What 2013 Holds for the Gaming Industry.

by Hugh Summers

I’m sure many people in today’s society dismiss the gaming industry as a petty pastime or simply a childish form of entertainment. I completely disagree; in today’s society, the gaming industry provides not only entertainment and economic values, but it fabricates a basis for social interaction. Of course, one can argue that much of this interaction is via the internet, but in theory it helps you to get to know new people. Yet this argue is more about the progression of gaming in terms of technology rather that sociology.

As many gamers may know, 2012 was a significant year for gaming as PC gaming excelled, benefitting Valve Corp. greatly. Valve created Steam, a platform for purchasing and running PC games. Nowadays, people are beginning to move onto PCs, me being one of them; this is due to the graphical advantages of PCs over the outdated Xbox 360 and PlayStation 3. Yet this is where the significance of 2013 comes in; the concept new consoles have been released.

On the 20th of February, Sony provided the media and, later, the public, a glimpse at the PlayStation 4. Known as “Orbis”, Sony showed us the technological specs of the console which seem pretty good for something which is guessed to be sold at around the £400 mark. Yet after all the presentations for their new games, we never actually got to see the console, most likely due to the fact that Sony has been rushed ever since rumours of the console were released. From a business perspective it is easy to see why; it is important to keep momentum yet this is why, in my opinion, Sony revealed the console far too soon. Microsoft appear to be waiting until the E3 gaming convention in the summer to show us the new Xbox, a far better approach; by doing this they really do have momentum on their side. After the presentation of the Xbox, it will only be a matter of months before its release, ensuring that at its release, the new Xbox will be at the peak of public attention.

Anyway, here are the specs for Sony’s new PlayStation: 

I know that to many of you, this will all seem like technological mumbo jumbo, so let me defragment this for you.

The specs are quite poorly worded and are in theory, trying sound better than they actually are. An eight core processor is good, yet there are now smart phones which contain an eight core processor (of course they are of a much lower power) so from the start we can see there is nothing amazingly revolutionary here. Yet the specs are in generally, pretty good; it contains DDR5 Ram, a very fast and efficient upgrade from your standard DDR5 but again, nothing revolutionary. Once again though, the graphics card is simply referred to as “AMD next generation Radeon based graphics engine” which really provides no real insight into how powerful this machine is.

I’m sure the PS4 will be very impressive on release, yet currently, many computers still possess better gaming capabilities than this. I predict that within a year, it will be obsolete, much like the Xbox will be. I know this all seems very biased, yet I do own a console as well as a computer and I would have to say that I’d take a good gaming desktop over a console any day; for one, you can continuously upgrade a computer. Yet gaming desktops are pricey, so these consoles are brilliant value for their specs.

So, if you are an avid gamer yet are a little short on cash, buy a console and I’m sure you won’t be disappointed (even if Orbis won’t even support Sony’s new 4K TV’s!).

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The Travelling Diaries 2: Trains

The second of Tim MacBain's 'Travelling Diaries'. See, also, Travelling Diaries 1: Cars

Trains are funny places. Or, more accurately, the people that travel on them are funny. I include myself in that description; I am so concerned that I am being perceived as grumpy and/or unconcerned that I go around with a perpetual grin on my face, rather like a lanky Cheshire Cat. That said, during my general travellings to various universities, I have encountered some weird and wonderful characters.

1. The London Commuter

Usually aged between 35-55, this person is often in a rather nice suit, and evidently holds down a solid, well-paying job in the city. There are two hilarious traits to this type of person; the first is the ritual that they follow once they have got on the train. They remove their bag from their shoulder/back, place it on the chair, and then remove their coat. The table in front of them then goes down, and on it is placed, from the bag, the work that they will be doing over the course of the journey. Finally, the bag is placed in the overheard storage space at a perfect 90° angle to the wall of the train. What makes this most amusing is the time it takes (well over four minutes), the amount of people who are blocked from walking through the train due to their faffing (at least three) and the incoherent sounds they make, from the mutterings as the train work is decided to the dramatic sigh as they are asked to get out of the way for the umpteenth time. The second source of hilarity is what happens when they sit down; they get out a portable music player of some description from their inner suit pocket. This is not only a sublime juxtaposition of new and (relatively) old, but also it is enormously entertaining to watch the look of sheer bewilderment spreading across their face as they try and work this piece of ‘new-fangled technology’, as I heard one person say.

2. The Compulsive Chatterer

This type is the person who talks constantly to those around them, engaging in needless, and often inane and irrelevant, conversation. When my parents and I were going up to York, we got on the train and, as it was London bound, sat across from someone, for there was no space to sit as a unit by ourselves. We then got bombarded with an extremely detailed and rambling account of this person’s difficulties getting home the night before due to the problems with the trains. As fascinating as this was, at 7:00am on Wednesday morning in Half Term I did not want to hear this epic chronicle. Please, if you find yourself to be this type of person, I have absolutely no problem with you being friendly, and in fact welcome it, but please don’t greet me like I’m a long-lost sibling who needs to be filled in on your life story.

3. The Lovers

I have little problem with the P.D.A. (Public Display of Affection). Although it serves as a crucifying reminder that I am haplessly alone (big ‘AAAAAAHHHH’ please), I do understand that couples do wish to show their fondness for one another, and that sometimes these instances will be in public. However, I have encountered some people (You know who you are!) who have taken the P.D.A. to a whole new level, even on trains. I once sat behind a couple who were, to be quite frank, all over each other. They sounded (no hint of irony here) French, and my GOODNESS they were into each other. My abiding memory of the journey is the sludge-gulping noise they made when they kissed; I think I’m scarred for life…

Watch for these people, folks. They are hilarious or astounding, and people-spotting on trains always makes the time pass faster. Even if they are scared of your Cheshire Cat impression…

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Bram Stoker's Fifty Shades of Dorian Gray: Part II

by Gregory Walton-Green

Mon Dieu! The much anticipated part two of Fifty Shades of Dorian Gray has finally arrived! See our heroine overreact to insignificant details, do nothing as her so called friend offends her in every way possible, and flail with her new-found ridiculous desires. Who is Dorian Gray? Why does Anastasia put up with Catherine? Does anybody know what her "inner goddess" is? Why is it all in the present tense? Does she have some kind of recording device writing down her internal monologue? And ultimately does any of this matter? Find out the answer to none of these questions in the following extract, but read it anyway.

PART 2

Catherine and I make our approach for the theatre, my inner goddess pounding on my heart like some barbaric tribesperson on a drum made of human skin. My subconscious, using its oracular prescience to detect an imminent life-changing experience, just through those ornate, gold-plated double sandstone doors, makes me flush – by which I mean blush, or become flushed, as I find using correct grammar all the time in this internal monologue very draining on my stupidity, so I try to avoid it whenever possible.

As I enter the lobby, my insides melt with lustful anticipation like an erect ice sculpture in a steaming-hot room: Mon Dieu! I have never been in the theatre before – I wonder at what secret pleasures may lie hidden under the outer appearances of this magnificent, beautiful building. At this thought my inner goddess bridles in overwhelming ecstasy, nearly causing me to flush again.

I look at the two entrances for the seating: “Uncouth Uneducated Underclass” and “Society Sophisticates”. I instinctively start towards the former archway, knowing myself to be the result of a distasteful union of misplaced passion, having had my social inferiority impressed upon me since birth, leading to my passive acceptance of my proper place in life. Suddenly, some violent fiend seizes my shoulder. Mon Dieu! Is my chance at entering respectable cultured society to be ended before it has truly begun? I turn to face my assailant, my subconscious writing its last will and testament in utter panic. Mon Dieu! It is Catherine! I flush with embarrassment.

“Anastasia, what are you doing? How could you ever successfully chaperone me, or become an object of all-engrossing, lustful, passionate desire for a gentleman worthy of your social aspirations if you insist upon associating yourself with such undesirable, lowly born commoners? Come along Anastasia, we have no time to waste to find you a prosperous, prospective husband, your looks are only deteriorating over time, if anything!”

I flush, unable to contain the inner turmoil of my sheer self-hatred, which has led to my worsening mental state, causing me to form an inner dialogue to narrate my life, so devoid of meaning and… My inner goddess cuts me off, overwhelming me with sinful thoughts, glorying in them like a demented primate gleefully playing the bongos for tips.

I follow Catherine through the archway to our seats, my subconscious pointing out her behaviour towards others for me to note and imitate. As we follow society’s elite of decadence and elegance, we rapidly approach a member of the theatre staff, who is checking tickets for the performance of Bluebeard tonight. Mon Dieu! What if I am barred from entering the theatre? Is my humble background so obvious to others for them to question me? How could I ever be so foolish to think I could become respectable and accepted in high society?

Without warning, Catherine lunges deep into her Chatelaine handbag, and, gesturing towards me, addresses the theatre employee, before he even has time to ask for our tickets. His look is questing, yet somewhat vacant, as though he were doing something with effort but without true belief in his cause. Oh, the utter barbarity of him! Catherine still scrambles around, her hand languishing and luxuriating within her own  bag. Mon Dieu! What is Catherine about to do? What could she possibly be searching for in that bag? I watch her intently, about to confess to my deplorable parentage, anything to end this torment of anticipation, to avoid those searching eyes, demanding proof of one’s right to be at the theatre. After what seems like an eternity, Catherine removes from her bag our two tickets.

Catherine addresses the man, her voice filled with contempt, “Here you are sir, I believe that even someone of your uneducated background can tell that our tickets are entirely in order, may we proceed?” Catherine, without waiting for a reply, storms off, as though personally insulted by the man’s job. The man shouts after her “Third on the left ma’m, the jubilee box”.

The whole affair must have dragged on agonisingly for almost an entire minute.

As we enter our box, I am overcome with something approaching awe. I see the gilded surfaces gleaming in contrast to the deep sanguine reds, far more luxurious than anything I could have imagined from my limited experience in Society. I look up, and gape in sheer disbelief: the elaborate decorations extend to the ceiling! My subconscious contemplates my surrounding: Have we entered a shallow, materialistic heaven?

“Miss Vain, I presume?” A cold sweat breaks out along my spine, seeping into my flesh: that voice! My whole body heats up with lustful aching, as if my inner goddess had set paraffin wax alight over me. The voice is as hard as steel, with a mocking tone to it, but beneath the harsh, otherworldly, sensuous, bestial, civilised exterior, I detect a subtle hint of romanticism, paired with predatory sexuality. I feel my hand grow moist. Hoping to hide what I assume to be an involuntary, but nonetheless unladylike, reaction caused by my uncontrollable attraction to that bewitching, enchanting, magical voice, I finally cease from admiring the intricately embellished ceiling, looking down to realise that Dorian Gray, the talk of London, is kissing my hand.

Mon Dieu! I struggle to say something, anything to this inconceivably confident man, who so easily controls my emotions and actions, but, facing him, I am merely drawn deeper into his divine beauty, as if my inner goddess had tied a rope between us, and then dived into his unnervingly seductive wells of eyes.

“Anastasia!” Catherine’s unbearably chastising tone saves me from my plunge into the eternal darkness of those eyes, “I am so sorry, Mr Gray, Lord Henry, Mr Hallward, Lord Godalming, Anastasia is suffering from some sort of shock, she is unused to such close contact with the male sex, and indeed with social outings: she has had a very sheltered upbringing to preserve her from society’s corrupting influence, however hard you may find that to believe from her lack of any physical charms. Lord Godalming, would you grant me the pleasure of sitting beside you?”

“Certainly Miss Westenra, I am sure we will both gain much pleasure from the experience.” Lord Godalming and Catherine take their seats, along with Lord Henry and Basil Hallward, the mildly talented artist who is reputedly devoted to Mr Gray. I stand in total indecision as to what to do, as Mr Gray rises. My first instinct is to flee this scene, with its decadent air of perverse, repulsive hedonism, yet my inner goddess is pulling me toward this enigmatic man, nay angel, so eerily familiar, who has granted me the privilege of his touch. In the end, my misplaced loyalty towards Catherine forces me to stay: without any restraining force on her curiosity; who knows what unfortunate events might take place with her amongst such a group of men?

I allow Mr Gray to lead me to a seat, feeling helpless in the wake of his charms. He matches my contemplative silence with a cold stare that belies his unparalleled masculine beauty.

Without warning, Mr Gray broaches our pact of speechlessness: “Miss Vain, your friend Miss Westenra has offered us little insight into your character: is it true that you have been completely sheltered from corrupting influences your entire life?"

I falter, unsure of how to react. Fortunately, Catherine intervenes before I can embarrass myself further:

“Her mother is a common harlot, offering her services to any gutter scum with two farthings lurking in his infested garments, but her own virtue is fully intact. I assure you, she is entirely virtuous, she barely even realises the opposite sex exists, simple-minded as she is.”

In light of this, Dorian Gray addresses me “How intriguing… Miss Vain, we must become better acquainted... Where exactly do you reside?”

“With my mother; it is only a small, decrepit, worthless abode, opposite the Cheapside orphanage…”

“How peculiar, I know the area well: I often walk past the orphanage at night, it is conveniently placed between my house and the sanatorium. Are you sure we have not met before? Your visage impresses upon me some ancient recollection…”

“I have heard much about you, considering your considerable reputation, but I do not remember ever seeing you before today, although I too must admit I find you very familiar…”

“Oh Anastasia,” Catherine interjects “you must not bore the man with your wearisome imaginings! I do apologise, she is unused to company, poor reclusive girl that she is, I do wonder why I ever stand for her tiresome…”

“Be silent, Miss Westenra!” orders Gray imperiously, “I shall let you know whether I would like your opinion. Return to your seduction of Lord Godalming, I wish to speak to Anastasia alone!” Catherine’s customary sneer is replaced by indignation and fear. I fear Mr Gray also: his shocking outburst is unsuited to his attractiveness. I wonder whence this anger flows, and how his looks conceal this facet of his nature so well. My subconscious poses a rhetorical question: What terrible event occurred that caused him to become so callous towards others? I cannot even guess, my life experiences being limited as they are. The other members of our group finally react: Basil Hallward, sitting on Catherine’s other side, tries to console her, Lord Henry, Dorian’s self-styled mentor, merely smiles at Dorian’s assertiveness, a quality he presumably considers fitting in a young man, but Lord Godalming starts to rise, to challenge Dorian, I fear! Mon Dieu! Am I about to cause the death of two men I barely know? Before Lord Godalming has time to leave his seat, the lights go down and the curtains are drawn. The performance is about to start.

Join us next time in Bram Stoker's 50 Shades of Dorian Gray for more badly written Gothic Romance: Discover more about Dorian's past, Anastasia's past, Jacob's past, Dracula's past, the fictitious past that this story is set in. See Dorian become more morally repugnant, Catherine become even more obnoxious and Anastasia decline further in her mental health - now with more hallucinations!

Read, also, Billie Downer's article on the 'Fifty Shades' phenomenon.

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The Best (and Worst) Drummers of All Time

by Tim Bustin

I think it’s best if I point out at the start of this article that my opinion is the correct one. I wanted to write an article which was interesting but that would also inspire controversy, by annoying drummers who disagree with me on the list, but also by annoying guitarists, bassists and so on by considering drummers as musicians.

A drummer could be considered the conductor of a rock group (except much less well paid). Here are the best five (no arguing) in ascending order, followed by the worst three (also in ascending order).

5) Dave Grohl

(source: Wikicommons)

There is nothing Dave Grohl can’t do; a great guitar player, singer and songwriter, it can be hard to forget his roots are in drumming. But with the legendary Nirvana, Grohl’s skill was immense. Inspired by John Bonham, Grohl plays with sheer power, matching that of Kurt Cobain’s guitar and vocals back in the nineties. Despite his use of simplicity (Grohl said that Nirvana worked on drum rolls listeners could air drum along to), there is complexity hidden in his playing – in the way he makes what he does sound so easy, when in reality it’s impossible for all but a few. His performance with Them Crooked Vultures (with Led Zeppelin bassist John Paul Jones and Queens of the Stone age member Josh Homme) showed Grohl had lost nothing and he was still one of the greatest drummers of all time.

4) Neil Peart

Peart’s skills are simply unbelievable. For a drum solo, his kit will entirely enclose him; wherever he moves there is another tom, another snare, bongo drums, small cymbals, huge cymbals, and even an electronic xylophone. He will play one part of the kit, utilising as many drums in his reach, before swivelling around on his stall to play with whatever he comes too. This might give the impression of Peart playing randomly, but it is actually him trying to show that the drums have as much variety in their sound, in the incredible patterns they create, as any other instrument. He isn’t afraid to make use of electronic drums, even if this seems to be so he can pack more drums around him. To put it simply, it is just impossible to get bored watching him play.

3) Buddy Rich

Perhaps one of the few drummers most people have actually heard of, I’m sure most people won’t understand why they know his name. It’s because he’s brilliant, of course. With his own band, Rich was able to play drums almost like a lead instrument. If you ever listen to any of his songs, with ridiculous amounts of rapid drum fills, techniques which are hard for most to dream of, and an amazing ability to create endless patterns on the snare drum all of which seem to sound utterly unique, you will discover a majority of many of his songs are simply him soloing. Often accompanied by brass, which frequently play repetitive patterns at the start and end of songs (i.e. playing a backing role), the rest of the song is another great drum solo, difficult not to enjoy, unforgiveable not to respect. The energy the man had, which he kept throughout his entire life, was constantly phenomenal.

2) John Bonham

(source: consequenceofsound.net)

He’s not the best. I don’t care what you say, he’s just not. Famed for his heavy drumming (which was picked up by Dave Grohl) and exhilarating solos, there are many who believe Bonham surpasses all others. But he doesn’t. In the studio, Bonham favoured power over tricky patterns, leading to a sound which fitted Led Zeppelin perfectly. On stage, he showed indescribable talent, earning him the same respect as his fellow band mates Jimmy Page and Robert Plant. Often going off on long solos, most famously 'Moby Dick' (found on the Led Zeppelin II album), he was a true powerhouse, the engine of one of the greatest rock bands of all time.

1) Keith Moon



"People say you're eccentric, which
is a polite way of saying you're **** mad"
(source: photographersgallery.com)

 “Moon the Loon”. His antics were as famous as his drumming: destroying his drum kit on stage, blowing it up sometimes with TNT, throwing TVs out of hotel windows, blowing up toilets with cherry bombs, allegedly driving a Lincoln Continental into a swimming pool and just being a general lad. Keith Moon’s drumming was a personification of his personality. He’d do anything for a laugh and, well, damn the consequences. Moon was bursting with energy --- perfect for drumming. He was the first drummer to sit behind a drum kit and just hit everything he saw. Yet, he was able to do it so beautifully and in perfect time to the music that it was in fact organised chaos. He also didn’t just make it up on the spot all the time; he was able to make exactly the same wild patterns and drum fills every time he played the same song.



"I survived all the major earthquakes,
and the Titanic, and several air crashes."
(image source: The Guardian)

 On stage, he completed the madness that was The Who: Pete Townshend’s wild leaping, guitar wind milling and power chords, Roger Daltrey’s  power vocals and microphone swinging and John Entwistle’s sublime bass playing all fitted with Keith Moon the Loon so perfectly that, at their peak, The Who were arguably the best live band ever. Moon inspired every single drummer after him: from the greats like John Bonham, to the little kid today who sees a drum kit and just wants to batter it. In fact, Keith Moon was originally going to play in Led Zeppelin  (he even came up with the name Led Zeppelin). But in The Who, he was able to surpass all. Take any Who song and it sounds like that is constantly soloing, but in a way that fits exactly with the music; Pete Townshend even admitted (paraphrasing) “if Keith Moon wasn’t the lead guitarist, it was John Entwistle; it certainly wasn’t me”. The effortless talent of Keith Moon, a lunatic with talent, a man who, when The Who were inactive for a year, forgot how to play the drums, created modern drumming.

Now for the worst three drummers of all time. Time for me to have a rant.

 3) Meg White

(source: behindthehype.com)

In case you don’t know, Meg White is an awful drummer. Every song is as simplistic and boring as the last with the drums in White Stripes songs. To be fair, the fantastic music provided by Jack White works well with the repetitiveness and power of the drums (achieved through slow tempos and crash cymbals played instead of high hats), but, even so, when listening to a White Stripes song, it sounds like Jack is silently mouthing to Meg what she’s supposed to play next. One gets the impression that she’s just constantly whacking the cymbals to cover the fact that’s she’s not actually playing anything.

2) Most drummers

The drummer is usually the butt of all jokes; laughed at, called talentless. “What do you call someone who hangs around with musicians? A drummer!” Ha ha, bloody ha. However, it’s undeniable that a huge proportion of songs released, past and present, having overly boring and almost pointless drumming. There is no real effort and perhaps this is because drummers are psychologically disturbed by all the “drummers aren’t real musicians” jokes and hence believe they’re not supposed to be trying. But it is ridiculous how much worse this has become. Typical songs today are singer-orientated and, with the overuse of autotune, succeed in all sounding identical, once the necessary guitar, bass, drums/drum machine, and whatever weird noises they use in this rubbish are added in their smallest possible quantities.

This leads me to the overall worst drummer of all time – 1) The drum machine.  



This thing has ruined my life.
(image source: eshop.com)

 Granted, it has its uses, but most of them are useless and inspire nobody to take up drumming or enter the music business. Much pop music has always been mediocre but it’s been getting worse and worse, to the point where a hit song means nothing at all. Music is supposed to be expressing emotion through sound and patterns, but if every pattern is the same and you have no idea what that weird sound is, what is the future of music?

Maybe you disagree with on my ordering, or think I’ve left out someone important. If so, please feel free to comment at the bottom. I won’t actually care about what you say, but, hopefully you’ll feel better about it. And just remember, even if your way of playing drums is just to hit everything in sight, you still can't be worse than Meg White.

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The Pig That Wants to Be Eaten

by Freya Derby

It’s Saturday night and we’re all going to a specialist Italian restaurant, ‘La Carnivora’. The waiter shows us to our seats, next to another family with two young children. There are printed check tablecloths, olives, breadsticks and flowers on the table. The waiter asks us if we want to see the dish of the day. A cart is wheeled over to our table and lying on it is a large pig.

 ‘Good Evening’ says the pig , cheerfully.

Ah... The trouble here is that I like to eat meat and, although I occasionally feel guilty about it, it's not enough to make me a vegetarian. And anyway, pigs would end up dead even if we didn’t eat them, so is it really that wrong to bring about the inevitable just a little earlier? The waiter sighs as I deliberate.

And if I can happily eat normal meat, why do I even hesitate when presented with a pig who clearly states that he wants to be eaten? Is it an inexplicable distaste for foods I can socialise with? Is it that I’d rather have the beef? Or are we only happy to eat animals that don’t know we’re eating them?

I think that this seems likely. After all, I wouldn’t feel comfortable spending an evening with someone who I knew knew that I had plans to rob their house later that night, even if I had no guilt otherwise and knew that they wouldn’t take any preventative action. However, this implies that I think killing animals for food is wrong which, as I have already established, I don’t.  So could it still be that the pig is aware I’m going to eat it? I look at the pig who is tapping his hoof impatiently. If there was another conscious animal and I snuck up on it, and then ate it when it wasn’t looking, would it be okay?

And supposing it is okay to eat the pig, does that mean it’s fine to eat a human? Supposing an otherwise sane family member wanted to be eaten, could that be justified? Jonathan Swift suggested satirically in ‘A Modest Proposal’ that the population problem in Ireland could be solved by feeding the children of the poor to the rich. Whilst this seems an unorthodox approach to population control, one can’t deny that it has its advantages, an idea I ponder as I survey the table next to us, which contains the irritating but plump children…

…Still I personally would draw the line before eating a child. No matter how plump…

So should I only eat animals that are unaware I’m going to eat them? Although it’s confusing and I can’t decide… I am pretty hungry…

Thank you to Douglas Adams for ruining my meal.

See, also, Should We Stick to Fruit and Veg? by Lucy Cole

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Eastleigh: A Tory Reacts

by Will Wallace

David Cameron and Eastleigh's Conservative candidate Maria Hutchings
(who was beaten into third place by the UKIP candidate)
(source: The Guardian)

How embarrassing!

On Friday I woke to the news that the Liberal Democrats had retained control over the Eastleigh seat in the House of Commons. Those in my Government & Politics class will know all too well that I’d predicted a slim Conservative majority due to "Rennardgate" and Lib Dem unpopularity nationally. Second place would have been disappointing. But to come third behind, as David Cameron once called UKIP, ‘a bunch of loonies and closet racists’, is just humiliating.

Cameron’s rival for the party leadership in 2005, David Davis said on Wednesday that a Lib Dem victory would create a ‘crisis’ and would ‘increase chances of a move against [Cameron]’ It seems to me that the Conservatives will be spending the next couple of months reassessing the crucial strategy to win in 2015 - my concern is that there might be a shift to the right to appease Davis and others. As I noted last month, in 'Why I am coming very close to leaving the Conservative Party", such a decision would be disastrous, rendering us completely unelectable to the largely sane British public.

By-elections are always used as opportunities to giving the government of the day a bit of a spanking - so why am I so shocked that the Conservatives have suffered such a blow as this? Because the Liberal Democrats were able to retain their seat despite the controversy surrounding Lord Rennard and the fact that the Lib Dems are despised nationally. However the Lib Dems ran a campaign on local issues, for which I must say they are particularly strong, and avoided talk of perverted party executives.

It would also seem that our candidate may have significantly hindered our chances - Maria Hutchings first made her way onto the front pages in 2005, when she interrupted Tony Blair during a live TV phone-in and gave him a bit of a trashing. On local issues, she is strong: protect the green belt, build new housing on brownfield sites. However, on national matters, she doesn’t seem terribly nice: opposed to abortion, opposed to equal marriage and known for making bizarre comments about state education (particularly ill-advised as Eastleigh's local secondary school, Thornden, is seen as one of the best in Hampshire). The Daily Mirror joked that Hutchings is “the Tories’ Sarah Palin” - for the first time, I find myself agreeing with the newspaper. Had the party chosen a more voter-friendly, progressively-minded candidate, then we might not have been drubbed so badly on Friday.

National newspapers today have reported that Conservative backbenchers are readying themselves to challenge David Cameron’s leadership, depending on how successful the 2013 Budget and May elections are. Oh dear.

  It seems that they still haven’t realised that the main reason that we stand a slight chance in 2015 is because of our current leader - he, unlike many of his colleagues, doesn’t have a mindset stuck in the 1950s. If he were to be deposed by the Tory Right, then there would be a greater exodus of people from the left of the Conservatives than there has been from the right. We would become even less appealing to young people, LGBT voters and ethnic minorities, and I will bet my bottom dollar that we would lose more votes from centrist voters than we’d gain from UKIP.

Eastleigh must be a wake up call - not to the party, but to the government. Keep unemployment down, invest in infrastructural projects and revitalise the economy: that’s how we will earn the trust of voters again. Pandering to a party of fruit cakes and loonies is not the solution.

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Was 2012 the Pinnacle of British Cycling or Is There More to Come?

by Callum Cross

Chris Froome and Bradley Wiggins
(source: BBC)

2012 was arguably the best year to date for cycling in the UK. With great success on the track with Sir Chris Hoy equalling Sir Steve Redgrave’s record number of Olympic golds and creating history on the road with a Tour de France win by Sir Bradley Wiggins and Chris Froome placed second. It has been said that British competitive cycling will never reach the same dizzying heights that it had in 2012. 

However I am not so sure.

So far, Mark Cavendish has notched up 1 stage in Argentina, 4 Stages in Qatar and the Overall too. Chris Froome has taken the Overall of the Tour of Oman with a dominant performance against previous Tour de France winners, Alberto Contador and Cadel Evans, not only this but last year’s Tour winner, Sir “Wiggo”, helping him out in the mountains. More lately, a very young British track team came away with 5 golds at the World Championships in Minsk and John Dibben, born and raised in Fareham, managed to place fourth in his event.

With a total of 17 British road wins from January to the end of February (5 more than last year), it is shaping up to be a great season. But with this in mind how far can we go this year? Well there should be a Giro d’Italia win for Sir Bradley Wiggins, and a few classics wins shared amongst the rest. With Cav on a new team designed to deliver him to stage wins there should be plenty for him this year as he rapidly approaches his hundredth professional win. Chris Froome is shaping up to potentially win the Tour and with 3 more top tier pro teams this year I think things can only get better.

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