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| Larisa Brown |
| Hi, I'm Larisa Brown, an aspiring journalist and recent
Politics and History graduate of Newcastle University. |
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| Contact Information |
| Please email me: liveforever19xxx {at} hotmail.co.uk,
but remove the kisses first! |
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Larisa's articles and reports for
The Courier
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On the Big Issue
and its vendors
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Street Trade, NOT Street Aid
Considering the plethora of well-educated and informed students
at Newcastle University, it seems surprising that some of
us are apparently ignorant to the plight of sellers of the
Big Issue magazine and the impact this magazine has on the
lives of those much less fortunate than ourselves.
We who are fortunate welcome the New Year in with fireworks
and laughter but, for some, another year represents no more
than continued struggle against all the odds. Whilst many
of us will be spending this Christmas in the comfort of
our own homes, surrounded by friends and family, thousands
of people across the UK will be out in the cold trying to
survive.
What The Big Issue magazine does is give those people who
haven’t had a fair chance at life - whose upbringings have
not even come close to anything we have ever imagined -
a chance to reinvent themselves. By giving homeless people
a job that requires resolve, social skills, and elements
of marketing and salesmanship, the magazine offers a skills
and job experience platform from which the sellers can hope
to progress.
Buying the Big Issue is not the same as giving to charity;
in fact it is quite the opposite. You are preventing the
need for charity by investing in a business, a business
that changes the lives of the people that it employs. Without
the magazine, and without its buyers, the future prospects
of those living on the streets would be significantly reduced.
Selling the Big Issue successfully requires commitment,
strength of character and a great deal of talent. The rewards
are negligible if people don’t support the magazine by buying
it. One Big Issue seller in Newcastle spent from 9am - 5pm
on the street, only to sell just two copies- making a total
profit of £1.60. If people don’t buy the magazine, the sellers
have little option other than to resort to begging or stealing
or another form of crime to get shelter for the night in
a police cell. Students like us can make a difference. The
magazine costs £1.50. Something most of us could spare every
once in a while.
A common and grossly unjust misconception amongst the population
is that Big Issue sellers spend their money on drugs and
alcohol. Therefore, many ask, why should we fuel their addiction
by giving them the means to afford it? Firstly, the majority
of sellers spend their money on basic survival- such as
food, shelter and clothing. After chatting to several sellers,
it is clear that comments such as those above are felt to
be extremely insulting and ill-founded. Secondly, even if
this was the case, how can we have the audacity to make
judgments on what other people spend their wages on? By
buying the magazine you are contributing to a well-earned
wage and the profiteer has every right to spend their money
as they so wish.
Ever walked past a Big Issue seller and thought what is
their story? Every person has a different story, and each
story is just as sad as the next one. Steven Johnson, the
infectiously friendly seller who works at the top of Northumberland
Street, has been working for the Big Issue for two years
now and currently holds the title of best seller in the
area. Steven had a bad upbringing and subsequently ended
up with no schooling and little experience, making him unattractive
to most employers. The Big Issue gave Steve a chance which
no one else did, and, as Steve said himself, "if it wasn’t
for the Big Issue I wouldn’t be where I am now. In fact
I don’t know where I would be." When asked why people should
buy the Big Issue, Steve said "because the sellers are showing
that they are willing and wanting to better themselves.
The only way they can better themselves is if people buy
the magazine. Without it, they are constantly stuck in a
rutt."
Now that you you've heard Steve’s story, please don’t complain
that Big Issue sellers are a nuisance or that they make
you feel guilty when you walk past. Appreciate how difficult
it is to find the willpower to stand for hours to make the
odd sale at 80p profit. Most of us obtain money easily,
whether it’s from our parents or as a student loan, but
Big Issuers stand outside, in all weathers, for longer than
most of us would ever consider working to earn a less than
minimum wage. The lucky ones finish a day of hard graft
by going home to a temporary hostel, in circumstances far
removed from any we have ever encountered, while others
face a night on the streets subject to abuse and violence
from yobs.
So, when you’re out in town, perhaps buying this years’
Christmas presents, or maybe purchasing new clothes for
a party, please spare a thought for those that didn’t and
never will get the breaks that you and I take for granted.
Do it, buy a Big Issue.
The Big Issue was launched in 1991 as an alternative
to begging. This quality magazine engages readers with issues
that affect their lives but are overlooked by other media.
The Big Issue gives the homeless or vulnerably housed training
and advice so they can take responsibility for themselves,
stabilise their lifestyles and move on.
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On Being
Casually Molested
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BCM: Being Casually Molested
Imagine this. A young lady going for a stroll in Leazes
park on a quiet Sunday afternoon, happily chomping on her
homemade ham sandwiches and her fresh chunks of diced pineapple,
when a bearded, red-eyed, overweight and rather intoxicated
man spots her from across the lake. Not only does this handsome
stranger decide they are a match made in heaven, but also
that his burning desire to have her must be fulfilled immediately,
and - without consent. As if he didn’t think his leering
gestures were quite enough to get the ball rolling, he grabs
her ass, fumbles her left breast, and then proceeds with,
what could be termed, a cheeky mouth rape. The lady, despite
her horror at the unfinished pineapple scattered on the
floor, smiles, and casually carries on her afternoon meander.
What has just been described here is an act of molestation.
Whilst many of you reading this may be fairly shocked by
the unperturbed reaction from the lady in question, many
of you too will have at some point reacted in much the same
way. The only difference being- a few shots of alcohol and
a dark dingy nightclub for the perfect setting.
Why is it that what is deemed sexual assault during the
day is, at night, considered a suitable code of practice?
Take ,for example, Magaluf- the home to mass, protein-shake
fuelled teenage boys, looking for both lash and gash; the
terminology of the latter judged appropriate due to the
distinct disregard for any other prerequisite of the female
form. BCM planet dance (one of the worlds’ ‘top’ clubs)
not only invited willing females to come up on stage and
take off their knickers whilst attempting 20 star jumps
for the lads on the dance floor, but also told the participants
that during the foam party acts of fellatio were EXTREMELY
encouraged.
You can imagine the carnage once the foam ejaculated. I,
for example, a keen advocate for peaceful resolution, ended
up punching three guys in the same area they set out to
please. If you weren’t quite so assertive however, it was
most likely that the odd ass grabbing would, a few minutes
later, change to forced head bobbing.
When you thought going out for couldn’t get much worse you
were mistaken. ‘Carnage’, the term for the popular national
student bar crawl, proved to be a worse ordeal. What was
supposed to be an innocent night out dressed in my pyjamas
and carrying my childhood teddy bear, it ended up being
a night spent in a police station whilst my friend chundered
outside down a police car door.
The night went as followed. I was happily dancing my heart
out to ‘Saturday Night’ by Whigfield when a large group
of lads started dancing around me. Oblivious to my surroundings,
I proceeded to act out the dance moves to the song, whilst
the lads, as lads do, started a chant. Then, before I knew
it, in this very well lit and open floor space, one of the
lads pulled my pyjama shorts down to the floor.
In case you are wondering, yes, I did have underwear on.
Unfortunately however I hadn’t anticipated having my shorts
stripped off me in such a manner, and so was wearing the
tiniest thong I think I have ever bought.
So there I was stood holding my teddy bear, with my pigtails
in, and my ass out.
Of course, the lads surrounding me found this hilarious,
and as I proceeded to pull my shorts back up, I simultaneously
burst in to tears. Meeting the bouncers at the entrance,
I hysterically cried to them whilst they stroked my hair.
Whilst they were accommodating to my drunken blabbering,
I think they too, like my female companions, found the whole
situation hysterically funny.
One person who didn’t find it funny was my dad. Hence, the
trip to the police station that very same evening. As I
am sure you are fully aware, binge fuelled Friday nights
don’t tend to bring out the best in people, especially the
type of people that spend these nights in a cell. Having
to sit in the waiting area with my dad, whilst bald, thuggish
men leered at me in my care bear pyjamas wasn’t quite how
I imagine the night to end up. Interestingly, whilst the
police took a formal statement (something they are legally
obliged to do), they too didn’t take the event seriously
enough to follow the case up.
Whilst the experience was adequately humiliating, now when
I think about the situation all I can do is laugh. However,
imagine if someone pulled your skirt down whilst you were
shopping in Tesco, or a boy in the library tried to force
you to perform fellatio on him whilst at a computer desk.
All of these suggestions seem ridiculous don’t they; however
how different are they really from what happened to me?!
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Brazil
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Brazilian criminals abducting victims for short lengths
of time in order to receive a quick pay off at an ATM machine,
also known as “quicknapping”, was our first early warning
sign of the danger of being a tourist in Brazil.
Shortly after arriving in a hostel in Sao Paulo, we were
told the
previous residents had, just a couple of hours before,
been held at gun point outside the hostel, forced into a
car, and driven to the nearest ATM. Frequent episodes like
this explain why you can only get a limited amount of money
out at a cash machine after 10pm, something that would later
cause us immense problems when attempting to get a last
minute night time flight 1000 miles across the country.
If you’ve seen the film “City of God”, then your impression
of Rio de Janeiro isn’t too far off the mark. A study published
in Brazil concluded that more young people below the age
of 18 are killed by guns each year in Rio than in many areas
of the world formally at war. Being told the levels of violence
are comparable to a war zone, whilst avoiding the favelas
(slums), we decided to stay in one of the more crime ridden
districts of Rio- Lapa. Living up to its reputation of being
the party central, with the streets crowded with people
dancing until about 7am, was not the only thing Lapa lived
up to.
The nineteenth century looting as epitomized in Oliver Twist
was certainly comparable to the modern day gang war-fare
that took centre stage in this bustling district. Lapa had
its very own ‘Fagin’ with an ensemble of roughly twenty
children between the ages of four and fifteen all sent out
to disperse amongst the tourists. After being accosted by
children who proceeded to root in my pockets, and after
shouting at them several times, only to receive both physical
and verbal abuse, a friend stepped in and scared the children
away. Ten minutes later they came back with a mass following
and the proposed ‘leader’ had with him a contraption devised
to poke people’s eyes out.
So far I have not painted a very pretty picture of Brazil,
doing this fascinating country an extreme injustice. Whilst
Rio is one of the world’s most modern cities, there are
inhabitants living in slums. With this deepening divide
between the rich and the poor, is it surprising that cities
such as these are like they are?
One thing I realised during my travelling around Brazil
is that violence and theft only came where deep divisions
of wealth had become imbedded in society, and that places
that were left relatively alone by Western impositions,
seemed to be fairly peaceful. Many of the people I met whilst
travelling in places outside of the main cities, untouched
by the commercial, capitalist aspects of the first world,
were, whilst living extremely primitively, were not necessarily
poor.
Of course, the term ‘poor’ used here is subjective as it
depends upon a personal interpretation of what it actually
means to be poor. To one particularly influential man I
met, a Buddhist named Jose who owned a trekking company
in the jungle, being poor didn’t mean not having a television
or a mobile phone, it meant being unfulfilled with life,
discontent and constantly wanting more. The nearest village
to Jose’s house was 2 hours away by jeep and in this small
community of about 200 inhabitants everyone knew each other
my name. Much to our surprise, they even knew the name of
each others pets. In such a small and close community law
and order wasn’t a concern as families habitually looked
after each other and no one was considered poor compared
to the other.
On the other hand the streets of Sao Paulo were crowded
with homeless people who, unable to fend for themselves
in a modernised and industrial city, were more easily characterised
as being poor- poor in terms of both economic and social
wellbeing. The influx of wealthy tourists into the popular
cities compared to those barely able to survive could not
have provided a more compelling picture. When I thought
about the wad of money that I kept tucked in my bra, or
the brand new camera that was safely accounted for on my
insurance, I considered for a moment the children that were
roaming the streets forcibly entering people’s pockets.
I came to the conclusion, why the hell not?
Living in shacks made out of cardboard and piled dangerously
high on top of each other, whilst surrounded by the latest
car advertisements on huge billboards; it is no wonder that
crime against tourists is a strong problem in the Brazilian
cities. What modernisation has partly brought to the people
of these places are higher aspirations that are not at all
achievable.
Comparatively, I visited a ‘hippy village’ just outside
a place called Salvador in the North of Brazil. The strong
Afro- Brazilian culture and vibe for samba, especially on
the beaches, was far removed from the industrial city of
Sao Paulo. To visit this hippy village you had to walk a
good few miles off the beaten path, and its inhabitants
were more or less counted for on both of my hands. From
the few hours spent there I got the impression that the
people living there survived off the fish from the river
and the minimal amount of money they made from tourist revenue.
Their houses were made out of the natural resources from
the area, and their bowls and spoons out of coconut shells.
I must admit, their way of life came as a total shock to
me as I had never experienced such a simple way of life
before.
However, I had also never experienced such kindness before.
As soon as we arrived a man came out of his hut dressed
solely in a small cloth and invited us into his house to
see what it was like. Genuinely wanting nothing in return
he proceeded to tell us, in very basic English, all about
the food he obtained from the river and how he wanted to
cook us a meal with the finest fish he could find.
I’m not sure if you would expect that type of welcoming
behaviour in England. Despite having, what I would consider,
the bare minimal for survival, he was clearly satisfied
and content by his way of life. In many respects, a whole
lot happier than most people in Britain who are supposedly
blessed with the benefits of capitalism.
It seemed to me that the real injustice in the country,
like many countries in the world, was the inequalities that
arisen due to the affects of modernisation, and not necessarily
the nature of poverty itself. The concept of poverty isn’t
as clear cut as one may tend to assume, as whilst Brazil
may be considered one of the most dangerous and poor countries
in the world, I know there were places there that I would
rather live in any day than a lot of places here in Britain.
Despite the copious government safety warnings about visiting
the country, I have never been so touched by the kindness
that I encountered throughout my travelling experience,
nor the happiness that the most bare necessities can bring
to people’s lives.
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On being solitary,
poor, nasty, brutish and short
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Crazy Political Theorists
Has it ever crossed your mind what life would be like if
we didn’t live in a democracy? Or what life was like before
democracy was established? Early political philosophers
such as Machiavelli and Hobbes theorise politics in, well
let’s say, completely controversial ways to our modern social
norm. Some of their views are exemplified in the actions
of our more modern despotic rulers such as the infamous
Joseph Stalin and, of course, the beastly man himself- Adolf
Hitler. Read on further to see if your views match up to
any of these guys, and well, if you ever think you are being
pessimistic; just remember what some politicians and theorists
believed.
Machiavelli is a fairly insane political theorist, advocating
ideas such as all men are, by nature- cruel, selfish, deceptive
and evil people who are constantly striving to be better
than everyone else. He certainly hasn’t met Zac Efron. He
was around in the early 16th century, so we can forgive
him slightly, and his writings were extremely influential
in Italy around a period called the Renaissance. The man
himself was deemed a ‘realist’ which is a political theory
that believes states are motivated primarily by the desire
for military and economic power and security, rather than
ideals or ethics. Machiavelli voiced his views in a book
called ‘The Prince’, giving instructions to leaders in how
they should rule over their subjects. A bit like Ron Burgundy
in ‘Anchorman’. If you think George Bush is bad, Machiavelli
preached that rulers should exercise brute force to keep
their subjects in line. If someone were to call you a ‘Machiavellian’
they would not be complimenting you. Instead, they would
be referring to the fact that you’re a selfish sod who manipulates
others for gain.
Thomas Hobbes is another, fairly controversial thinker,
who wrote around the 17th Century. He said that when his
mother gave birth to him she gave birth to two sons- ‘myself
and fear’. Before civil society was created there was what
Hobbes called the ‘State Of Nature’ where each person would
have the right to have anything in the world. That’s right,
under Hobbes’ theory- your friend’s pint or even their girlfriend,
would be rightfully yours too. He argued this state of nature
would inevitably lead to a conflict (in our case a pulling
of the hair or perhaps a light slam against a brick wall)
and this would result in a life ‘solitary, poor, nasty,
brutish and short’. Sound appealing? Perhaps not. So to
escape this horrific situation, Hobbes argued that men need
to agree to a social contract and establish a civil society
by giving up their own individual freedom to a sovereign
authority. Hobbes believed that if the social contract was
entered into out of fear it would still be a contract freely
entered into, and therefore a valid contract. In simpler
words, it’s a bit like being held at gun point, leaving
you with the ultimatum- die or sign away your student loan.
Choosing the latter, Hobbes argues, is something you have
signed away completely out of choice because you could have
chosen to die instead. Furthermore, Hobbes believed that
whilst society has to conform to the social contract, the
sovereign himself did not. Fair enough?!
If you thought you were a bit paranoid about people hating
you then think no more. Soviet Russia under Stalin was renowned
for its extensive stalking/ ‘creeping’ policies because
Stalin believed that most people in the state were out to
get him- so much so he killed off some of his own family.
His psychotic paranoia led to the Great Purge through out
the 30s and 40s which was a period of great political repression
where he sentenced to death leading politicians who were
suspected of being a threat to him. In some cases Stalin
would force politicians to plead guilty to crimes they hadn’t
committed in public juries, which would, in turn, provide
perceived justification for Stalin’s period of terror. Of
course its unlikely now that someone has hooked up a video
camera to your room to watch your every move (unless your
in American Pie), but in Soviet Russia, if you were a known
character in society, perhaps an artist or a writer, the
chances are that you would be being watched 24/7. That’s
right, your sordid love affairs would be heard by some creepy
Russian man who would document everything word for word;
and even, sound for sound. Stalin’s rapid industrialisation
policy caused the death of arguably 20 million people, many
of which were Ukrainians who died due to Stalin’s brutal
farming policies. The principle of Equality as laid out
by Karl Marx in ‘The Communist Manifesto’ was not quite
achieved by Stalin. The hierarchical system within government
which gave preferential treatment to some and not others,
along with Stalin’s role as Dictator highlights the inequality
in Soviet Society. Communists were by no means advocates
of morality, taking pleasure in picking up young girls off
the Russian streets, ‘having their way with them’ and then
dropping the girls off at their destination. Another solution
to getting home free on a Friday night!
Then there is Adolf Hitler, voted Time magazine’s Man of
the Year 1938. His views were (and let us not under-exaggerate)
pretty morbid. Hitler published hclass=ccchhhci"s pchotic
beliefs in ‘Mein Kampf’ whilst in prison. As a result of
his despotic rule and party propaganda, Germany engaged
in the Second World War to gain further German territory
to provide Lebensraum (living space) for Hitler’s ‘superior
race’. He committed suicide in 1945 and rested in peace
knowing he had exterminated over 6 million Jews. Hitler’s
anti-semitic attitudes and his desire to create a perfect
Aryan race, and kill off everyone that did not fit his Aryan
stereotype made him quite the crazy theorist. Interestingly,
Hitler actually had Jewish blood in him as his great great
grandmother was a Jewish maid, making him a little bit of
a hypocrite. Hitler’s future role was predetermined by his
school teacher as she described the boy as ‘bad tempered’
and that he ‘fancied himself as a leader.’ Hitler’s faith
in the German Reich was obliterated with the fall of Berlin
in 1945. He uttered the sickening words- ‘If the war is
lost, then it is of no concern to me if the people perish
in it. I still would not shed a single tear for them; because
they did not deserve any better.’ What a dick.
So really, if we think about it, we should be pretty happy
that we live in 21st century Britain and that Gordon Brown
is a fairly sane and moderate man, who isn’t taking the
advice of these crazy political theorists.
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Dirty Diary
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Dear Dirty Diary,
Ok so there are some things you should never do whilst in
front of an open window that leads onto about six blocks
of flats and a good hundred rooms. This is one of them.
Having spent most hours of every day with my flat mate Clare,
we knew pretty much everything there was to know about one
another. We had shared moments of hysterical laughter over
the stupidest things, moments of hopeless crying over testosterone
fuelled alpha-males and moments of embarrassing crazy activities
such as our legendary ‘Kitchen Utensils Dance.’ Feeling
pretty comfortable with one another, being naked in the
same room didn’t really faze us on the principle that we
all look roughly the same anyway; despite the fact that
Clare, being nickname ‘Mammories’ for most of first year;
had some of the biggest breasts at Newcastle University.
Being a virgin to the application of fake tan and having
seen the people around me transform from a pasty white to
a pretty sexual brown colour, I thought that day I would
conform to the many ills of vanity in society. Finding the
concept of rubbing fake tan on my body difficult and not
being able to reach my back, I shouted Clare to come and
help me…. Completely oblivious to the outside world, and
used to parading around my room barely clothed, I didn’t
think twice about the audience we could attract outside.
Stood in front of the window, with just some pants on, Clare
started to apply fake tan on my back. In order to make the
tan even, a light groping of side breast was in order, in
a completely none lesbian way I must point out. However,
to on-lookers, the event would seem, well, pretty dirty.
After a few minutes something made me glance up and look
out of the window to see, to my horror, an assemble of people
in a room just across the grass, pointing and laughing at
us. I screamed, Clare screamed, we both screamed, Clare
dropped the bottle of fake tan all over the floor and I
dived on my bed traumatized for a good while. Whilst our
perceived lesbian encounter had provided entertainment for
several unidentifiable students, I decided against using
fake tan again and have decided to be content with the pale
skin English weather has granted me.
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Housemate Diary
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So.. is first year all its cracked up to be? The mental
parties, the alcohol abuse, the vandalism, the sound of
your housemates getting laid, the thumping music 24/7, the
frequent fire catastrophes from drunken attempts at cooking,
the practical jokes, the incestuous blocks at Ricky road,
dead hamsters, tripped electricity, the memory loss and
complete loss of dignity, certainly made my first year one
never to forget.
Its 8 o’clock in the morning and housemates A and B are
looking at the tripped electricity, the grains of rice covering
the entire floor, the traffic cone, the salmon in the letterbox,
the squished pizza in the carpet, the murky fog in the living
room from an oven incident; and whilst choking, are wondering
what the hell happened last night? A knock at the door and
housemate C enters with blood dripping down his head, mud
covering his body from head to toe and a big smirk across
his face. Explaining to housemates A and B that he has no
recollection of why he looks like he does; he vomits violently
out of the window, leaving a nice stain down the wall of
block 8. Ten minutes later and housemate D emerges out of
his room. Being male and dressed in clothes that clearly
resemble that of an old lady, the housemates laugh knowingly,
realising that nothing more needs to be said. Then the door
opens and housemate E walks in wearing men’s ¾ length trousers
that touch her feet, a t-shirt that looks like an oversized
dress and fittingly, absolutely no shoes. Before she has
chance explain (not that it was deemed necessary), housemate
F falls in through the door, escorted by police who leave
after ensuring her safety. After waiting for an hour for
housemate F to sober up, and in the meantime watching her
eat bacon accompanied with an oven glove which she had mistaken
for bread, the housemates concluded that she had walked
home the wrong way from the Quay side. Ensuing, she had
got lost and passed out in a field in the infamous Byker.
After a startled and rather dismayed taxi driver found her
lying passed out in the middle of the field, he rang the
police who drove her home.
That was a slightly above average morning in flat E.
Later that day, housemates A and B returned from purchasing
a selection of beverages from ‘free stuff man’ at Ricky
road to find a hamster, in a cage, on their hall floor.
Housemate F ran out of her room with glee to witness the
surprised look on housemates A and B’s faces before laughing
hysterically. 2 months later, after being scarred emotionally
from the adventures of, shall we say, a ‘sexually adventurous’
young female, being regularly taken for walks outside the
block, and having to cope with several attempts of being
discarded, the unfortunate soul died. His death was followed
by a funeral and later a fitting burial. Heart felt speeches
at his funeral included ‘may your next life be better than
your last.’ When the bin men came the next day they must
have wondered how a tiny animal had ended up in the clutches
of such reckless young students.
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Teenage Pregnancy
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The irreversible societal moral decline has reached its
peak with the latest controversy over the pregnancy of underage
school girl Chantelle with father Alfie, aged 13. Alfie,
thinking it ‘would be good to have a baby’ epitomises the
abhorrent youth of today who increasingly engage in drugs,
smoking, alcohol abuse and, as we have established, extremely
underage sex; without having the mental capacity to understand
the consequences. As one Sun columnist put it, ‘this is
the thin end of a wedge that will break the existing cracks
in our society so wide open that there is no possible hope
of recovery.
This is perhaps a tad harsh. However; underage sex is on
the increase as statistically 4 out of every 10 girls have
engaged in illegal intercourse- and as its repercussion,
20 girls under 15 become pregnant every day. As some are
so young that they perhaps aren’t even aware of what a condom
is, it is not surprising that 15% of teenagers in England
who have sex don’t use contraception! It is hard to dispute
the moral wrongs concerning underage pregnancy as children
are born into families where their parents are barely able
to look after themselves, never mind a baby. Whilst robbing
the not even yet teenage parents of their innocent child
hood, the baby itself suffers from irresponsible and incompetent
parenting. The inadequate upbringing of the child, who is
unable to inherit his/her parents’ wisdom/knowledge/intelligence
(as they too are just children), can only have a negative
effect upon society. No one can naively pretend that a 12
year old child; or even a 15 year old child has the maturity,
experience and insight to look after a baby- never mind
the financial capability.
So why is underage sex and consequently pregnancy on the
increase in Britain?
As children at age 10 under British law are held criminally
responsible for their actions, could we ascertain that underage
pregnancy too is at the fault of the parents; or do we have
to look wider to find the source of Britain’s moral decline?
The glamorisation of sex in the British media must surely
play a large role in advertising sex appeal and sex to large
audiences from a young age. Day time adverts have increasingly
encompassed sexual innuendos or mild erotic viewing such
as a woman in the shower getting excited over the shampoo
in her hair. As sex is regarded as the second strongest
of the psychological appeals, no wonder companies are using
scantily dressed seductive models to flaunt their products.
Children, many of which don’t even have a boyfriend or girlfriend,
are exposed in the media to children of their own age being
portrayed as sexy and seductive. Soap operas such as Eastenders
and Coronation Street frequently show underage sexual activity
such as flirting and often full intercourse. Often these
examples fail to demonstrate the consequences of sex, one
of them being pregnancy. Research has shown that children
who are exposed to more sex in the media are more likely
to engage in the same behaviour themselves. Even films rated
at PG, as an example ‘Problem Child 2’, still show or at
least imply sexual activity, making children believe sex
at a young age is completely normal. Of course what these
films don’t show is the application of a condom onto the
man’s penis!
Whilst we look at little Alfie with incredulity as to how
a boy who looks so young and has not yet entered puberty
could have the hormonal capabilities to have sex; we must
scrutinize society, where sex has become a typical spectacle
in all forms of the British media.
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Italian
Restaurant Review
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One restaurant not to be forgotten about amongst the
plethora of Italian restaurants that are scattered around
Jesmond is Brentwood Avenue’s Avanti. Neatly tucked away
out of the busy street of Osbourne road, this quiet, yet
perfectly popular restaurant is a favourite amongst local
residents. The delicate décor outside of the restaurant
is just a simple taste of the atmosphere that you are to
expect once inside the heart of the main dining area. Beautifully
decorated with paintings such as the Mona Lisa and Italian
themed designs, you can’t get much more authentic than Avanti.
Whilst not all of us have the luxury of experiencing the
romantic atmosphere as it is intended, the dim candlelight
and soft playing music is enough to make any group of friends
feel the vibe of love.
The Happy Hour menu is certainly an attraction for young
students, ranging from £4.90 for any pizza or pasta to a
three course meal with chicken dishes for just £8.90. Whilst
we happened to sample a personal favourite of mine- the
potato wedges with salsa and garlic mayonnaise dip, if one
wanted to be slightly more extravagant, pate on toasted
bread is another delightful option. One must be warned that
after a plateful of potato wedges you may be feeling adequately
satisfied and therefore it may be wise to opt for a slightly
less filling meal for the main course. None of the main
dishes fail to disappoint whether you choose the Spagetti
Cremolino or the Marco Polo pizza. The more than ample portions
mean that whatever your appetite, it is hard to walk out
of the restaurant feeling less than happy. If you didn’t
think it could get any better, whilst waiting for your dessert,
you are duly attended to by very handsome waiters (and waitresses)
eager to supply you with as much drink as is desired. Not
a course to miss out on, the chocolate fudge cake is one
of Avanti’s wonders. Richly decorated with chocolate sauce
and cream, the cake leaves little to be desired. This light
yet scrumptious dessert is a perfect way to end a very perfect
evening. This family run business has got everything just
about right.
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Indian
Restaurant Review
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Placed slightly off the beaten path in Jesmond, Indian
restaurant Dazar goes overlooked amidst the array of popular
restaurants on Osborne Road. Situated on Holly Avenue, Dazar
is easily reachable from any location, with nearby metros
accommodating those of you coming from afar. While the rest
of the restaurants in Jesmond have changed over the years,
this family owned business has stood the test of time; having
been open for 35 years.
Seemingly popular amongst nearby residents, Dazar restaurant
offers 10% student discount on all takeaways, as well as
an extremely reasonable sit-in student deal. With the exception
of weekends, students can expect to pay £8.50 for any choice
of curry, rice and a naan bread.
Although the general décor of the restaurant is lacking
the warmth and intimacy that one can expect elsewhere in
the nearby vicinity, any initial impression goes overlooked
by the affordable and appetizing menu Daraz has to offer.
A particularly appealing characteristic of the menu is the
wealth of Chef’s specialities; making Daraz’s menu unique
from a sub-standard Indian restaurant.
Overwhelmed by the abundance of choice, my dining companion
and I opted to share a couple of starters that went down
a treat. The special duck filled pancake and strongly spiced
chicken pakora were perfectly flavoursome and succeeded
in seducing the taste buds ready for the main dishes.
My companion thoroughly enjoyed his chicken makhani, a tikka
cooked with yoghurt and mild herbs; finding the dish accommodating
to his dislike for overly spiced dishes, without lacking
the kick needed to tickle his palette. I, on the other hand,
opted for the chicken biryani, a personal favourite of mine.
Dazar did not disappoint. Plenty of vegetables and fabulously
cooked chicken meant this often heavy dish satisfied my
appetite to the point of perfection.
Perhaps what fittingly rounded off a lovely evening was
the fantastic service we encountered from all the members
of staff, including the warm farewell we received when leaving
the family restaurant.
With a possible refit in the New Year, Dazar Indian restaurant
leaves little to be desired.
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