Disparaged love.

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57172Her name Claire, seeping like sap through a willow tree. It’s branches kissing the ground as they sifted the golden leaves around in the wind. That is where he met her. Her face white as snow, lips soft and her eyes shone green with beautiful dimples on the cheeks. Her blonde hair flowed down and the tips touched the lower region of her back.

He was non-the-wiser to the willow tree swaying and eerily creeping back and fourth. His hair was black. Fingernails dirty. Untamed eyebrows lived upon the upper half of his face. The nose that was betwixt the left and right side of his face was a solid example of his gene pool. His father, had the same nose and his father before that, and every ancestor of his was known to have his nose. It was one to be proud of; being ashamed of it was nothing to be proud of. His eyes, lit up whenever he saw anyone with a smile. He began walking.

His shirt was rustling in the wind as he made his move towards her. Her eyes squinted, trying to work out who it was. A boy she had never seen before, his face somehow familiar. Her thoughts scattered. He approached and startled her, as her brain was trying to complete a thought process.
He asked if she would take a walk with him?
She replied in a way that allowed him to see through her pretentious exterior. Err, I don’t often walk with strangers, but I guess this once won’t hurt.

A spark of excitement coursed through Johns body. His hands restless and his breathing had led her to believe he was something different. He wasn’t like the rest of them, he happened to be kind and grateful. They spent hours making conversation whilst staring into the sky comparing shapes and sizes of clouds. There was one sheep, two faces and too many cloud that were too shapeless to give a label too. Their young hearts were filled to the brim with compliments of love and beauty; after a while of conversing, a shout was heard from across the field.

“JOHN COME INSIDE NOW. YOU KNOW YOUR NOT MEANT TO… COME NOW!” It was to be presumed that it was his mother. Before Claire could ask he had scuttled back across the field, through the park and back into the house. His mother scowling at her. She felt uneasy and unwelcome. Her heart in her mouth, she wondered if she would ever see him again. But before she knew it, two years had passed.

It was December, the trees without leaves and the thought of snow fall was on everybody’s mind. It had rained the night before so the chances of snow were very slim. During that day Claire, had been to school. On her way home she saw, what at first seemed to be a stranger, but someone who felt so familiar. She dropped her bag and ran, not ran sprinted towards the figure of John. As she got closer she was perplexed to see it was him. After two years of wondering, wishing and contemplating eventualities, he was here. He was there in front of her. His face matured, his hair short and sharp. Before she could open her mouth he said “Good afternoon, miss. Would you like to go for a walk?”

She neither replied or denied John. She simply grabbed his hand and they ran past the willow that had once intertwined them and towards the forest, that was located beyond the field. So deep into the forest they had found themselves lost A compass without labels.

The light in the sky was a combination of red and orange, evening was fast approaching. Neither Claire or John would leave each others company. Their hands clasped and his eyes focused on her pure untouched body. He kissed her neck just once, her hands grabbed the back of his shirt holding him tighter and tighter. He continued up her neck until he kissed her lips. The forest surrounding them displayed their affection and innocence. A moment of pure passion. One hand on her hip and the other holding her neck in his hand. He said its time.

Just as she was about to take his jeans off. A lightning bolt hit the ground a couple of miles away. The thunder deafening. Nothing would stop them. Their love exerted in sweat and noise. The tree surrounding them were tall and empathetic. Rain poured over their naked bodies, John held her tighter covering her from the rain and they continued making love until the rain stopped beating on John’s back. Cold and wet. Dark and erie.

John dressed Claire and they returned to the village they had just earlier that day ran from. He smiled and looked at Claire and said “we will, we are and will always show them our love is as strong as we want it. We decide our fate. And our destiny and no one can stop us. Never forget.”

Claire, was in love. Her mind compelled. Her heart strung. She was now a woman of strong status.

Many years had passed, happily ever after they thought. John however was not. He had grown tired and ill tempered. The spark she had once seen had sizzled out and she felt trapped. As though stuck in a nightmare which was once exciting and new but had now become tedious and Mundane. They had been lovers for years now. She wondered what had changed and blamed herself for a while until she built up the courage to confront her, once beautiful, lover. She said my love, your hair has become lifeless, was it me that has done this to you or is it the lack of order in your priorities. In the eyes of John, she had become cynical, and even more pretentious than she had once been. Their love had faded and anxious apprehension had replaced the intimacy they had.
After work on a Tuesday. She would spend all afternoon cleaning their certainly middle-class home – they used to call it home. John would go to a club he had been a member of for years. Whilst she was cleaning the bedroom floor, she found something. A small object by nature but it grew increasingly suspicious in her mind.

When her husband, had returned she questioned him. His answer only being that he had left it there for her to find in order to add a little spice to their failing relationship. She was dumbstruck. She said nothing and so the week passed the same as any other.
So the next week, when her husband left, she followed him. Her mind hollow and her seatbelt fastened. She managed to keep a few cars distance at all times. She had never been to this part of town. Unfamiliar and strange. Shivers tickling her already nervous fingertips. His car stopped outside a house. The door was made of oak, windows translucent and the Door-mat outside read welcome home. He entered the house and she stayed in the car for a while. Just long enough that he wouldn’t notice her leaving the car and going round the back. As a youngster she had always made a good climber, sitting in trees for hours and letting the world roll by.

In the garden there were flowers across all three sides with a bird pond in the middle. The grass was perfectly cut and the smell of June hung sweetly in the air. She peered into the window. Nobody was there. Again in the kitchen. She decided to climb on top of the conservatory, which she immediately hated because it was a horrible cream colour. It reminded her of an argument John and her had, years ago. He wanted it and she didn’t. Their conflicting views made her miss the intimacy in their relationship, it was the last time she could remember when they had actually spoken.

On top of the conservatory, she peered through another window. The hallway was dark and she couldn’t see much.
One window left. She assumed that it would be where her husband was. Thoughts raced through her mind of what he was doing? Why was he there? What sort of club was this?

She froze, her feet stolen from her. Her jaw had dropped and nothing but anger filled her body. She took a while to process what she had seen. She composed herself and took off home. Awaiting the arrival of her ‘lover’. The door opened. For years she had been stuck wondering what it was that was missing from their empty loveless life. The fact the door creaked upon entering infuriated her on a good day; it was this time that it really drove her mad.

As soon as John saw the tears in her eyes, his throat closed up and his voice gained an empathetic quality which was almost subsided by the ring of a telephone. The phone was left to voice-mail. Claire spoke few words that night. All that was said was she thought their love was different from all over loves, a binding promise, betrothed to each other. All he had to say was he wasn’t sorry for doing it but sorry she found out. The night was bleak and as Claire looked into the sky she saw black. Nothing but black space. Everywhere. A thought arose that could just walk into the night and escape her life, her husband and escape from herself. Nevertheless, she stayed.

Needless to say that the house was quiet for some time. It was two weeks before either of them had spoken to one another.
John was in the kitchen. He heard nothing. He spoke nothing. He simply was. After a minute of listening to the sound of silence he decided to make it up to Claire. All his broken promises, the mistrust and every lie he had told.
The stairs, cream. The banister was carved by their old friend jack-the-black-carpenter. His name is slightly misleading considering he was was pale, short and stubby however great with his hands.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs looking aimlessly at the top, where a vase usually sat. The plant had died some time ago, it had become wilted and brown. Every step he took, the more anxious he felt. His palms sweating and beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. He approached the door. The scratched golden handle was hard to turn. It took a few turns to get it right. Once he’d opened it. He pushed it wide open. Turned the corner. There she was. Claire in all her beauty. In front of her. She lay. Peacefully.

On closer inspection she held a bottle in her hand. He unclasped her hand from the bottle. It read rat poison. He fell to his knees. His head lie in shame. He ran to the bathroom. He looked blankly into the mirror. His face grey and wrinkled. With his fist clenched he put his fist through the mirror. Shards of mirror lay in the sink and on the floor. There was blood where the mirror was, in the sink and on the floor.

He took the shards of glass that were scattered across the room. He ran it gently over his wrist. Imagining the pain that could be caused. The damage. He smiled. Clenching the glass he stabbed it into his wrist once, twice, three times. Blood squirted everywhere; whilst a pool of blood spread across the floor. Claire’s plan had succeeded.

All the commotion from the bathroom had woken Claire from a deep sleep. She had come to the conclusion that it must have worked. His body crashed to the floor with a thud so loud it shook the foundations of the house. She picked herself up, placed the pot on the side. She drifted around the corner and stood above her poor husbands bloody broken body and whispered, I gave you everything, I was yours, you took my life so now ill have yours. He neared the end, blood loss was his main concern, with a breathe he replied. Bu..b..but t..he poi…son. She said in a tone of voice which he had hard before, pretentious and softly she said I’ve had problem sleeping for a while. As she walked outside the room she turned to him and spoke “never forget”.

Review: Captain America, The Winter Soldier

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Its a week late, but due to my poor finances I had to wait a week to see it – also trying to lower the price with a shared orange Wednesday ticket – oh, university, you make me so poor. However, moving on.

The film is a sequel to both the Avengers film and the original Captain America and features Scarlett Johansson as “Black Widow” and Samuel L. Jackson as “Nick Fury” – obviously. The film however, in my opinion, didn’t live up to its reputation.

Rogers, still unable to come to terms with the time period he has found himself in, beginning the film by smashing skulls, whipping shields, free-falling from jets and ripping apart mercenaries aboard a plot-twisting vessel. Beating up the badies is good yes, but it was graphic to the point where an excessive amount of ass-whooping is too much – I felt empathetic towards those poor brazilians mercilessly beaten to a pulp, their face of grimace as a red, white and blue fury of rage oscillated across the ship killing brother after brother of his. In essence, that is the major flaw in the film, I know Marvel are all about big plots, enigmatic twists always trying to go bigger and harder with each thrilling installment – but where does it end, how big is too big?

(Side note)
Why is Captain America’s costume so terrible? The Trillions of dollars of research going into S.H.I.E.L.D developing carriers built for exponential death and they can’t make a suit that can’t be washed over 30 degrees and has an ounce of style. I bet Chris Evans hates that suit – Superman looks amazing, Spiderman looks amazing, Iron Man is amazing – yet, the supposed “Captain of America” gets a navy blue cotton jumpsuit – poor show.

Also, if you love Scarlett Johansson – you will hate this film. Throughout the entire endeavor her hair is hideous and looks like a carved pumpkin – only with a more detailed face. Although her acting is impeccable she should definitely look into hiring a new stylist or something! Alongside agent Romanoff is Cobie Smulders! Whom featured as Fury’s number two in the Avengers film and maintains her awesome persona in this. A serious battle of the sexiest woman award – you may ask!

Nick Fury, for some reason intentionally fakes his own death with the Winter Soldier – which doesn’t make a lot of sense, although you do get to see what he’s hiding underneath that mysterious eye-patch of his – worth waiting for. By the end of the film, Fury is on the run and destroying his personal belongings – it is not mentioned why or what he does to his “wife”, we are just left to assume the conversation consisted of bullets, leather-coats and turtle-necks!

The plot line is convoluted at best and is intrinsically untrustworthy, the main theme i’m still unsure of and what becomes of the Winter Soldier is still unknown – with the ending snippet giving no clue to what is going to happen next we are just going to have to wait for the next Hollywood blockbuster to “justifiably” fill our screens with the next high-octane, explosion based, fandom tickling, comic-strip rippling adventure of Captain America.

I will not soon forget Stan Lee appearing as the janitor – what a wonderfully funny man.

Review: how i met your mother

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(May contain Spoilers)

In 2005 when Ted was an emotionally invested, love lusted know-it-all desperately trying to find his perfect wife – even signing up to “Yourperfectmatch.com” – it seemed as though the roller-coaster would never end. He was complicated, stupid and often just in the wrong place at the wrong time – which happens constantly. So, throughout the story he recaps indignant, self-loathing and character building moments throughout his adult life, until he inevitably – met the mother.

Then there was Barney. A sociopath womanizer, who dealt in numbers and clever colloquialisms always nudging Ted out of his comfort zone with games like “Have, you met Ted?” His character brilliantly brought to life by Neil Patrick Harris, of course. Barney transcends from a deeply troubled individual into a genuine person – which really was what let the show down in the end. After all those years of Lily nagging him to change his ways all it took was to knock a girl up – but what are you going to do?

Which brings us onto the perfect couple – acclaimed Mr and Mrs awesome – Lily and Marshall. The pair had their ups and downs but through it all they reminded us that love and life have no unchallenged paths – they’re long and meandering journeys that pushes one another’s boundries – bringing us to the finale!

The 43 minute episode follows the same style as the rest often flicking back in time to past events then to future events and then back to the present – trying to keep track of it, is somewhat difficult. The whole series that was spent leading up to the finale turns out to be a giant waste of time as just like before when Barney and Robin were together. They both ended up unhappy – maybe not because of over-eating or not caring for personal hygiene, but the result is and was still the same.

The mother, played by Christin Milioti, was a superb choice for the role. With giant boots to fill she was quirky, beautiful and an exact match for Ted. Over the last series she was introduced one by one to each of the other supporting roles playing a frequently influential part in their lives. So in the final episode it is confirmed that the mother had passed away due to “illness” – although it doesn’t, thankfully, specify an illness. I know is seems hard to handle but I genuinely think that was the only way they could have ended the show. The show has never tried to be a serious drama, or a serious comedy it just was – and why judge now when she gave Ted everything he’d ever wanted. Children, a house in the suburbs to call a home, someone to finish his crossword puzzles on a Sunday, a bass player, a dog lover – every ridiculous detail that Ted had ever chosen – Happiness.

After every great television show ends there is always a want for more, and they gave the audience a real development of the characters lives: changing, becoming increasingly more hectic, having children, finishing a night in the bar early to go home and working jobs they didn’t want to work to get by. Nonetheless everything worked out to some degree. If you had asked me four or five years ago who I wanted the mother to be – heartbeat – Robin. After everything that Ted had been through surely it stands to reason that he shouldn’t have to be alone because life took something from him. Now she isn’t technically the mother but it answers one question. It turns out that Robin was the reacher after all and Ted was the settler – oh, irony, you.

I for one am glad they didn’t butcher the ending with a fairy-tale rendition of how they always stayed in touch and still hung out in the same bar every-night, because that just isn’t realistic. It is after all just a television program, but I think it was a great example of the shows ethos: Love for as long as you can, because the universe has a funny sense of humour.

Goodbye, how i met your mother – you will be sorely missed.

Lacking Formality.

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After the recent April Fool’s day pranks, hosted by various prestigious companies, I have come to the conclusion that social media and the internet have played a crucial role in the increased informality that has swept across the nation – and I love it! It’s all down to our generation and our predecessors, changing the world in our wake, allowing companies to tweet customers apologies and worldwide witticisms like:

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Their reply is probably one of the most convention shattering incidences to happen on the internet. When before have companies been allowed to publicly speak to their customers in such an informal and colloquial manner? – great banter.

That fact that people are using their positions of power (newspapers) to have a laugh with or at the general public is genius – there is a growing expectation that this will only increase. You only have to look at the Google, Facebook, Youtube and Pixar offices to know that the world is changing into a comfortable, young, purely internet-orientated place – aren’t we lucky.

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You can’t tell me that you don’t think working here would be like the best thing ever! – Right? I bet they’re all sipping cocktails, tail-gating tequilas and smoking Cubans in the Head quarters like – who should we commemorate today?

The worlds a changing place, becoming more electronic everyday, but with that is coming a break in the tradition of 9 till 5 offices, wearing the same charcoal suit everyday, staring at grey and daringly dull walls – I guess we owe them a thank-you?

Not every job is like this obviously, but the day you get offered a job at Google, Facebook, Pixar, Youtube, Twitter or any other social media website you damn sure better take it – I mean look at those chairs! According to sources: Pixar, instead of offices, have their own cottages in which they work – one is themed around pink unicorns. Yep, I said it. Pink. Unicorns.

This change is wonderful, and can only continue to grow (unless Fallout 3 isn’t a game but, in fact, a true prediction of the future) and eventually, when enough advances in social media and the internet are introduced, formal will be the new informal. A world where people in suits walk around being all formal with all the informals in positions of power like stop being so formal, freaks! – what a strange world to imagine.

Bénicassim – The Only Place You’d Ever Want To Be

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Last year, I lost my international festival virginity. After having only attended V Festival, I and my other two companions were anxious to see what the festival had installed. With only four months until the glorious, sun-drenched festival begins again the anticipation has already resurfaced – only this time, we know exactly what to expect!

The Festival runs, opposite to most British festivals, as almost all the music occurs during the evening and night hours of the day – giving the crowd a much nicer vibe and easing the heat situation – if only for a while. For anyone who hasn’t been to an international festival – Go, you will not regret  it.
(Included are some photos of my time in Bénicassim)

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One of the four headliners released so far has been Kasabian – believe me I’m going to be club-footing all over the gaff! After seeing them at V festival in 2012 I have very high hopes for them at Bénicassim. Tame Impala, Courteeners and Paolo Nutini amongst many other acts have been announced alongside the beat-banging, foot-stomping march that’s lead by the one and only Sergio Lorenzo Pizzorno! – Serge.

My first experience of being at a festival in another country was more than pleasant – I would, hand on the bible, state that it was the best week of my life, and best of all nothing went wrong: no one got hurt, our plane wasn’t delayed, nothing got stolen, broken, pumped, taken or felt – it was bliss.

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The first four days, really take you through the paces – 40 degree heat, trips into town to purchase food and cheap booze, not a great deal of sleep, waking up far too early, partying all hours of the night, being submerged in alcohol, scantily clad women and more sun you can shake a stick at – and that’s just the beginning!

There are many ways to be awoken at the festival including: being trodden on by stumbling passers-by, the warm coastal breeze, suddenly realising that your miles away from your tent, a pint of Castéllon’s finest OJ or, moving onto the luxurious way, the ice cold showers. Now bare in mind that the lowest temperature at night was a cool 25 degress. So in the morning all you could ever want is an ice cold shower – I must have had at least 6 a day, all equally spread out to cool the body instantly – glorious!

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The next four days, are a completely different ball-game, often not actually going into the festival arena until this night, the fifth night is probably one of the best. Everything is so new, bright and wonderful and the other friendly festival-goers are great! We had our own little triangle in the middle of all the stages which made it so easy for us to meet up if we were watching different bands – It’s what every festival needs – in the words of the Last Shadow Puppets a ‘meeting place!’

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As the festival draws closer and closer to it’s final night you’ve probably already checked out the beach – which someone we had been hanging around with swore he saw Liam Fray on the sandy-shores only for Liam Fray to turn round and affirm – “Yes, its Liam Fray” – and if you didn’t read that with a mancunian accent then you should at least feel disparaged. The water park – which has the best ride ever, it is life-threatening to go on that ride – seriously, almost died – is an awesome day out, although take sunblock you do not want to end up like Sid – embroiled with blisters and a sore lobster skinned back!

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After you’ve spent a week, guzzling beverages, overdosing on vitamin D, traveling to Aldi, struggling to get to sleep, sometimes not even getting to your tent, loosing various items of clothing to what can only be described as bad drunk decisions that makes you think throwing your T-shirt into the Courteeners crowd is a good idea (actually, I don’t regret a thing).

The beautiful thing about this years Bénicassim is that me and the chums know what to expect, how to handle the heat, the best time to take showers, not to use the cubicles during the day (a – there is no toilet roll (b – its like being trapped in the Sahara dessert that smells like 16th Century London) but the point is that we are prepared, for everything!

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A day in the life of Bénicassim:
you’ll spend your day, smoking, drinking, thinking, laying, laughing, talking, buying, eating, walking, sun-bathing, shower-taking, oscillating, perspiring  and constantly hanging – I’ve already got my 2014 ticket, the question is when are you getting yours?

Review: Orange is the New Black

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So, Its almost been a year since it’s original release date of July in 2013 and so with the new installment set to be released June the 6th 2014 it has issued untold anticipation for season two.

The concept of the show is, interestingly, more than just fiction as its based on the actual memoirs of Piper Kerman. Taylor Schilling’s portrayal displays varying themes of pressure, fear, anger, self-conflict, love and self-preservation. The shows focus on hindsight and decisions made by the inmates displays a gripping, raw and emotionally thought eliciting drama.

The shows introduction sequence has the song “You’ve got time” sung by Regina Spektor which was recorded specifically for the show, lyrically appropriate you’d agree:

“Think of all the roads; think of all their crossings. Taking steps is easy, standing still is hard.”

Continuing throughout the series are heaters like “Leagues – Walking Backwards” and “Gangsta – Tune Yards” that effortlessly build tension and release that body rock that you assure your friends is ‘Dancing’!

The array of supporting characters add depth beyond perception and provoke ethical issues through a trans-gender relationship, cheating lovers, drug-taking inmates, authority abusing guards, Psychotic post-meth addict preachers, sassy library assistants, an indignant Russian chef and a raunchy international drug-smuggler – oh, and American Pie’s finest apple pie penetrator Jason Biggs. Considering most of the characters have a Marmite personality they impose an endless debate amongst the innocent that deserve to be in prison and the guilty that don’t! – Netflix strikes again!

Prison strips everything away from you, just like ‘Red’ says: first you can’t stand those walls but then you get so you depend on them; institutionalized. Piper raises a serious point after she has been transformed into this paranoid, stranger from the girl she was pre-prison. She tips towards breaking point saying “I’m afraid this is the real me and i’m afraid that its not”. Beautifully encapsulating the conflict that the show issues!

My opinion: probably one of the best first season of a show I’ve ever seen!

Hangover; Sleep, eat, sleep.

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I often think that there is much more to alcohol than the night you drink it – often during the hangover period do we reminisce the hilarity of your mates dubious ramblings or fabulous faux pas knocking into, stumbling over and fumbling with other beverage consuming participants which becomes an accolade by it’s own defying right.

The true beauty of alcohol comes with the company of those around you, its an enabler at the very least. Often I’ll hear people say “It’s a sign that you’ve had a good night” – which irritates the hell out of me – so it may comes as surprise to you that I think that the statement has a certain degree of truth.

Prior to coming to Worcester the weekend would consist of, going out Friday and spending all of Saturday (student nights here are mid-week) with the people from the night before – living the absolute dream. Getting a domino’s hangover, conversing, having gloried opinions of people and ideas and watching terrible television shows – Its an angelic feeling being hungover, and almost always undervalued!

The best part of the overture is spending it with people who make you do stupid things, laugh when they should help, abandon one another in the pub, manipulate into buying alcohol, tease about sexual escapades, fight, then presumably make-up and call ridiculous names to.

When my parents said “Hangovers get much worse with age” maybe there is less of an appreciation for the hungover feeling or maybe it is because they haven’t awoken to Charlie snoring in the corner, Angus mangled and face down in bed, Ramron romanticizing an open bottle of spirit, Dave with fists bloodied or Thon with his trouser by his ankles whispering “the Germans are a community of high repute: yours sincerely, Goldeen”. – That is what alcohol is really for.

I like to think of being hungover as a different kind of drunk – when your irritability conflicts with your desire for greasy food and calling people bastard-face seems like an appropriate term of endearment – post-drunk.