by Julian Gillies
Sunday, June 30, 2013
The weekend of the 14th June, 2013 brought three jam-packed days of hard-core camping, astounding acts and thankfully, after the disaster of last year, a lot less mud, with some of our best friends and family.
We entered the Park on the Friday evening, walking past stands that were dotted around everywhere of all sorts, from baskets full of spicy delicacies to shelves teetering with giant teddy bears. We were buzzing with excitement and it became obvious who the headline act was that night, as every few yards we would see yet another person proudly wearing their Stone Roses t-shirt, giddy with excitement.
The headliner, Stone Roses, didn’t disappoint their fans, playing favorites “She Bangs the Drums” and “I am the Resurrection”. Towards the end of their set, the rain crept in, but, once the fluorescent ponchos were out, we enjoyed the rest of the night, letting the music wash over us along with the rain. Clambering on the bus back to the caravan, wet, tired and the ‘responsible adults’ a little worse for wear, we were ready for a hot shower and our beds.
When Sunday rolled around, our excitement began to build up even more, as this was the day we had been looking forwards to the most. Imagine Dragons were scheduled to play later in the day, and putting into words how incredible it would be to see them perform live is an impossible task. We were utterly determined that we were going to get as near to the front as humanly possible.
We waited patiently through Republica (a group whose fans consisted of middle aged men with receding hairlines) and Kodaline one after the other in the Big Top (our strategy was to move closer to the front as each band finished their sets, to secure the best spot for Imagine Dragons.) During this time, whilst we enjoyed the music and even joined in with a flash mob, the oldies enjoyed Newton Faulkner and Boomtown Rats on the Main Stage. The Boomtown Rats were re-united for the first time in 27 years, and apparently were as slick as when they first appeared, according to the adults.
Euphoric, (and some a tad tearful) we left the Big Top and joined the parents at the Main Stage, to lie in the sun for a chilled out moment of easy listening to Paloma Faith, who was followed by The Script.
As the weekend began to come to a close, the headliner of the weekend was yet to play: Bon Jovi. After a slow start, they picked up the beat, performing their all-American rock classics, with us dancing and singing at the tops of our voices with complete strangers, with the terrible realization this blissful weekend was coming to an end. The night ended with a sky lit full of glittering fireworks, which lit up the night sky for people to see no matter where they were on the island. As we trekked out of the Park to board our coach for the last time, we looked around to see the array of people: of all ages and backgrounds dressed in festival hats, silly outfits and face paint smeared across their faces, with each and every one grinning form ear to ear as they made their way out from the festival grounds. It had been yet another amazing festival, where hundreds of wonderful memories were formed, with our families and friends.
by Katie Green
She ran. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her. The wind, gusting erratically, whipped her hair into her face, momentarily blinding her. She flung it out of her eyes without pausing and rushed onwards. She heard shouts and feet pounding rapidly on the ground. It was a cold September morning and the earth was just frozen enough for the boots of her pursuers to drum loudly upon it. Risking a quick glance behind her, she saw that they had drawn closer to her. She was tiring and couldn’t go on much longer.
Suddenly, like a ray of liquid gold shining from the sun through the cloud cover, she saw her destination. Her final destination. Tears both happy and sad mingled on her cheeks as they streaked down her ashen face. She increased her pace, putting her last drop of energy into her dash to the edge. The edge of the cliff. At last, she stopped. She had been running for the last year of her life and now here, finally, she ceased. She looked around her, savouring the view while she could. It wasn’t anything special, just a flat grassy field that dropped abruptly into the dark waters below. Water like ink, in the darkest shade of blue, battered the jagged rocks beneath her mercilessly. Its colour was the only clue as to the fathomless depth below. The dense clouds above blocked all but the tiniest drop of sunlight that leaked through the cracks. What little light there was was grey and bleak, offering no warmth. It was positively miserable, but to her it was beautiful. It was what freedom looked like.
She heard soft footfalls behind her and whipped round to face the woman who had been haunting her dreams for the last year. No, not dreams. Nightmares. Her face was pale and looked like it had been chiselled from marble. Her auburn hair was in stark contrast with her skin. She knew she had to jump and edged slowly away from the woman.
“Can you hear the music?” the woman asked gently, but a steely undertone hinted at her malice. That and the evil, the cruelty in her eyes. “Sarah, can you hear the music?” the woman repeated.
Still she didn’t reply.
The woman thought she could hear the music and she was right. It lurked at the back of her mind, as always, slow like a lullaby. It grew louder and more dominant in her head. She could hear the music. The music the woman, that woman had put there. It was always there, like her own constant, not so quiet companion. But she had never heard it this loud, this crisply as she could now. She - she had come here for some reason. Why would she be here?
She shook her head violently, as if to shake of the thoughts out, and snapped herself out of her reverie. She knew why she was here. She was here to jump.
She looked down at the precious little bundle in her arms as it nestled more snugly into her embrace against the biting wind. It was so small, so unsuspecting as to the great power it held or the great destruction it could bring in the wrong hands. The hands of the woman. Despite all this time, she still didn’t know her name.
Her babe. Her poor, poor babe. As she thought about the life it would never know, the experiences that it would never know, the years they would never share, unashamed tears poured silently down her face. She wiped them away along with the tracks they left. She would not cry. She would not show weakness. She would not be sad that she was saving it from a life of misery and misplaced trust.
The woman continued to advance with her arms out, inviting her. She knew it was now or never. And then she was gone, flying through the air, down into the freezing murky waters of the sea. She had jumped.
She was soaring, falling, tumbling, down, down until she broke the surface of the water. It drew her into a loving embrace as her vision blacked out. She had jumped, and that set her free at last.
Her eyes snapped open, alert. She was on her feet in an instant, ready to defend the fragile life in her arms. Realizing neither she, nor her baby was in any immediate danger; she relaxed and sank onto the ground. She didn’t know how long she sat there, just grateful to be alive.
Eventually, she looked up and gazed around. She was at a place much the same as before, only the cliffs were replaced by a pebbled beach. It was by no means a pretty place. Where others would have seen ugliness and dullness, she saw only hope. As she set off in search of a new life, she thought that world seemed just a little bit brighter, had a little bit more sunshine knocking around and that that in turn had a little more colour, a little more radiance. At last her nightmare was over, and a new dawn had arrived.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
by Benjamin J Schofield
There’s a special atmosphere when you begin to rehearse a play as a full cast; the read-throughs done, the lines committed to memory (or so you’d think), apprehension is everywhere. Rehearsals for The Exonerated were much like any other in that sense, but set out far from the mainland of regular school drama. As an ensemble, we first delved into the play four fleeting days before opening night, embarking upon an intensive rehearsal process at the loss of our normal timetable.
The Exonerated is itself different from many plays; as a piece of theatre it is unique for its weaving of stories and reduction of what can be a broad issue to a very human scale. The play is verbatim, meaning every word delivered came from the mouths of those we stand to represent, the accused, the bystanders, and the persecutors. As actors this simplified our task immensely; it is theatre in its purest sense: the telling of stories. We were there not to invent characters, but to relay, to reach out to a fresh audience as best we could.
There’s a special atmosphere when you begin to rehearse a play as a full cast; the read-throughs done, the lines committed to memory (or so you’d think), apprehension is everywhere. Rehearsals for The Exonerated were much like any other in that sense, but set out far from the mainland of regular school drama. As an ensemble, we first delved into the play four fleeting days before opening night, embarking upon an intensive rehearsal process at the loss of our normal timetable.
We soon discovered that if you stood in the wrong space a drop from one of these spikes would fall on you every thirty seconds (just one of the terrible occupational hazards of being an actor, I suppose). However every aspect of the space resonated with the play as we began to hone it. Lines took on new significance in the realness of that dungeon-like space- congratulations indeed must go to Mrs Filho and Mr McCrohon for their foresight in booking it as a venue. As all who came to see the play there on Saturday 22nd can attest, no other place would suit the play as it did.
The Exonerated is itself different from many plays; as a piece of theatre it is unique for its weaving of stories and reduction of what can be a broad issue to a very human scale. The play is verbatim, meaning every word delivered came from the mouths of those we stand to represent, the accused, the bystanders, and the persecutors. As actors this simplified our task immensely; it is theatre in its purest sense: the telling of stories. We were there not to invent characters, but to relay, to reach out to a fresh audience as best we could.
Before we travel to Avignon to perform in the Off Festival, we are staging the play one more time on Thursday 11th July at 7:30 pm, again at the Round Tower.The capacity of the venue is limited to 50 people. We sold out on the previous performance, so be sure to book soon to avoid disappointment. Tickets are available at £5 from the Senior School reception.
See Alex Quarrie-Jones' review of 'The Exonerated' here.
See Alex Quarrie-Jones' review of 'The Exonerated' here.
by Bryony Hart
I have become entrenched in some fascinating books about female rights (or the lack of), written either at the end of the seventeenth century or the beginning of the eighteenth century. I already knew that women were writing prolifically about and publishing their experiences, mostly about courtship and marriage, in fictional form, but I had no idea that entire non-fiction books were being published, as early as 1673, about the inequalities between men and women. In fact, men were also writing about it, which shows that it was certainly a topic that was being publically debated It is amazing how this seems to have been written-out/forgotten through the years. And my most recent reading has shed light on the fact that by 1700 this challenging and threatening female voice starts a gradual decline into obscurity.
One of the books that I have been examining is The Female Advocate: or; an Satyr Against the Pride, Lust and Inconstancy, & C. of Woman by ‘A Lady in Vindication of her Sex’ (1), Sarah Fyge, all written rhyming couplets. It was written in reaction to a satire written by a man (which I am still searching for) about the poor virtues of women, which are inherent in every female as soon as she is born. Obviously, one can not completely trust that it was written by a woman; men were regularly writing under the disguise of women because women’s works were selling so well (another fact that perhaps is not common knowledge to all) and it was often an easier method of instilling patriarchal morality into the female readership. However, if one trusts that this is a ‘Lady’, and in fact Sarah Fyge, it is impressive and rather dangerous reading. If it is a male writer, even more interesting that he should be conveying such potentially risky ideas about the power imbalance between the genders.
As I have mentioned before, the basis for male superiority was founded on religion, namely Genesis and the story of Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden. It was part of the gender discourse of the time and is referred to as the main argument in countless texts that I have read thus far from this period. In The Female Advocate, the writer bravely questions this foundation) and she is not alone in her questioning of the basis of male superiority). In her Preface, she writes ‘According to my Antagonist’s Preface Fancy […] all Men are good, and fitting for Heaven because they are Men; and Women irreversibly damn’d because they are Women. But what that Heaven should make a Male and Female, both of the same Species, and both induced with the like Rational Souls, for two such differing Ends, is the most notorious Principle, and the most unlikely of any that even was maintained by any Rational Man.’ This is a daring move to question Religion in this way but Fyge cleverly buffers her response using the Bible as her source to support her argument. This is a technique that I have noticed being used by a number of writers; using the text that is constraining to actually start the process of liberation and equality.
The writer’s main thrust of argument challenges the way in which the Bible has been interpreted as a way of repressing women and empowering man. She turns the conventional reading of Eve being created from a ‘spare part’ to keep Adam company on its head; being made after him Eve has always been perceived as inherently inferior and therefore the ultimate after-thought. However, rather amusingly, and a little bit perilously, the writer states that:
Heaven survey's the Works that it had done,
Saw Male and Female, but found Man alone,
A barren Sex and insignificant;
So Heaven made Woman to supply the want,
And to make perfect what before was scant:
The surely she a Noble Creature is,
Woman Heaven thus made to consummate all Bliss (p. 2)
Heaven survey's the Works that it had done,
Saw Male and Female, but found Man alone,
A barren Sex and insignificant;
So Heaven made Woman to supply the want,
And to make perfect what before was scant:
The surely she a Noble Creature is,
Woman Heaven thus made to consummate all Bliss (p. 2)
Here she argues that without Woman, Man is ‘a barren Sex’ and therefore useless in terms of procreation. It takes the power of a Woman to ‘consummate all Bliss’ to enable the human race to multiply. She takes her argument even further by suggesting that ‘Man was form’d out of dull senseless Earth/ But Woman she had a far nobler Birth’ [p. 2]. Clearly, there are problems with this argument that can not be ignored. The writer completely subverts the gender-imbalance discourse so that it favours women over men rather than striving for equality – one could argue that her theory is no better than the patriarchal ideology that was using the Bible as a force of female repression. The crux of modern feminist discourse is the battle for equality and fairness in all aspects of life, and this particular view does not sit particularly happily with the arguments being made in The Female Advocate because it is suggesting that women are superior to men. But, in light of the female position at this point in history, one can see that this is an early form of feminism in that it questions the validity and authority of male dominance using the very narrative that has been used to repress and restrict women. For feminists of this era, they ‘denied both Eve’s natural inferiority and her sole responsibility for the fall. Eve was created ‘a wife and friend, but not as a slave’ for Man (2).
Nonetheless, there is a moment of balance reached in Fyge’s argument. She poses the question, ‘for both one Maker had/ Which made all good; then how could Eve be bad?’ [p. 2] If God has created both Adam and Eve, and all that God creates is good, how can Eve be demonised in the way that she has? This language of demonization is later referenced when she says, ‘You do describe a woman so that one/ Would almost think she has the Fiends outdone’ [p. 14]. It is a valid question that undermines the main thrust of argument that keeps women apologetic (and therefore submissive) for their original sin. She pushes this idea even further by saying, ‘But you’d persuade us, this ‘tis we alone/ Are guilty of all crimes and you have none,/ Unless some few, which you call fools, (who be/ Espous’d to Wives, and live in chastity)’ [p. 10]. As a female writer, Fyge would have experienced directly this demonization and persecution for being a published writer (interestingly, she does not put her name to The Female Advocate – another example of the persecution these women felt). It was generally believed that ‘a woman prepared to make her writing public would be prepared to expose herself in other ways: that a woman writer was almost by definition sexually immoral.’(3)
What I love most about this text is the way in which the writer questions why all women should be wed – surely rocking the foundations of the religious ideology that ensured female subservience to husbands. Her argument about the interpretation of the Bible is a start in the fight against gender inequality but is ultimately flawed by our modern standards – nonetheless, it does make sense that the discourse that is being used to control women is challenged and questioned in the first instance. However, what is more fascinating, and perhaps more provoking, is the following:
For I love Liberty,
Nor do I think there a necessity,
For all to enter Beds, like Noah’s beast
Into his Ark; I would have some releast
From the dear cares of that lawful state:
Hold I’ll not dictate, I’ll leave all Fate.’ [p. 11]
It is clearly a dangerous reflection; she quickly concludes this brief reference to ‘Liberty’ and a life not defined as ‘wife’ with ‘Hold I’ll not dictate’. She is eager to not to appear too forceful on this point, which is unusual because of the sheer gusto that is apparent in her other arguments, and puts a self-imposed stop to her point. What is most interesting here is that she acknowledges that from liberty of marriage comes freedom and time to think and observe the world (‘Only I do think it best/ For those who love to contemplate at rest,/ for to live single too, and then they may/ Uninterrupted, Natures Work survey’ [p. 11]). For some women, it would be better for them to be contemplative, to use their brains and be educated (another one of the major arguments in the feminist discourse of the ear), rather than be shackled by marriage. As mentioned before, marriage removed all legal power from the woman and, in contrast, a single woman remained more powerful in legal terms (clearly she was demonized by society for being an aging spinster). Perhaps the reason for this tentative and brief comment about liberty is that this is her ultimate goal – freedom from marriage and from the control of man. It is a dangerous goal and she appears to be testing to water.
This text is not alone in its fight for equality and liberation – many of these arguments were made well before the 1700s, and from what I have read thus far the increasing legal control over drama, one of the major outlets for female writers, deterred women from writing. If you were a popular and well-published female writer you were undoubtedly a whore, and this argument is one that seems to become stronger as the 18th century continues. As Pearson succinctly reminds us, ‘The pun on ‘pen’ and ‘penis’ was one which the age took seriously: ‘a pen in the hand of a woman is … an instrument of propagation.(4)
(1)The Female Advocate: or; an Satyr Against the Pride, Lust and Inconstancy, & C. of Woman (London: H.C. for John Taylor, at the Globe in St Paul’s Church Year, 1686).
[2] Jacqueline Pearson, The Prostituted Muse: Images of Women and Women Dramatists 1642-1737 (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1988), p. 2.
[3] Pearson, p. 9.
[4]Pearson, p. 10.
by Tilly Bell
On Monday 24th June, in a spectacular concert at the Portsmouth Guildhall, many different choirs from the Portsmouth sang music composed by Alexander L'Estrange, commissioned to write a piece celebrating the Mary Rose and the City of Portsmouth: Ahoy!
As well as lots of children's choirs from schools across the city, there were various adult choirs such as the PGS Community Choir and the Festival Choir (Mr Gladstone had a job of keeping everyone together!) Practising was difficult, as we had to perform without librettos, but in the end it led up to a marvellous evening, hosted by Hugh Dennis.
It was the most exhilarating thing I have ever done, performing live at the Guildhall with 10,000 people watching 450 people perform Ahoy! I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I would love to do something like that again.
On Monday 24th June, in a spectacular concert at the Portsmouth Guildhall, many different choirs from the Portsmouth sang music composed by Alexander L'Estrange, commissioned to write a piece celebrating the Mary Rose and the City of Portsmouth: Ahoy!
As well as lots of children's choirs from schools across the city, there were various adult choirs such as the PGS Community Choir and the Festival Choir (Mr Gladstone had a job of keeping everyone together!) Practising was difficult, as we had to perform without librettos, but in the end it led up to a marvellous evening, hosted by Hugh Dennis.
It was the most exhilarating thing I have ever done, performing live at the Guildhall with 10,000 people watching 450 people perform Ahoy! I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I would love to do something like that again.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Thursday, June 27, 2013
by Thomas Penlington
When the Premier League season ends, many football fans are unwillingly forced to discover another pasttime or to immerse themselves in hobbies, with the intention of occupying themselves during the weekends between the end and the start of the new season. Granted, there’s the prospect of pre-season friendlies and international football, but the excitement and often the standard is never quite on par with a Premier League season. However, there is one way a football fan can satisfy their desire for the game.
The transfer market is never without excitement or controversy and can either be a fulfilling period of time or a frustrating one, depending on your team’s involvement. However, I think you can safely say it is never disappointing as a spectacle: whether we have the dazzling highs of staggering prices paid for players like the Cristiano Ronaldo who moved to Real Madrid from Manchester United for £80million, or the questionable lows of Fernando Torres moving to Chelsea from Liverpool for £50million. For fans, objectively the transfer market is unexpected and is watched in wonder and amazement as we all realise the sheer wealth involved in football clubs.
Each transfer market there seems to be a selected group of clubs that have been injected with wealth by an owner and so venture into the market to satisfy their cravings for international talent. At the end of the 2008-2009 season, Manchester City took up the role of the recently financed club by spending a total of £127million and they then surpassed even that total during the 2010-2011 season by spending a total of £154million on players. This provided much hope for the fans and much optimistic excitement for the new season. During the 2012-2013 season Chelsea once again proved that with Roman Abramovich their appears to be no limits to their wealth by spending a total of £92million on players; however, this wasn’t even close to the 2005-2006 season, in which they spent £111million on players.
Then, towards the end of the transfer market, there is a point of release at which all the accumulating tension that is generated throughout the market escapes in a climactic finish. This is known as the ‘transfer deadline day’ and it can be a day filled with intolerable excitement or disappointment. Upon this day, the conventional laws surrounding the purchase of players are ignored, either resulting in a moment of madness or inspiration. On the final day of the January transfer market during the 2010-2011 season, Andy Carroll signed for Liverpool FC from Newcastle United for a British transfer record of £35million. This price paid for a player who was relatively new in his first season for Newcastle upon their return to the Premier League was questioned by general football fans, and even Liverpool fans had some doubts. The staggering price immediately placed a heavy expectation upon the player’s shoulders, which it seems he never managed to shake following his recent exit from Liverpool to West Ham United. This example represents everything that ‘transfer deadline day’ stands for: controversial, desperate and most of all expensive.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
by Nathaniel Charles
Published in 1988, Pongwiffy: A Witch of Dirty Habits details a witch (Pongwiffy) and her familiar, Hugo the hamster (hailing from Amsterdam
Surprisingly for a children’s book Pongwiffy deals with adult themes such as promotion and trying to understand teenagers while Pongwiffy’s search for Hugo the hamster is reminiscent of American law firms and their associate system.
In the book, the goblins represent teenagers in the most stereotypical (and unfortunately accurate) way possible; they listen to loud music, rebel against authority and their penchant for impractical clothing is taken to the extreme. When Pongwiffy first meets them, both are unwilling to back down and a loud argument quickly ensues over their slovenly housekeeping and appalling noise, ending with Pongwiffy threatening to banish the goblins to another cave. This is strongly similar to my own experiences, at times, with my parents; unfortunately, Kaye Umansky can’t seem to find a peaceful or reasonable solution either….
It is Umansky’s portrayal of people in workplace scenarios that gives the most entertaining passages in the book; in the bid for the title of Grandwitch, friendships are tested and there are despicable displays of sycophancy. During the incumbent Grandwitch Sourmuddle’s party, everybody throws down the gauntlet (and their friendships) in attempts to be named Sourmuddle’s successor. Although the antics of the witches are exaggerated to make a more entertaining story, the search for the perfect cake is spot on and the time honoured ‘laugh at the boss’ jokes’ are taken to the extreme during the party.
An alternative interpretation of the book is from a political perspective, however; it was written while Margaret Thatcher was in power and the constant arguing between the dynamic and bossy witches and the old wizards (grey bearded and deeply conservative) harks back firmly to the issues besetting Thatcher in her own party.
Pongwiffy is a witty and entertaining read containing many revelations throughout. I would thoroughly recommend it to all, from 5 year olds to English A-level students.
Here is a link should you wish to purchase it.
by Henry Cunnison
The recently confirmed transfer of Neymar Da Silva Santos Junior, popularly known just as Neymar, the 21 year old Brazilian sensation, from hometown club Santos to Barcelona, was not unexpected. Neymar had been linked with every major club in Europe and the Catalan giants had been suggested as the most likely destination for almost a year. It was, however, controversial. Many still argue that Neymar is overvalued and overrated; they say 57 Million euros is too much for any player that is still, some say, unproven. But they are mistaken. Neymar has not only the ability, but also the commercial value that ensures his transfer will be a success.
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| Neymar (Wiki Commons) |
The fact is that, even discarding Neymar’s footballing talent, he will boost Barcelona. He is the most marketable athlete, across all sports, in the world, according to Sports Pro magazine. This will be very important for Barcelona, because, despite their great success in previous years, their fan base is still not as international as other big clubs like Manchester United or Real Madrid.
Neymar also has appeal to markets that Barcelona needs to increase its support in- the emerging footballing countries. He is not only a national hero and talisman of his home country, but he also appeals to the whole South American continent. He is also famous in the United States, which Barcelona no doubt recognises as a potential market for expansion. Nor will Neymar’s appeal be weak in Europe. For years he has been hyped as the next big thing, the next best player in the world. This will surely mean that football fans will watch with interest his career in Barcelona. So, in terms of the sheer increase in fans that Barcelona will receive, this transfer makes sense. Probably more importantly, it is likely that Barcelona will make the 57 Million euros back on shirt sales within a year. This was the case for Real Madrid when they paid £80 million pounds for Cristiano Ronaldo, and Neymar has a larger fan base than Ronaldo. Half of Brazil will probably buy a Neymar Barcelona shirt.
Neymar also has appeal to markets that Barcelona needs to increase its support in- the emerging footballing countries. He is not only a national hero and talisman of his home country, but he also appeals to the whole South American continent. He is also famous in the United States, which Barcelona no doubt recognises as a potential market for expansion. Nor will Neymar’s appeal be weak in Europe. For years he has been hyped as the next big thing, the next best player in the world. This will surely mean that football fans will watch with interest his career in Barcelona. So, in terms of the sheer increase in fans that Barcelona will receive, this transfer makes sense. Probably more importantly, it is likely that Barcelona will make the 57 Million euros back on shirt sales within a year. This was the case for Real Madrid when they paid £80 million pounds for Cristiano Ronaldo, and Neymar has a larger fan base than Ronaldo. Half of Brazil will probably buy a Neymar Barcelona shirt.
Neymar’s transfer also makes sense simply from a footballing perspective. He has been called overrated, but the truth is he is probably underrated. Legend Pele (although he is probably biased towards his countryman) has said Neymar is already better than Leo Messi, his new teammate and the man hailed as the best of his generation, perhaps of all time. I would agree with this assertion. At this point, most readers will probably be screaming the common criticism of Neymar: he has so far only played against average-at-best teams in Brazil with Santos. Neymar has scored 54 goals in 103 games for Santos. This, although obviously impressive, may at first not sound world-beating. But Neymar achieved this while he was still developing as a player, was not playing as a straight striker, rather as an advanced midfielder, and was playing at a team that other than him was average. Contrary to popular belief there are good teams in Brazil: Corinthians, Sao Paulo and Fluminense, to name just a few. Neymar often destroyed these teams more or less on his own.
But even if one considers the Brazilian league sub-par, one cannot lay the same charges against Neymar’s international competition with Brazil. Neymar’s exploits with Brazil lend themselves naturally to comparison with Messi, as they play in similar positions for teams that both play most of their internationals against South American competition. Neymar has scored 23 Goals in 37 games for Brazil, Messi 35 in 82 for Argentina. This shows Neymar already has a better international record then Messi, even though he is still not in the prime of his career and Messi is. The comparison is more dramatic when we consider what Messi had achieved at Neymar’s age. He had scored only 10 international goals. Neymar has so much skill on the ball, so much dribbling ablity, and is such a good finisher that it is hard to argue that any player is better than him. His skill has recently been highlighted during the on-going Confederations Cup, a warm-up for next year’s world cup. Neymar has scored 3 goals in 3 games for the hosts, and has also won plaudits for his all-round play.Thus Neymar was a steal at 57 Million euros for Barcelona. They will easily make this money back from his financial value and shirt sales. But on top of that they get a player who is already the most skilful player in the world, is a brilliant finisher and, if not the best player in the world, is easily in the top ten. He can only improve, and the combination of Messi and Neymar playing in the same attack will surely strike fear into any opposition’s hearts.
Exams are very nearly over for everyone, including GCSE, AS, A level and most university students, relieving the stress, the nerves and the endless revision. But are exams really as important as we think?
From year 10 up until the last years of university, most teenagers are daunted by the thought of exams and revision. We put everything we can into months of preparation for our exams, learning and memorising a syllabus... But does this convey our true intelligence?
So what, we can regurgitate information from our syllabus into note form and then into our exam papers; this does not mean that this is information that will be useful later in life or actually makes us any more intelligent. For most people we will only remember some information by revising it constantly, yet after our exams we no longer need the information and so it is almost immediately forgotten, making it seem pointless. Therefore we do not gain intelligence through exams, we gain the ability to learn information and regurgitate it onto a page.
Exams are essentially a game that our generation must play if we want to be successful later in life; or at least that's how it seems. In Years 10 and 11, we are told GCSEs are the most important thing for us if we want to get to Sixth Form or college; in Years 12 and 13, we are told exams are the most important thing for us if we want to go to university; and at university, exams are the most important thing in order to get a job.
However there are many more important factors for most careers that do not involve exam results, such as being able to be social, patient and adaptive to the job. We are taught through education to learn information and later regurgitate this information, although the work place is much different, for example we may be given individual tasks to complete, without the information to help us. However we are not prepared by education for this working environment and we are no more intelligent because of it.
However, we must ask ourselves what we think intelligence is. It is said, specifically in Buddhist and Muslim cultures, that the older we are the wiser we are; this suggests that our intelligence and how wise we are comes from experience of life. This makes sense as our brains are only fully developed by the age of 20, which means during GCSE's, AS and A levels our brains are not actually fully developed.
Exams do not prove that one person is more intelligent than another, they prove that people can work hard and remember information, but we are led to think that the people that get all A*s as their results are more intelligent than those with average results; however, there are so many external factors that can affect results, such as the student themselves (who may be at a disadvantage due to learning difficulties or even the state or situation they are in on the day of the exam) or the exam marker, and this can lead to a person changing their entire life plan or career, but they may not be any less able for their planned route.
Intelligence is so much more than good exam results. Education teaches us to learn but we gain our intelligence throughout our lives. Exploration and self discovery will help lead us to our right path. From then on, we grow older and wiser.
by Emma Bell
From the English department's PGS in Bloom entry:
From the English department's PGS in Bloom entry:
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"Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip’s bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough." William Shakespeare, The Tempest |
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
by Daniel RollinsToday, 25th June 2013, is the 110thbirthday of Eric Arthur Blair, better known by his pen name, George Orwell. Unfortunately he is unable to celebrate this great occasion with us since he died of Tuberculosis in 1950.
Well known as a novelist George Orwell wrote some of the 20thcentury’s most thought provoking books. From his great dystopian novel Nineteen Eight-Four and his sharp political allegory Animal Farm to his gritty non-fiction works such as Down and Out in Paris and London (documenting his experience of poverty in those two cities) and Homage to Catalonia(recording his experience as a mercenary in the Spanish civil war).
Although he is among my favourite authors I believe his greatest gift to the world is not his literary work but an article he wrote for the Evening Standard, published on 12thJanuary 1946. This article titled “A Nice Cup of Tea” set forth his 11 “golden” rules of tea making (see it reproduced below). In it he makes many of his most controversial statements such as, “one should pour tea into the cup first” and “tea… should be drunk without sugar.”
Considering the polemic nature of these statements one may ask what qualifications this mere journalist has to justify these divisive remarks. In fact he may be one of the best qualified people to give judgment on the correct way to make tea to ever live as he was certainly one of the 20thcentury’s most dedicated tea drinkers. The best example of his enthusiasm for good tea was while he was fighting on the Republican side of the Spanish Civil War. During this time he had Fortnum and Mason’s tea brought all the way from London to Catalonia so he could experience the “stimulation” of a good strong cup of tea while recovering from injury.
Therefore to celebrate his birthday I endeavored to make a cup of tea which obeyed as many of his rules as possible so I got out a teapot, found some loose tea and made a "Nice Cup of Tea"!
See some pictures of my attempt to produce the perfect cup of tea bellow along with his 1946 article. Although it uses quite a lot of tea and time it is well worth trying to emulate his recipe as it produces a fine cup of tea.
If you look up 'tea' in the first cookery book that comes to hand you will probably find that it is unmentioned; or at most you will find a few lines of sketchy instructions which give no ruling on several of the most important points.This is curious, not only because tea is one of the main stays of civilisation in this country, as well as in Eire, Australia and New Zealand, but because the best manner of making it is the subject of violent disputes.When I look through my own recipe for the perfect cup of tea, I find no fewer than eleven outstanding points. On perhaps two of them there would be pretty general agreement, but at least four others are acutely controversial. Here are my own eleven rules, every one of which I regard as golden:
- First of all, one should use Indian or Ceylonese tea. China tea has virtues which are not to be despised nowadays — it is economical, and one can drink it without milk — but there is not much stimulation in it. One does not feel wiser, braver or more optimistic after drinking it. Anyone who has used that comforting phrase 'a nice cup of tea' invariably means Indian tea.
- Secondly, tea should be made in small quantities — that is, in a teapot. Tea out of an urn
is always tasteless, while army tea, made in a cauldron, tastes of grease and whitewash. The teapot should be made of china or earthenware. Silver or Britanniaware teapots produce inferior tea and enamel pots are worse; though curiously enough a pewter teapot (a rarity nowadays) is not so bad.
- Thirdly, the pot should be warmed beforehand. This is better done by placing it on the hob than by the usual method of swilling it out with hot water.
- Fourthly, the tea should be strong. For a pot holding a quart, if you are going to fill it nearly to the brim, six heaped teaspoons would be about right. In a time of rationing, this is not an idea that can be realised on every day of the week, but I maintain that one strong cup of tea is better than twenty weak ones. All true tea lovers not only like their tea strong, but like it a little stronger with each year that passes — a fact which is recognised in the extra ration issued to old-age pensioners.
- Fifthly, the tea should be put straight into the pot. No strainers, muslin bags or other devices to imprison the tea. In some countries teapots are fitted with little dangling baskets under the spout to catch the stray leaves, which are supposed to be harmful. Actually one can swallow tea-leaves in considerable quantities without ill effect, and if the tea is not loose in the pot it never infuses properly.
- Sixthly, one should take the teapot to the kettle and not the other way about. The water should be actually boiling at the moment of impact, which means that one should keep it on the flame while one pours. Some people add that one should only use water that has been freshly brought to the boil, but I have never noticed that it makes any difference.
- Seventhly, after making the tea, one should stir it, or better, give the pot a good shake, afterwards allowing the leaves to settle.
- Eighthly, one should drink out of a good breakfast cup — that is, the cylindrical type of cup, not the flat, shallow type. The breakfast cup holds more, and with the other kind one's tea is always half cold before one has well started on it.
- Ninthly, one should pour the cream off the milk before using it for tea. Milk that is too creamy always gives tea a sickly taste.
- Tenthly, one should pour tea into the cup first. This is one of the most controversial points of all; indeed in every family in Britain there are probably two schools of thought on the subject. The milk-first school can bring forward some fairly strong arguments, but I maintain that my own argument is unanswerable. This is that, by putting the tea in first and stirring as one pours, one can exactly regulate the amount of milk whereas one is liable to put in too much milk if one does it the other way round.
- Lastly, tea — unless one is drinking it in the Russian style — should be drunk without sugar. I know very well that I am in a minority here. But still, how can you call yourself a true tealover if you destroy the flavour of your tea by putting sugar in it? It would be equally reasonable to put in pepper or salt. Tea is meant to be bitter, just as beer is meant to be bitter. If you sweeten it, you are no longer tasting the tea, you are merely tasting the sugar; you could make a very similar drink by dissolving sugar in plain hot water. Some people would answer that they don't like tea in itself, that they only drink it in order to be warmed and stimulated, and they need sugar to take the taste away. To those misguided people I would say: Try drinking tea without sugar for, say, a fortnight and it is very unlikely that you will ever want to ruin your tea by sweetening it again.
These are not the only controversial points to arise in connexion with tea drinking, but they are sufficient to show how subtilised the whole business has become. There is also the mysterious social etiquette surrounding the teapot (why is it considered vulgar to drink out of your saucer, for instance?) and much might be written about the subsidiary uses of tealeaves, such as telling fortunes, predicting the arrival of visitors, feeding rabbits, healing burns and sweeping the carpet. It is worth paying attention to such details as warming the pot and using water that is really boiling, so as to make quite sure of wringing out of one's ration the twenty good, strong cups of that two ounces, properly handled, ought to represent.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
by Alex Quarrie-Jones
No better atmosphere could have been selected than that of a bitterly cold and windy evening inside the Round Tower, where stalactites of frozen salt hung over the audience, eerily similar to the “sword of Damocles” scenarios that the protagonists of The Exonerated faced while they waited on death row. The performance was absolutely excellent, with the execution of every movement, line and expression flawless (particularly considering the fact that actual rehearsals didn’t begin until three days before the performance). Every member of the cast gave brilliant portrayals of those who recounted the harrowing events which eventually allowed them to become "the Exonerated”.
The stories of "The Exonerated” are told retrospectively, with each individual recounting his or her arrest (which generally happens in the 1970s), imprisonment on death row and eventual exoneration (which generally occurs in the 1990s). For the majority of the performance, the various stories stay separate from each other, with brief mentions of the other events if they are significant enough, but this isolation proves key as it allows each story to highlight the subtle coercion and corruption within the legal system at that time, one that was still heavily biased towards the white American population, leaving the black population (most of the characters are black) to suffer within an unjust system.
No better atmosphere could have been selected than that of a bitterly cold and windy evening inside the Round Tower, where stalactites of frozen salt hung over the audience, eerily similar to the “sword of Damocles” scenarios that the protagonists of The Exonerated faced while they waited on death row. The performance was absolutely excellent, with the execution of every movement, line and expression flawless (particularly considering the fact that actual rehearsals didn’t begin until three days before the performance). Every member of the cast gave brilliant portrayals of those who recounted the harrowing events which eventually allowed them to become "the Exonerated”.
The stories of "The Exonerated” are told retrospectively, with each individual recounting his or her arrest (which generally happens in the 1970s), imprisonment on death row and eventual exoneration (which generally occurs in the 1990s). For the majority of the performance, the various stories stay separate from each other, with brief mentions of the other events if they are significant enough, but this isolation proves key as it allows each story to highlight the subtle coercion and corruption within the legal system at that time, one that was still heavily biased towards the white American population, leaving the black population (most of the characters are black) to suffer within an unjust system.
However their stories are double edged because we only ever hear it retrospectively and from their own perspective, so some of the scenarios of exoneration are ambiguous, allowing another level of questioning to be developed, ultimately drawing the already-captivated audience in further.
Personally, I thoroughly enjoyed the performance but just took one issue away: I didn’t particularly like he use of sound effects because I felt it detracted from the gravity of the stories being told, as it slightly reminded the audience that they were watching a play rather than an actual account by "the Exonerated”. Apart from that, I thought the piece was absolutely perfect and, even though every cast member performed to an equally high standard, I feel special commendation should go to James Gulliford and Ollie Velasco as they have technically come back from the start of their holidays to perform amongst the cream of the acting crop that PGS can call upon. 
Full Cast: Aggie Newton, Emma Read, Charlie Albuery, Melissa Smith, Natasha Morgan, Ben Schofield, Tom Harper, Ollie Velasco, James Gulliford and Mr McCrohon.
Friday, June 21, 2013
by Emma Bell
The singer songwriter Nick Drake would have been 65 this week and it seems more than appropriate to remember him today. Nick was a truly magical and unique musician and his reputation has grown in the years since his death on June 19th, 1974.
Drake went to Marlborough and then Cambridge to study English Literature and was very drawn to the works of William Blake, William Butler Yeats and Henry Vaughan, his lyrics reflecting such influences. Whilst he was there he found a music student, Robert Kirby, who became a long-term collaborator. What is interesting about that is that it determined a sound of orchestral arrangements that owes more than a nod to Mozart and Handel. The ongoing folk scene in Cambridge and London added to the mix and created a wholly new and rich style of singer-songwriter music.
Nonetheless he carried on writing his second album, Bryter Later, released in 1972. However, despite garnering good reviews from the music press, he was hampered by his own unwillingness to perform live and the album flopped, selling only 3000 copies. Drake then wrote what would be his last album: Pink Moon. Only 28 minutes long and largely stripped back to only Drake and his guitar, it is a sad piece of work; suffering badly from depression, he withdrew from both live performance and recording.
Nick Drake, thanks to the use of his music in advertisements and films, begin to be rediscovered in the mid- 1990s, and he is now recognised as one of the most talented guitarists and songwriters of his generation. Such a turn of events isn't without a certain irony.
Towards the end of his life, Drake appeared to long for the vindication that comes with commercial success. And yet he seemed incapable of compromising himself to the pursuit of recognition. His only compass was the music he created and whether he was proud of it. He was, as John Martyn wrote, a man made of Solid Air – no-one truly knew him or could help him in his darkest days. Yet he left behind three albums that are incredibly beautiful and hugely influential. I hope that I might have inspired you to discover them fully for yourselves.
Born in Rangoon, the son of a diplomat, he grew up in Warwickshire after his family returned to England. There is something magical about the centre of a space (as the Midlands is, where Shakespeare, Elgar and Housman were born), something that feels special, something that you feel when you move about the county, under the sprawling oaks and soft rain, a sense of the pastoral which seeps through Drake’s music. The moon, stars, sea, rain, trees, sky, mist and seasons are all commonly used, influenced in part by his rural upbringing. Images related to summer figure centrally in his early work; from Bryter Layter on, his language is more autumnal, evoking a season commonly used to convey senses of loss and sorrow.
Drake went to Marlborough and then Cambridge to study English Literature and was very drawn to the works of William Blake, William Butler Yeats and Henry Vaughan, his lyrics reflecting such influences. Whilst he was there he found a music student, Robert Kirby, who became a long-term collaborator. What is interesting about that is that it determined a sound of orchestral arrangements that owes more than a nod to Mozart and Handel. The ongoing folk scene in Cambridge and London added to the mix and created a wholly new and rich style of singer-songwriter music.
He left Cambridge before completing his degree and moved to London in 1969 where he strolled into a record deal with Island Records and recorded his first album, Five Leaves Left. Such was his talent that musicians such as John Cale, who later formed The Velvet Underground, were clamouring to record with him. Even now, guitarists are utterly perplexed at the complexities of his playing and its intricacies.
But with record deals came obligations to perform live; and these songs, with intricate tunings and orchestral arrangements were difficult to replicate on stage; the delicacy of the lyrics and melodies were drowned by the chatter of working men’s clubs and lost in the echoes of half-empty town halls. He often stopped to retune his guitar for five minutes at a time, and changed his guitars over so he could use different strings and achieve different sounds. He often walked off stage before finishing a set, despondent that his music was not being listened to.
Nonetheless he carried on writing his second album, Bryter Later, released in 1972. However, despite garnering good reviews from the music press, he was hampered by his own unwillingness to perform live and the album flopped, selling only 3000 copies. Drake then wrote what would be his last album: Pink Moon. Only 28 minutes long and largely stripped back to only Drake and his guitar, it is a sad piece of work; suffering badly from depression, he withdrew from both live performance and recording.
The last two years of his life were spent back at Far Leys in Tanworth-in-Arden, and were sadly marked by unhappiness and hospitalization. On 25 November 1974, Drake died from an overdose of a prescribed antidepressant; he was only 26 years old. He is buried in the churchyard of St Mary Magdalene in Tanworth, a very beautiful spot, the churchyard looking over the rolling hills and oak trees of Warwickshire.
Nick Drake, thanks to the use of his music in advertisements and films, begin to be rediscovered in the mid- 1990s, and he is now recognised as one of the most talented guitarists and songwriters of his generation. Such a turn of events isn't without a certain irony.
Towards the end of his life, Drake appeared to long for the vindication that comes with commercial success. And yet he seemed incapable of compromising himself to the pursuit of recognition. His only compass was the music he created and whether he was proud of it. He was, as John Martyn wrote, a man made of Solid Air – no-one truly knew him or could help him in his darkest days. Yet he left behind three albums that are incredibly beautiful and hugely influential. I hope that I might have inspired you to discover them fully for yourselves.
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