baison’s plan, it was hard to deny his contest the ef-
fectiveness in uniting the nations. Even if this unity took the form
of political cliques.
73
 Cultural celebration or continental freak show?
THINQ’s two columnists argue it out.
Isabella Qvist
‘Eurovision for life’
E W
very year it’s the same.
The soul drowning darkness of winter fi-
nally comes to an end. Goose down jackets are
swapped for thinner alternatives and the light
in tired eyes met on the morning bus slowly
return.
Spring is on its way and a sure sign of it, one that will
keep the nation glued to their TV sets every Saturday for
two months, is the Eurovision Song Contest.
No, I am not kidding. You might laugh, but in Sweden
we take this unifying European event rather seriously. The
whole thing starts with an X Factor style tour, as weekend
after weekend arenas fill all over the slowly defrosting coun-
try with screaming fans. Unknown acts compete against
established artists and millions vote, comedians entertain
and international artists fly in for guest performances. The
competing songs dominate the charts for months and we
feel part of something really special.
The finalists, often a mix of old botox injected pop divas,
over styled ex-Idol competitors and an eighties style rock
band or two, perform whilst we watch hungrily. Remember,
this is the country that gave you ABBA (they made it big
through Eurovision, you know). International voting panels
have their say, before a powerful people’s vote is revealed
and a victor is chosen.
After more “exclusive” interviews than any person can
take, the winner is sent on an expensive promo tour through
an indifferent Europe. Gathering votes and spreading the
love, man do we feel proud.
Then D-day arrives. The papers are filled with premoni-
tions, analyses of our biggest threats and details of rehears-
als, doctors’ statements and dietary requirements. When we
know everything there is to know, we sink en masse onto
TV sofas with voting protocols in hand, ready to see our
homemade star take over the show. And that’s when it hap-
pens.
The shock, the anger, the disbelief. The collective loss
of faith in humanity. It’s a painfully familiar feeling as our
dreams are shattered and we curse ourselves for having once
again hoped that this time, this time, it would be different!
Only it never is. And next year, after a long winter of
licking our wounds we are ready to do the same thing all
over again.
74
Ben James
‘Bomb the whole thing’
hat have Boom Bang-A-Bang, Ohh
ahh…Just a Little Bit and Sing Little
Birdie got in common? Answer: They
have all been UK entries into the Euro-
vision Song Contest - and it is this utter
contempt for the farcical event that saves me from emigrat-
ing.
Every May students and homosexuals alike crowd
round their sets and watch the most convincing argument
for our country’s withdrawal from the EU to date – if you are
reading Mr Farage, you can have that one for free.
During the course of the night we are subjected to 20-
odd examples of why not to encourage mediocrity at an early
age guided by two bumbling botoxed atrocities fumbling
their way through in three different languages.
Christ, even Sir Terry’s had enough.
And the songs? Well, The Turkish 1983 entry ‘Opera’
consisted entirely of its title repeated again and again whilst
Spain’s 1968 winning, yes wining entry ‘La La La’ contained
the said lyrics no fewer than 138 times.
It’s the height of Eurotrash. Shiny, smiley, happy and
bloody expensive. Everything I hoped that small stretch of
water known as the English Channel would separate us from.
I mean, how could the country that gave us Beethoven
also give us 2009’s ‘Miss Kiss Kiss Bang’ and Schubert’s Aus-
tria also produce Eric Papilaya’s 2007 monstrosity ‘Get a Life
– Get Alive.’
The winners often go on to fame and fortune , wait,.No
they don’t. Remember 2006 winners Lordi ? They had a brief
couple of months in the spotlight before returning to their
bedrooms to dress up in front of the mirror.
This should not be encouraged,
We all know that the votes have nothing to do with the
quality of the songs anyway so why don’t we spare everyone
the pain of having to sit through three hours of this dross and
just get each country top vote for eachother.
The poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once remarked
that “music is the language spoken by angels.” You can finish
that joke yourself.
So Al-Qaeda, I know that you probably have other tar-
gets at the top of your hit-list but I for one won’t be upset
if you decide to pay a visit to the Germany next May. Just a
heads up.
Welcome to the
THINQ
summer
BBQ

Celebrating the arrival of summer, our contributors have invited their dream guests.
Get ready to be inspired by a spicy cocktail of interesting individuals.
Mr
Splashy
Pants
The topic of every-
one’s conversation
- not that he knows it,
Isabella Qvist invites
Mr. Splashy Pants.
Mr Splashy Pants, a 16
metre-long hunchback whale
living in the South Pacific
Ocean, is a beautiful singer
and an acrobatic swimmer. He
regularly enjoys a cold dish of
2500 kilos of krill and plankton
and he has no idea that he is an
Internet celebrity. His precense
at the BBQ will no doubt spark
conversation.
In 2007 Greenpeace, in an
attempt to raise awareness for
a Japanese decision to kill fifty
hunchback whales, launched a
competition for fans to decide
the name of a whale whose
movements would be tracked
online. 11 000 entries later they
had it down to thirty choices.
There were many poetic,
beautiful and mythological sug-
gestions meaning things such
as ‘peace’ and ‘child of love’ in
various languages. And despite
it at first being unpopular within
Atticus Finch
Civil rights figure-head and general good guy,
Alice Johnson brings back Harper Lee’s Atticus
Finch from the depths of literary imaginations.
"The one thing that
doesn't abide by major-
ity rule is a person's conscience”.
He may not strictly have ex-
isted in the flesh but Harper Lee’s
most famous fictional character
Atticus Finch has been setting
the moral bench mark in the
minds of millions since To Kill
a Mockingbird’s 1960s publica-
tion. Defender of Civil Rights,
symbol for racial justice, single
parent to Jem and Scout and gen-
eral good guy, Atticus would be
the ideal dinner party attendee.
78
Greenpeace, there was ‘Mister
Splashy Pants’. Thanks to a
dedicated fan who figured out
how to beat the one-vote system
and so started clicking the
joker name non stop, it was soon
clearly in the lead, attracting
the attention of blogs and social
networking sites. Greenpeace
removed the extra votes, yet the
fuss around the name remained
and its popularity rose from five
to seventy five percent in less
than a day.
Unhappy with the ap-
proaching result, Greenpeace
prolonged the competition;
many suggested the name would
not be pretty enough. Fans went
crazy. And as publicity grew, an
Internet uproar rose, and on the
10th of December the still una-
ware whale was given his name,
‘Mr. Splashy Pants’.
In the meantime the Green-
peace website almost went down
under the pressure of voters, 78
percent of whom voted for the
winning name, Japan decided to
drop their killing commission
for now and the power of social
networking proved itself once
again.
Mr S. Pants however contin-
ues to hum around the oceans of
Australia, looking forward to his
next sushi buffet. Maybe now
someone can finally break the
news to him.
Told from the adoring perspec-
tive of his young daughter Scout,
the world was introduced to At-
ticus in the “tired old town” of
Maycomb, when the Alabama
attorney defended a black man
accused of raping a white woman
in the face of 1950s prejudices
and small town bigotry. Atticus’s
time in the deep gothic south was
brought to life through Gregory
Peck in the 1962 film adaptation
and that quietly handsome, grey-
ing-at-the-temples portrayal has
gone on to be voted the number
She saved her home-
land from the invading
Pope John Paul II
English and became
a saint - all whilst in Actor, poet and a keen skier, Natalia Krzywicka
her ‘difficult’ teen-
Acosta invites Pope John Paul II.
age years, Ben James
invites His university friends ending Communism in his na-
Joan of
couldn’t have been more right tive Poland and Eastern Europe,
when pinning a ‘trainee Saint’ la- but also in Africa, the Philip-
bel to his door, because 30 years pines and Haiti to name but a few.
on Karol Wojtyla had become His teachings on human
Arc
the most famous Pope of all time. rights and individual liberty in-
He broke papal traditions by spired millions and he encour-
ers had just enilated a superior abandoning the filthy rich Vati- aged generations to fight for
French force at a village named can walls to fight for his peoples’ political change and a better to-
Agincourt and France, now throne- freedom and dignity. During his morrow. Never one to shirk away
less and divided needed a leader pontificate he made pilgrimages from controversy, Pope John
Joan was burnt at the stake at to over 120 countries in order to Paul was widely criticised for his
the age of just 19. At that age the - that leader came in the unex-
pected guise of a young maid who build bridges between religions social commentary on the use of
sum of my achievements amounted and cultures. Challenging history contraception in Africa, and he
to passing a few exams, coming sec- claimed to hear voices from heaven.
She rallied her country’s fiercely opposed the ordination of
ond in the South Nottinghamshire women. During his final years as
Sunday football league division forces and rode at the head of the
French army against the Eng- he battled cancer, he taught eve-
four and completing my Duke of ryone a lesson in the humility of
Edinburgh silver. She meanwhile, lish, driving them further and
further back towards the channel. human life and his death was one
had sent the English packing, be- of the defining moments of the
She was eventually captured by
Winston
come France’s national heroine, decade. His humility was never
shattered the English myth of in- the English, condemned as a witch
and burnt at the stake. The ‘Maid of more evident than when play-
vincibility created at Agincourt and ing for his school football team.
Orleans’ was dead but the English
Churchill
convinced the Catholic Church that Separated into teams of Jews and
she should be named a saint – not never recovered from the series of
heavy defeats at the hands of Joan. Catholics, Karol was known to
bad for a schizophrenic peasant girl. regularly break the fierce rivalry
Joan was born in Eastern This fiery teenager would en-
sure the party wouldn’t turn into by volunteering for the Jewish
Charismatic, iconic and entertaining definitely. France in 1412 to humble begin- team when short on numbers.
nings. England and France were some middle-aged male domi-
Drunk, obnoxious and bigoted probably. Ben nated testosterone fest and her But it isn’t only for his wis-
embroiled in the hundred year’s dom, kindness, and versatil-
James invites Winston Churchill. war and the forces of Henry V contempt for the English would
where he could, he was acclaimed ity on the football pitch that I
Adventurer, soldier, reporter and arguably our greatest Prime seemed unstoppable in their quest provide ample conversation topics.
as one of the most influential lead- invite John Paul II - he may be
Minister - the Rt Hon Winston Churchill is a staple for any fantasy for land and power. English arch- Just don’t sit her next to Winston.
ers of the twentieth century and the only one able to save Mr
dinner party. played a pivotal role in not only
Splashy Pants from the grill.
Educated at Harrow, he began his working life in the army and
saw action all over the world. He later became a war correspondent
during the Second Boer War before entering the world of politics.
His finest hour coincided with our finest hour - in 1940 when all
Emma Woodhouse
the free world was plunged into darkness he grabbed Europe by the
collar, pulled her kicking and screaming through the mud, blood, sweat
and the tears and drove Gerry out of town.
Old Winston certainly liked his drink and was rumoured to drink
Rich, clever and just a bit of a brat, Alice Johnson
a bottle of champagne a day. When accused of being an alcoholic he
replied: “I’ve taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has taken out
invites Jane Austen’s Emma.
S
of me.” So make sure the bar’s stocked up and have a few fat Cubans
ready as well. he may not be any Elizabeth Bennett, but Jane
His anecdotes would be priceless and his sharp wit and razor Austen’s favourite matchmaker Emma Woodhouse
tongue would keep the other guests on edge. In one of his celebrated would add an element of style to any dinner party.
exchanges, Lady Astor, the first female MP, told him: “If you were my A salacious gossip, this small town beauty of 21
husband I would flavour your coffee with poison,” Winston looked her created a web of drama in her Georgian England
hometown through her attempts to pair every eligible, and often
in the eye and replied “madam if I were your husband I should drink
it.” not so eligible, bachelor within her delicately manicured reach.
The product of many a BBC reimagining, Austen once described
Emma as the heroine whom ‘no one but myself will much like’.
one film hero of all time, ahead of This pampered princess rose to stardom in 1997 through
the likes of Indiana Jones, Rocky Amy Heckerling’s teen flick appropriation Clueless, which trans-
Balboa and James Bond. Able ported the Comedy of Manners out of the glittering ballroom
to keep the peace at any conten- and into the catty world of the teenage schoolyard. One of
tious dinner party, I’m bringing the sneakiest marketing strategies in film history, Director
Atticus along cause quite frankly Amy Heckerling never openly admitted to the link between
the guy deserves a night off. the two contextually contrasting tales. Film critics and Austen
“Courage is not a man with buffs alike finally made the connection, largely through Alicia
a gun in his hand. It's knowing Silverstone’s bitchy Beverley Hills portrayal of the teen icon.
you're licked before you begin but Whether she’s looking for love for the single parent Atticus or
you begin anyway and you see it eyeing up the eligibility of the boys from Flight of the Concords,
through no matter what. You rare- this well-meaning young lady is sure to create the politest of
ly win, but sometimes you do." havoc at our Summer BBQ. Fabulously wealthy and gratingly
naive, putting Emma head-to-head with our other BBQ invitees,
we think this belle of the ball may well have met her match.
79
Heston BBQ time
Blumenthal
His food might sound strange, but you just
As blazing days turn into lazy summer evenings there is no
better way of celebrating than with delicious barbequed
don’t know until you try. Karl Hoddell invites food and some surprisingly fiery drinks. Here are our sizzling
Heston Blumenthal. summer suggestions, enjoy them while they’re hot.

Most men like to think of recent success of re-creating the

themselves as experts when it
comes to BBQ-ing. The fact of
the matter is, very few are. And
regardless of what people may say,
nobody likes burnt sausages. I’d
like to think that I would be man
edible delights from Roald Dahl’s
“Charlie and the Chocolate Fac-
tory”, including the chocolate wa-
terfall and lickable wallpaper, and
you’re left with someone who’s
Spicy Strawberry Slim
not afraid to experiment with A hot drink sure to cool you down
Shake vodka, pepper
3 cl vodka vodka and strawberry
2 cl pepper vodka juice in a shaker with
10 cl fresh pressed much ice.
strawberry juice Pour trough a strainer

Ayn Rand
Ice cubes into a cocktail glass
Chilifruit or strawberry through, garnish with a
chilli fruit or strawberry.

enough to say BBQ-ing was not
my forte, and that’s why if it were
my BBQ, and I had the luxury of
inviting anyone I desired, I think
I’d want a chef there. Someone who
was passionate about food; pas-
sionate enough, that they’d handle
all of the cooking. Someone whose
food would wow the other guests.
Someone who would ensure the
sausages remained un-burnt.
Heston Blumenthal is with-
out doubt the chef of the moment.
Already on his resume – an OBE,
two “Best UK Restaurant” awards,
and one “Best Restaurant in the
world” title. Add to that mix his
his cooking – whilst at the same
time making sure it tastes bloody
good. I’m sure a barbie round
mine wouldn’t be above him.
As a chef who’s famous for
his innovative cooking tech-
niques – the use of liquid nitro-
gen for example – and strange
recipes (bacon and egg ice-cream
and snail porridge immedi-
ately come to mind), I’m con-
fident he could come up with
some ingenious grilled concoc-
tions to tickle the taste buds.
I’d prefer it if he left the snails
off the menu this time though.
Nothing quite gets a dinner conversation firing Grilled Filet Mignon with red wine sauce
like politics and what better than the extreme 6 (4 to 6-ounce) filet mignons until tender, about 5 minutes.
views of author and playwright Ayn Rand? Chargrilled vegetables with melted Kosher salt and freshly Season with salt. Add the
Michael Bishop explains why. mozzarella ground black pepper
3 tablespoons extra-virgin
garlic and oregano and saute
until fragrant, about 30
This salad is not only a nice complement to all kinds of grilled
meat but also delightful as a starter, served with parma ham olive oil seconds. Stir in the tomato
I hate to be tarred with the Libertarian brush, like Ron Paul and all
6 tablespoons cold unsalted paste and cook for 2 minutes,
those articulate-yet-far-right political trailblazers, but of the few
butter stirring constantly. Stir in the
fiction reads I choose to bother with, ‘The Fountainhead’ must be 3 red onions Drizzle the vegetables with the ol-
1 onion, peeled and thinly wine and simmer until the
among the most tolerable. And I’m not sure how much I would enjoy 2 peppers, one yellow and one ive oil before putting them on the
sliced sauce reduces by half,
nights at her (tongue firmly in cheek) ‘Collective’, which essentially red grill until they are soft and reach a
1 tablespoon minced garlic stirring occasionally, about
involved younger men worshipping a vastly mature Ms Rand. 1 courgette nice colour. Put the tomatoes on
1 teaspoon dried oregano 10 minutes. Remove the
I really don’t empathise at all with the sort of politics that often 4 plum tomatoes last as they will cook quickest.
1/4 cup tomato paste skillet from the heat. Strain
claim her work as dogma – I cringe reading some of the articles olive oil Mix the vegetables, some extra
2 1/2 cups dry red wine the sauce into a small bowl,
posted by the Ayn Rand Institute – but it is possible to, in what some 2 chopped garlics olive oil, garlic, parsley and lemon
pressing on the solids
would called a simplistic manner, read her work simply as a celebra- 1 dl chopped parsley peel on a large dish. Spice with
Preheat grill to medium-high to extract as much liquid as
tion of the strength of the human spirit. I am by no means a Howard 1 grated lemon peel salt and pepper and let the salad
heat. possible. Discard the solids
Roark myself; to have that sort of architectural vision and ingenuity Black pepper and sea salt stand for a while to make sure the
Generously season the steaks in the strainer and return the
just does not fit with my stubborn refusal to imagine. I do wonder 2 mozarella cheese tastes come together.
with salt and pepper and sauce to the saucepan and
though, whether the collectivist tendencies of leftist government Finally, break the cheese into
drizzle with the 3 tablespoons bring back to a slow simmer.
suppresses the ability of individuals, uninhibited by silly things like Half the onions and tomatoes, small pieces and mix it into the
of olive oil. Cut the remaining 4 table-
social responsibility, could mix a degree of self-interest and arro- cut the peppers into small chunks salad before serving.
Grill to desired doneness, spoons of butter into small
gance to, ultimately and ironically, improve the world we live in. and slice the courgette.
about 5 minutes per side for 1/2-inch chunks and whisk
medium-rare. Transfer the into the sauce a little at a
Raspberry pannacotta cake steaks to a cutting board. time. Season the sauce to taste
Tent with foil and let stand with salt and pepper.
Pastry

Flight of the Conchords

Dry yet charming, they
are here to
entertain. Dom Sztyber
invites his dream kiwi
duo.
New Zealand’s greatest
exports would be guaranteed to
make any casual or formal social
gathering a memorable event.
Bret McKenzie and Jemaine
Clement are a comedy-folk band.
They have toured the world
enthralling audiences with their
dead pan delivery and self-depre-
cating charm.
With two HBO television
80
series in the USA they have
rightfully earned an internation-
al cult following. But despite the
fame the pair are still grounded.
Our conversation would flow as if
we had been friends for years. We
would make private jokes about
the other guests. They would
explain their writing process.
I would talk to Jemaine about
him starring in the oddball film
Eagle vs. Shark, a darker, funnier
Napoleon Dynamite.
For the whole bbq I would be
waiting for someone to ask where
in Australia they were from and
for it then to all kick off, in a fun-
ny way. Then, after being formally
accepted as a member of Flight
of the Conchords, a performance
would be an essential ending. A
very special gig that would finish
on a new song. A song written
by Bret, Jemaine and myself.
Although, it would rely heavily
on their witty observational skills
and merely my pretty handwrit-
ing.
Blend the digestives and the but-
ter together. Press the mixture
into a baking tray and put it in the
fridge to cool.
Put the gelatine leaves in a bowl
with cold water.
Boil cream and sugar slowly un-
til sugar has dissolved. Drain the
gelatine and stir it into the cream.
Take the pan off the heat and let
10 minutes. Meanwhile, melt Place filets on each of 6
12 digestives 2 tablespoons of butter in a dinner plates.
75 g melted butter large saucepan over medium- Drizzle the sauce over the
high heat. filets and serve.
Filling Add the onions and saute
3 gelatine leaves
3 dl full fat creme
1 dl sugar
250 g raspberries
200 g Philadelphia cheese
Berries for decoration
it cool somewhat.
Blend the raspberries until they
reach a purée like consistency.
Stir the cream cheese and purée
into the cream and whisk until a
smooth mixture is reached. Pour
into the pastry shell.
Leave in fridge for at least three
hours or until solid. Serve with
freshly picked berries.
81

Music
Treats by Sleigh Bells
Release: 1st June
Only after my best friend’s 12th Birthday
party, the one with quad bikes and a petting
goat, have I been so satisfied with something
so hyped. The internet and its music blogs have
been furiously chatting about the pre-release
demos from this debut album for months, but
now the whole package is mine and yours for
the price of a book.
Formed only last year this Brooklyn based
duo have impressed a lot of people already.
With Alexis Krauss on vocals and Derek Mill-
er on hand to grapple with everything else, the
sound is distinctly low-fi and back to basics
recorded in a bedroom style. Somewhere be-
tween moody Elliott Smith, the current wave
of girly, glitter hipster fronted by Best Coast
and Dum Dum Girls and the breezy indie
electro of FM Belfast sits Sleigh Bells. But
then it still won’t fit in the pigeon-hole.
Press play and you are greeted by “Tell
‘Em” and its stand-to-attention inducing na-
tional anthem riff. Although, it is more of a
manly bear hug of an introduction compared
to some of the limp hand shakes of other cur-
rent releases. The aggressive drum machine
beat is perforated by female vocals that are
straight from the playground. The repetition
and the sugary melody takes you back to the
group of pig-tailed girls religiously whirling
their skipping ropes singing of kittens and
The Dance by Faithless
Out now
It has been four years since last album “To All
New Arrivals”, fourteen since first mega hit
“Insomnia” and Faithless are back. With “The
Dance” the South Hampton trio continue
their trademark restless and wise worded sexy,
big and floaty, well, dance. And this boogie has
been worth waiting for.
With between ten and sixteen (depend-
ing on which version you buy) tunes perfectly
aimed at warm summer evenings and late
night raves it won’t have you disappointed,
unless you were hoping for something inno-
vative or different that is. Because other than,
less successfully, mixing it up with reggae tune
“Crazy Bal’heads” Faithless remain their old
reliable, solid and amazing selves, to quote the
epic final “Sun To me”, “once again fitting per-
fectly”.
82
Reviews
sherbet.
Admittedly Sleigh Bells score low on
the meaningful profound lyrics board. But it
doesn’t really matter. Their simple nature is the
charm. Any complexity would be lost in the
sea of noise.
The pace continues, with “Riot Rhythm”
and its catchy “you gotta march” chant, to
“Infinity Guitars” and the heavy compressed
pummelling beats that get you moving. Then
the roller-coaster pulls in and you get to rest
with “Rill Rill”.
The party kicks back into life with “Crown
on the Ground” booting you in the face.
Somehow it seems even louder than previous
tracks with heavy distorted big beats.
Whereas “Feel Me” unfortunately lacks in
doing anything like it, “Feeling Good”, once
again taking help from another perfect fit and
band sister Dido, sure knows how to do just
that. Meditative “Flyin Hi” with its hypnotis-
ing spoken poetry and ocean like sound on the
other hand numbs all senses and leaves you
floating seemingly weightless in an endless
and ever changing space.
Yes, it may be predictable, but with “The
Dance” Faithless do what they do best. Blast-
ing you with the by now well known mixture of
beautiful sway-along-tunes (the choir backed
Dido - Maxi Jazz duet, “North Star”, hitting
just the right spot) and spellbinding, sexy
songs (although ‘Tweak Your Nipple’ takes it a
bit too far) “The Dance” is bound to do noth-
ing but follow in the non believers’ unbroken
Try not to panic next as you frantically
bumble to turn the volume down for fear of
blowing your little laptop speakers. It’ll just be
the chunky, feedback heavy bass of “A/B Ma-
chines”. With the only words “Got my A ma-
chines on the table, got my B machines in the
draw” said over and over you half expect to feel
your organs reverberate like at the front row of
a packed club gig.
Overall, the whole album is meant to be
raw and rough with you, like your hairy trucker
lover who has been on the road for two days
and is stopping by for a quickie before he has
to get back to his wife and three kids. Sweaty,
but still enjoyable. A breathless 32 minutes
worthy of your attention.
Sleigh Bells
chain of gold selling albums – so far five out of
five have managed it and with moves like these
Faithless are “Not Going Home”.
Sister Bliss and Maxi Jazz of
Faithless
Film
The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call - New Orleans
Out now
Nicolas Cage will never be considered one of
the greatest. Some of his performances are sub-
lime, but more often than not they are ridicu-
lous. He is seen in Hollywood as a bit of a wild
card, someone who doesn’t have that stamp of
quality of a DiCaprio or Downey Jr and no
doubt his fee reflects this. Gone in 60 Seconds:
sublime; National Treasure: ridiculous; Kick-
Ass: sublime; The Wicker Man: ridiculous. In
The Bad Lieutenant his performance is lodged
somewhere in the middle of that spectrum, but
thankfully the film itself is so utterly ridiculous
it just kind of works - quite beautifully.
Cage’s Terence McDonagh is a cocaine-
snorting, pistol wielding homicide cop in
post-Hurricane Katrina New Orleans. He
steals heroin from the evidence cabinet and
pulls his gun on members of the public de-
manding their coke. He’s at rock bottom.
Sex and the City 2
Out now
Once upon a time, or perhaps somewhere in
the late 90s, a successful television programme
about four single gals challenged the bounda-
ries of acceptable viewing. For the first time,
both the characters on air and those of us off
it were going through the A to Z of sexual no-
nos. From anal to bi, cunnilingus to doggy style
and all the way down to any number of posi-
tions you might equate with the zoo. Journal
articles were written, conservatives were ap-
palled and twenty- something’s were thrilled
about a show which offered a bit more than
that old fairytale.
But a familiar trend has popped up once
again. It’s been twelve years since the pilot, six
since the finale, two since they returned for the
first film and now we have this. The cast has
grown up and so have the characters. No longer
on the hunt for love and lust in the Big Apple,
the girls are instead troubled by their toddlers’
terrible twos and hot flushes that are more than
Samantha straddling a camel in the middle of a
desert. Oh yes - director Michael Patrick King
tried to reinvigorate the film’s ‘sparkle’, as Car-
rie puts it, by shipping the girls off on an all
expenses paid trip to Abu Dhabi.
New place, new clothes, some sparingly layered
new cracks, just none of that old charm.
Reviewers worldwide have been trying to
The film appears to take a turn when
McDonagh takes a special interest in the case
of a slaughtered family of Senegalese im-
migrants. Director Werner Herzog tempts us
with the possibility of a happy ending - the
search through this horrific crime a way back
put a finger on what it is exactly that lets us
down so magnificently about these films. We
do after all come out of the 146 minute saga
having seen precisely what we expected. Shoes,
love triangles, lunch dates and one too many of
Carrie’s not-so-witty bylines.
Some argue the girls sold out, that the
burning bras have been firmly extinguished
and re-adorned. Pseudo-feminist critics are
equating this with some bigger cultural retreat
from liberation. This doesn’t quite gel. The con-
tent is instead, at times, gratingly directed to-
wards women’s issues.
Perhaps it’s more of a case that we just didn’t
like the realities the film has tried to force
upon us. We never watched the show for the
real world - Carrie’s ridiculous views on shoes
and romance were much more along the lines
Kristen Davis, Sarah Jessica Parker, Kim Cattrall and Cynthia Nixon
‘New place, new
clothes, some
sparingly layered
new cracks- but
just none of that
old charm’
to humanity, but this is quickly taken away
from us with a flurry of scenes which see a
couple of iguanas belt out the first two bars of
“Please release me, let me go” and McDonagh
screaming obscenities at the residents of an
old peoples’ home. The theme of excess and
the dangers of it continue throughout the film
with any real plot fast disappearing. It’s Cage’s
performance however - one of the most
memorable of his career - which makes this
more than a worthwhile watch as he battles
his addiction and the New Orleans under-
world. It’s disturbing viewing, but gripping
nonetheless. Ignore the plot and ignore the
ending, this film is all about Cage. For all the
years of commercial tripe he has shamelessly
produced, this is back to his best and come
award season he will be rewarded.
of a luxurious fantasy. But we secretly excused
her selfish ways for those tacky ninety’s piece-
to-cameras and that enormous head of hair.
Place it against the backdrop of a big budget
production, fit to burst with soundtracks, styl-
ists and a world of product placement and we
just aren’t as willing to swallow it. No Saman-
tha puns intended. Particularly when the gloss
is just a glaring substitute for quality writing or
any semblance of wit and intelligence on the
part of the women.
If nothing else it has demonstrated that this
time round Samantha and the girls weren’t just
riding a camel in the desert. Rather it’s time
we all got down from the dead horse franchise
this once excellent series has been flogging for
simply too long.
83
 ‘Bryson’s work of history
succeeds through its lively
challenge for us to keep on
thinking about the here and
now’

Books
The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by David Mitchell
Out now
David Mitchell’s previous works have lauded jima’s Dutch doctor. De Zoet is due to return
much success, from their number one best sell- home to be married but predictably falls in
er ratings to a Man Booker short listing. love, to the point of infatuation, with Orito.
His latest offering, The Thousand Autumns Only a small land bridge separated the
of Jacob de Zoet, steps outside his genre com- ten or so Dutch traders and their hand-
fort zone and challenges the scope for imagi- ful of Malay slaves from the rigidly or-
native and genuinely enthralling story telling. dered city of Nagasaki, and the forbidden
Set on Dejima, a Dutch run Japanese is- and unfamiliar delights it comes to embody.
land during the Napoleanic Wars, the novel Don’t be put off by the novel’s opening
takes place at a unique point in history. All chapter, a graphic birthing scene where Orito
Dutch overseas possessions have been seized uses triceps to deliver the Nagasaki Gover-
by the British and in Europe, the United nor’s baby. There is much talk of amputating
Provinces have been overrun by the French. the foetus’s arm and perhaps more womanly
The novel examines the bizarre power struc- anatomy and fluids than one is accustomed
ture which emerged when an island the size to in such early stages of a story. It does how-
of half a football pitch became the only place ever set the scene for the clash of cultures.
in the world where the Dutch flag still flew. Western medical practices continually con-
Told from Mitchell’s favoured multi- front Japanese superstitions and customs.
narrative view point, the story centers around Mitchell offers more than just a romance,
the idealistic Dutch clerk Jacob de Zoet and or a tale of changing geopolitics, cultural col-
the midwife Orito Aigabawa. After sav- lisions and government corruption. Skilfully
ing the life of the Nagasaki governor’s son, binding all of these, the novel captures the mys-
Orito is rewarded with the study of west- terious essence of what the world must have
ern obstetrics under the instruction of De- been like as a new and unexplored quantity.

At Home by Bill Bryson

Out now
In recent decades, publishers and TV pro- towards our personal pasts, asking all the big part of two centuries. Most people will never
ducers alike have swarmed like ants to the questions of the domestic sphere. lead a great military battle. Spectacularly pub-
proverbial jam-jar over an academic depart- And he does make some pretty mundane lic displays of outstanding oration will evade
ment which many had relegated to the dull- questions suddenly seem pretty damn impor- even the most impassioned office worker.
est echelons of commercially viable scholastic tant. After all, why do forks have specifically Histories do not, Bryson argues, stop when
mishmashes. The rise of ‘Arm-chair’ and DIY four prongs? Why are salt and pepper our sea- we enter the household. Rather the events of
histories have taken academia by storm, with a sonings of choice? A few pages into Bryson’s the past weigh heavily on the practices, objects
snowballing of everything from TV medieval work and you’ll be querying why you’d never and overall realities of the way we have come
docudramas to a revival of the family historian. thought to ask these apparently big questions to live.
Now the latest phase: the easily digestible liter- yourself. Concise, intelligent and definitely worth
ary summary of, well, pretty much everything. Written with his characteristic wit and un- some time, Bryson’s work of history succeeds
Whether or not it’s some damning reflec- canny observations, he taps into a reality which through its lively challenge for us to keep on
tion of our pre-packaged, easy access lifestyles, evaded the field of historicism for the better thinking about the here and now.
they certainly are a long way from the old
school archetypes of stalwart historians wad-
ing through primary sources.
Love it or hate it, it’s hard to look past the
poster boy for the genre and the writing of Bill
Bryson.
So far he’s tackled everything from a short
history of the nearly everything (complete with
a kids’ edition, dubbed the really short history
of everything), to the life of Shakespeare and
the state of the English language. Author Bill Bryson
His latest work turns an ever-concise eye
84
 Lesbians,
Judaism
and cheesecake
Alice Johnson shares lunch and small talk with Orange Writer’s
Award winner Naomi Alderman at this years Oxford literary
festival.
T
he girl next to me is sickeningly thin.
Tapping her foot nervously, she pulls a
coarse brush through thin hair, counting
aloud the twelve methodological strokes
placed on each side of her nearly balding
head. With lipstick nearly as black as her leather boots
laced knee high, the frail young woman appears at
odds with the neutral tones and warm sandstone of the
Oxford presentation room. I am not seated next to the
up and coming young author Naomi Alderman, but
rather her girlfriend.
The pair make an obscure sort of couple. Alder-
man spoke to me afterwards, devouring coffees and
plates of cheesecake in the warm white marquee
of the Literary Festival. She is both enormous and
lovely, smiling warmly, offering me tidbits and laugh-
ing louder than the muted tones of the literary buffs.
Her first novel Disobedience was award-
ed the 2006 Orange Award for New Writers
and a stream of controversy following its tell-all
glimpse into the world of Jewish bisexuals. How-
ever, it wasn’t the smoothest of roads to success.
“I was pretty much entirely convinced it
would never be published,” Alderman explained.
“I thought if I was lucky I’d sell it to a tiny pub-
lisher who’d print 200 copies. So, yeah, I constantly
86
considered throwing in the towel, and only man-
aged not to because I felt that my whole life would
have been a complete waste of time if I did. Which...
is not the healthiest emotional place. I can’t rec-
ommend this level of self-doubt as a life strategy.”
Jewish bisexuals, disillusioned Oxford at-
tendees, Alderman’s novels had been criticised for
their love of shock value. The Guardian described
her storytelling as being, ‘wielded like a blunt in-
strument’. But are they all about the shock, or are
these essentially just coming of age narratives?
“Ha. Are those my only two options?” Alderman asks
as she licks the final cheesecake smears off her spoon.
“I have lived a big chunk of my life in institutions
which value conformity and tradition but... not con-
formity and tradition to many values that I fit in with.
So yes, a commonly-
Oxford held belief is like a flag
to me that something
more interesting is go-
ing on under the surface.”
Not all criticism of Al-
derman’s work has been as
searing as The Guardian’s.
Heralded as ‘the next big
thing’ by many critics, I
asked her how important
her legacy as an author was.
“Huh. This is not
something I’ve ever re-
ally thought about! I
hope to write some re-
ally good books. Maybe,
if I’m lucky and work
hard, a great one or two. I
saw on the television re-
cently that the Bodleian Library have requested Alan
Bennet’s ‘papers’ when he dies. That’d be pretty good.
A little room in a Bodleian under-basement with all
my correspondence and diaries. But I don’t know: it’s
not for me to judge the effects of my work. It’s like
trying to imagine what your friends and acquaint-
ances really think of you: intolerable and terrifying.”
Where to next? Alderman’s latest projects range
from a games project with the BBC to a new novel set
in the Roman Empire. “Research, fun, hard work”.