Week 26

Hello!
So I'm eating onion jam on tiger bread and freezing my tits off (the perils of plaster board walls and a student budget) and figured that it might be an idea to find some super tips on how to avoid the cold. While the only sound and not totally obvious advice was to
1. wear many thin layers rather than one thick one as hot air gets trapped between the layers and provides thermal insulation
2. don't wear anything too tight as it'll stop your circulation and your extremities will get cold (this means no tights under skinny jeans unfortunately
3. on a similar note try not to wear tight belts or even rings or watches which are a bit tight for the same reason

I did find this amazing article on how to avoid frostbite. The whole thing is written in the first person and just to give you a taster of the kind of people out there on the internet here's an extract:
"Most people are not so adventurous as to reach such extreme conditions as the above. However, it may be easier to remain in the road if the car breaks down and we can not return home. If we have fuel, we will leave the engine running with the heater on. If it's too cold, we can protect the windows with seat covers, newspaper, carpet or what we could have at hand.
Inside the car we should always carry a blanket. It will help us to retain heat. It is also convenient to wear a tight box protected from moisture with some matches and a piece of flintstone in it. We may never need to use it, but with matches or the flintstone, we can light a fire in a sheltered place that can protect us from cold.
If we do not have any matches we have the opportunity to make a fire using petrol and the car battery. To do this, we will wet a gauze with gasoline and we will produce sparks bringing together the two terminals of the battery." -botanical online

So now you know. If Boris cocks up the public transport system next time it snows we can always just rip off the car seat covers and set fire to the engine. Reassured?



Made this nifty skirt with my dinky JL Mini sewing machine. Stupidly happy with myself although most of the credit needs to go to Mrs Debra Watson. Nice legs Fran Zoutewelle, proud to say I slept in your bed for over two weeks. You bloody minx.

This week we love...



It's fair to say that the average university student lives up to their stereotype of the satchel sporting know it all who drinks cheap beer and rolls their own cigarettes while talking shit about mass media, but once in a while you meet someone who doesn't entirely fit the bill. Elisabeth Gheorghe is one of those. Romanian, pint-sized and a published writer at 12, she discusses marble toilets, life philosophies and how having your dad tracked by the Stasi is all part of an eastern european family history. A skype interview reported.

EW: So where are you from Elizabeth Gheorghe?
EG: I'm Romanian but I was born in Sweden. I lived there until I was five, then moved to the States, then back to Sweden again at age 8 and resided there until I graduated from high school. My parents are both Romanian but they had to leave before the revolution in 1989. My dad's an engineer and my mum's an accountant but my dad was involved in counter-revolutionary activities since the age of 13/14 (it all started with growing his hair long and listening to deep purple) which became increasingly serious over the years so it just wasn't safe. Ironically my mother's side had connections with the party (medics and surgeons had to be in the party, unlike engineers, physicists and mathematicians) and her neighbours were actually agents from the security police.

EW: Crazy.
EG: Yeah, my dad's side of the family has a bit of a rebellious tradition which keeps things interesting. Greatgrandpa Gheorghe was arrested by the commies int eh 50s for his objection to the collectivisation of the land (both sides of my family had vast country estates and stuff). He'd also fought in the Balkan Wars which is a bit cool but he ended up dying in prison according to records although he probably ended up in some labour camp. His son (my grandad) was serving time in a labour camp in Crimea at the time, THE IRONY!

EW: Your poor granny. So the commies took all your land, what happened next?
EG: Well they shipped people into the cities for the urbanisation project. Engineers, mathematicians, physicists and medics were needed in the factories and to generally run society so that was that.

EW: And how did your parents meet?
EG: Well my dad and my mum's uncle did some gigs together (amateur musicians during the summer, good money at the time) and they met through him. He was at uni and she was still in high school so he ended up going to work in East Germany while she was studying in Bucharest but then he started getting persecuted by the Stasi so they moved to Sweden.

EW: So you've ended up living all over the world, is there anywhere you feel particularly attached to?
EG: Not really, I've spent varying amounts of time in each place and while my parents are very rooted to Romania I don't really identify with a specific country.They've all got small differences which makes them fascinating.

EW: Fair enough, but if you had to summarise your thoughts on each country with an object what would they be?
EG: America would be a box of Lucky Charms (I love them but they're so hard to find in Europe), Sweden is a can of Kopparberg's strawberry-lime cider, Romania's an accordion and London's an oversized vintage jumper.

EW: What do you want to do in life?
EG: WHat I would like to do in life huh? Well, my greatest aspiration is to become a poet or a writer of some sort. I love writing poetry and short stories, been published twice before so maybe there's a shot at getting published again, who knows? Other than that my career would be somewhere in academia. Teaching at uni level seems pretty fun.

EW: I can see you doing that. So where have you been published before?
EG: I was 12 when I was first published. I randomly sent in a short story on why seas where salty (the theme was myths and legends and I wrote about a princess that'd done something stupid, been locked in a tower and cried like a motherfucker until the world was swallowed by her tears). It was an under 16s competition and I was the only writer published under 15 which was pretty cool. That must have been in 2002/2003. The second time was when I was 16. I was a regular contributor of poems (under a pen name) to Sweden's equivalent of the Guardian, Sydsvenskan. They once held a competition with the Swedish literature elite as the panel judges and I had a number of my poems published.

EW: What would you say is your life philosophy?
EG: Setting the ship on fire and dancing on the bannister? I don't really know, chilling and enjoying even the smallest things.

EW: Final question for the busy lady, what would be your ideal Sunday?
EG: No coursework and time for sandwiches and chilling, perhaps a double scotch and a few smokes, a couple of lines being punched out on the typewriter.

If you want to have a squiz at Lizbeth's poetry you can check out her blog here.

The Life Aquatic Studio Sessions- Seu Jorge

With cover versions usually associated with crap band nights in provincial pubs you reserve the right to be weary of an album of David Bowie covers performed in Portuguese. The fact that five of these songs feature on the soundtrack of Wes Anderson's 'The Life Aquatic' and that Brazilian singer Seu Jorge is a well respected musician in his own right may ease your mind but just in case your not totally convinced enjoy a little taster here.
Favourites have to be 'Starman' (O Astronaut a De Marmare) and 'Changes'. Lush.

A Prophet- Jacques Audiard










It's been a week of conspiracies what with The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest, Tell No One and the latest Harry Potter (is Snape a goody, is he a baddy, really wish I hadn't read the books and was actually intrigued) but while they've all culminated to make me feel extremely naive, the most noteworthy has to be Jacques Audiard's The Prophet. Set in modern day France the film follows the evolution of 19 year old Malik from illiterate inmate to mafia king-pin over the course of his six years in jail. Most obviously a criticism of the criminal justice system it also says a lot about the situation of ethnic minorities in the country that established the concept of human rights and the prejudices these groups face. Audiard said that he aimed to "create icons, images for people who don't have images in movies" but emphasised that the film "has nothing to do with his vision of society" so don't expect a 'Shawshank Redemption' style ending.














Press Photographer's 2010- Belvedere Road, Southbank, City of London, Greater London SE1 8XT

If, like myself, you're often embarrassed by your total lack of awareness in regards to current affairs, this is the perfect opportunity for you to get a sweeping overview of events for 2010. The Press Photographer's is an annual competition designed for press photographers by press photographers and features the best shots from this years headlines. Often depressing and always visually stunning, the shots are divided into categories such as portraits, royalty and entertainment, sports action singles and live news to give you the best of all worlds, illustrating that while the world may be going to shit, there's still a lot of beauty around us. Favourite entry has to be the photos of Congo's Societe des Ambiances et des Personnes Elegantes. Google it asap.

Also...



You will never understand how much I laughed at this. Watch the original interview for extra humour and perhaps learn the lyrics/moves. Probably the catchiest song in the world.

Week 25

Shoobidoobeedoowatwaa,
Just made 'spelling and grammar' freak out. Computers don't understand scatting unfortunately.
So I caught up with an old friend the other day and we were talking about Guy Fawkes night and how great fireworks are and have decided that there should be a big warehouse in every major city, an absolutely massive one, where you can go to whenever you're in a bad mood and watch incredible firework displays. How great would that be?
Bad day at work? Girlfriend just got off with your dad? Feeling fat? Don't trouble your noggen, just jump on the bus and head to xxxx and watch fireworks for 20 minutes. Pretty sure you'd feel great and it'd be much cheaper than Lexapro/retail therapy/cocaine.
Someone please become Minister of Health just to do this.



This is what 300 origami boats with toothpick flags look like. If you should be lucky enough to find one of these bad boys around town you will be revealed the top 5 songs to get you ready to go on an adventure. Serious bounty.


This week we love...




Last week Ginny got her first ever job in a fish and chip shop/chinese takeout. While handing out heart disease to the drunk and obese for minimum wage may not be at the top of every 16 year olds wish list, it does come with an unexpected perk: working for the man, himself Eddie Ho.
Eddie Ho, real name Tin Tak Ho, has owned this fish and chip shop since 1981 and for the better part of the week you can find him here, chopping up buckets of chicken with his enormous cleaver and watching over the mushy peas. Ginny Watson reports.

GW: So Eddy do you live above the chip shop?
EH: Yes, but my wife lives in our house in Primrose Hill in London so I spend half of my week there with her and the other half here. She is very sociable so she doesn't like Stansted so much, it is too quiet for her but in London she can go out with all her friends and stay busy. I prefer to be quiet so I like it here but when I go to London I like to walk my dogs up Primrose Hill which is also nice.

GW: Do you have any kids?
EH: Yes, three sons. I am very proud of them. My eldest is a banker in Tokyo, the next one an architect and my youngest a computer programmer. It is nice because I worked very hard for them to go to private schools and they have done well in their lives. I bought each of them a flat in London also to encourage them during their university studies so it is also nice because they all have bases in London.

GW: But how did you afford to buy all these flats? You surely can't make that much money from this shop can you?
EH: (laughs) No, I have an investment business in Hong Kong where I am from, and several apartments there which I lease out. I moved to London in the 60s and bought the terrace house in Primrose Hill which I leased out to the Norwegian ambassador for a long time and then in 1973 I moved to Stansted and bought a big house (6 bedrooms!) which I also lease. And now I also have my shop. I am very proud of it, and very happy to work here.

GW: But even if you're proud of it why do you keep working, I mean you don't really need to do you?
EH: Perhaps not, but I have worked my whole life and there is no reason to stop now. My father died when I was 6 and although my mother remarried I kept my father's name, so there has always been this responsibility that I am the man of the house and must provide for my family. And I have done that, but now I would like to provide for my grandchildren, and keep working so I can send them to private schools also.

GW: You're a very generous man!
EH: (laughs)

And so the little old man in the local chippie is head of his own business empire. I bet that'll make you think again when you next look at your greegrocer/dry-cleaner/florist and just see an immigrant with poor English.


Lanie Lane- What do I do

So I stumbled upon this little gem on another website and was so impressed of how good the girl looked without a bra that I decided to have a listen. Proud to say that being shallow pays off. This is one sassy lady, and when you're usually left with the choice between bootylicious skank or emaciated Miss Miserable, Lanie Lane is as refreshing as pink lemonade on a Southern ranch. It's difficult to find any information on her and even harder to define her style which is currently labelled as blues, jazz, pop, country and swing, but it's sweet listening for a Sunday morning and the prefect soundtrack to getting your life in order before the week starts. Think of the softness of Ella Fitzgerald with the added sass of Billie Holiday or as her profile states: "sweet and sexy, naughty and nice, sugar and spice". Yummy.


The Spirit of the Beehive- Victor Erice

You know that a film's important when they've got 15 copies of it lined up in the university library. 'The Spirit of the Beehive' is one of those and as Victor Erice's directorial debut and widely accepted as a masterpiece of Spanish cinema, I think it deserves the shelf space. Shot in 1973, the film is a subtle criticism of Franco's dictatorship and more specifically the state Spain was left in directly after the civil war. Set in rural Spain in 1940, the film begins with the arrival of a travelling cinema to a small village on the Castille Plateau. The film screened is James Whale's 'Frankenstein' and among the audience is 6 year old Ana who rather than being frightened becomes a little bit obsessed with the monster, a fascination which is only aggravated by her older sister's claim that the beast lives in an abandoned sheep-house outside their village. After several unfruitful trips to the house Ana finds a Republican solider hiding there and thinking that he's the monster she's been looking for develops a silent friendship with him. As you can imagine the film does not end happily but historical context aside it does make for extremely interesting viewing. Each shot is hauntingly beautiful, carefully imagined and put together to convey both the simple joys and dark misunderstandings which can only occur in a child's mind. Ana Torrent is incredible in all her 100cm of red leggings and cropped hair and the film is worthwhile just to see those serious dark eyes trying to make sense of it all her enchanting if rare smiles.Massive massive thumbs up.


High Society- 215 Euston Road, London NW1 2BE

Went to this exhibition with my grandpapie feeling like a cultured wild-thing but am sorry to say that it was all very tame. Taking an anthropological perspective, the exhibition shows the plethora of drugs that have been used and abused throughout history and consequently stuck a fat one to the idea that drugs are a recent epidemic. The layout left quite a lot to be desired and you can't help but feel that the curators just whacked together whatever they could find in the archives rather than spending any money on the exhibition BUT: drugs are always intriguing and if it's free why not spend an hour or so reading about how the Brits got China hooked on opium as part of a sound business strategy, or see all the different babies medicines that contained heroine back in the day.

Also...

Just in case you'd ever deluded yourself that you were original.


Exactitudes.

Week 24

Boomshanka team!
So last night I had just fallen asleep then who should run into my room but 4 actors and a young man shouting about hating Somalie Jews because they spend all day eating pop corn and stealing clementines. I then made them pasta in a kitchen that was so cold you could see your own breathe and thought 'you just couldn't make this shit up.'
Hope your week has been equally absurd.



Can't wait to wear this to lectures. Email in if you also fancy some double glances in the street.


This week we love...




As I'm sure you're aware, London has an unwritten rule that you do not, under any circumstances, talk to your neighbours. You can slip their mail under their door, leave suggestive notes around the hallway about not leaving with fucking front door open all the time an call the cops on their anniversary party but bar that and the occasional sideways glance, you do not interact with these people. Because of our hippie upbringing however, we like to think of ourselves as free spirits, open minded and able to transcend these ridiculous social conventions, so last night I payed a visit to Tony.
Tony is my neighbour. He lives downstairs from us in the ground floor flat and while all I knew about him was that he had a red bike he never used and long white hair, I rang his doorbell under the pretext of being locked out and needing a wee. Before I begin a description of what lay behind that ply wood door I think it's important to give you an idea of what Tony looks like. It seemed too impertinent to ask for a photo so I hope my A-level English will do him justice. Here we go.
Tony is about 6 foot 2, willowy without looking hungry and a little hunched over. He has shoulder length white hair cut into a sort of mullet which is receding quite dramatically, exaggerating his beetle-brow. He has blue eyes their hard to notice because of how much he squints, exposing only tiny little slivers unless he gets particularly excited about something and widens them for an instant. His face looks about 60 but his hands look weirdly young, like a 30 year old who hasn't done much manual labour and although the rest of him is pretty grubby if not derelict, his hands are immaculately clean. At this moment he is wearing mid rise blue jeans and a red plaid shirt.
Just as the Queen belongs in Buckingham Palace, Tony belongs in his flat. The moment I step in the door I trip on a red sequinned sombrero and stumble into what I suppose is his bedroom but looks like the inside of a schizophrenics trolley, you know the ones that spend their days collecting impossible amounts of shit. After much apologising for the state of the place Tony guides me down the hallway, squeezing past a clothes rack of old suits and costumes to the toilet which, as it happens, doesn't have a light. Peeing in the dark never seemed like a good idea but a quick once over with the light of my Nokia confirmed suspicions that pitch black revealed the bathroom in its best light. The kitchen I'm afraid to say wasn't much better but what Tony lacked in basic hygiene he more than made up for in hospitality. An absolute gent, he offered me the seat next to the radiator and made me a cup of tea in a pretty little teacup, saucer and all.
After the basic introductions 'where are you studying', 'how long have you been in London' and the like, my host begins to tell me a little bit about himself and while I can't convey his mix of awkward mannerisms and eloquent speech, I can share a little bit of information about his life.
Tony is an actor/musician. He hasn't been playing as much as he'd like to recently although he did do a couple of gigs around Camden earlier on in the year (points at three stringed guitar hanging above the sink). If his musical career may be suffering he's flourishing as an actor, having just finished working as an extra in the next Pirates of the Caribbean movie where he played 4 different parts. Although none of them where the suave French pirate type he was hoping for (does swish sword movement in the air), he still feels pretty happy with the experience.
When I ask Tony where he's from he explains that his dad was in the RAF so he spent the first 6 years of his life in the German countryside which he describes as 'Grimm's fairytale land', but other than that it's always been London. While he lived in a massive house in Germany, enjoying all the perks of a senior officer's lifestyle, it was a hard crash with reality when they moved back to England, their real home being a poky flat in Clapham Common. He says he remembers driving up to this beautiful Georgian house and being completely taken back when he pushed open the front door: the hallway was dark and brown and a little boy was poking his head through another door. He asked his dad what this little boy was doing in their house and couldn't understand that the house was divided into flats, and didn't belong to them.
So it's been London from then on but while he seems to know every single street in the city, when I ask him what his favourite places are he doesn't really know what to say. He went to Spain recently to look after his long term partner but she died, and he hasn't really known what to do with himself since coming back. They'd been together since 1972 and when she moved back to Spain to look after her mum, they still talked for half an hour every night and she sent him packages all the time, so when he came back to snowy London this winter it was all a bit sad.
Still, they're stocking his favourite German Christmas cake in Lidl this year, and at 1.99 a loaf, he reckons it's a sign that things are looking up.
Tony is definitely getting a Christmas card this year.

Crystal Fighters- Star of Love

Fuck Crystal Castles, here's a bunch of whacked up hippies with crazy dance moves. Time Out said that they were "offering saved up folktronica and minimal electro pop and veering between Fisherspooner-style euphoria and Animal Collective delicacy" but I clearly don't know enough about music to decide whether or not I agree with that. What I do know is the one of the singers found her dead grandaddy's diary where he'd written the skeleton of an opera, decided to see his vision through by pulling together a band and came up with a load of crazy dance music. Favourite has to be 'Swallow' although the film clip for 'I love London' is amazing. Check it out now.


Another Year- Mike Leigh

Funny how films in which the least happens can be the most unsettling. This one follows the year in the life of Tom and Gerri, a contented old couple who plod on through the four seasons assisting their friends and family in dealing with varying degrees of unhappiness. There's work, drinks, a barbecue and a funeral and while not much else happens it made me feel very sad. I think it might be because when you're used to Hollywood films with all emotions times 100 and murders and machine guns being part of a basic plot line, it really hits you to recognise characters that you know in real life. Aunties or teachers or even your best friend whose dysfunctions seem normal in day to day life suddenly become extremely depressing on the big screen. Not to say that Mike Leigh's new film os all doom and gloom, it's certainly not 'Happy Go Lucky' but there are some lovely moments and some of the characters are just wonderful, namely Tom (played by Jim Broadbent) who is pretty much what every man should aspire to be like at 50 something. Not one for when you're feeling fragile but it does make you appreciate the little things.


The Hunterian Museum- 35-43 Lincoln's Inn Fields, London WC2A 3PE

Hidden inside The Royal College of Surgeons and spread over just two floors The Hunterian Museum gives The British Museum a run for its money. Ok, there aren't any egyptian mummies or pictures by Davinci but while this curiosity cabinet doesn't advocate the raping and pillaging of the four corners of the Earth, it does show that medicine is fucking cool. Neatly lined up in the display cabinets you'll find the brain of some forgotten genius, the entire face of a child with smallpox, a chicken with four legs and the skeleton of an Irish giant. There's also a monkey's head in a jar, a couple of elephant skulls and pictures of some of the world's first examples of plastic surgery, so if you're not too queazy you should go have a gander. Oh and it's absolutely free and the gift shop is rubbish so you won't be tempted to spend any money.

Also...



Definitely not into the idea of using a blog as a billboard for pretty but pointless pictures but just thought she was great.
Would just love to play pictionary with her, I imagine she'd be pretty good.

Week 23

Hey sweet things!
So it's been another ridiculous week, with yet another change in residence, hacked up film, fireworks, stern russians, death threats from taxi drivers and a phone booth that smelt of piss and chlamydia, but all I really want to talk about is toast.
Because toast is fucking great and just about the most unappreciated food stuff out there. Seriously though, how many people eat toast every single day and never stop to think 'wow, this is delicious. I have charred the exterior of this bread and what was a moment ago just a lump of carbs has become a meal. Just like that.'
I think the problem is that people are in too much of a hurry, and don't see toast as something that should be enjoyed, but rather just as a filler to get them through till lunchtime when really it could be the best thing that could happen to them at 8 o'clock on a weekday morning. Imagine how incredibly indulgent it could feel to have a thick cut slice of sour dough with creme fraiche and raspberry jam, or some wholemeal with avocado, bacon and a bit of melted cheese on top. Or even just some medium cut white bread with loads of butter and less honey. Amazing.
Thing is, like most aspects of our lives that become routine, toast has become something mundane, and it really shouldn't be. So next time your buying your daily bread stop, and take a moment to think what kind of toast you really want to be eating every morning.



Foam letters for the shower tiles. Because there's nothing quite like composing messages for your flatmates butt naked with herbal essences in your eyes.

This week we love...



Last season, when the weather was warmish and cold beer the norm, Ginny decided to go on an adventure. Having escaped the mental health system she realised that the perfect plan was to take off to Glastonbury with next to no money and try to get a job scooping up the impossible amount of shit left behind by 177 000 festivalheads. Weirdly enough she was not successful. Turns out a lot of people like bagging syringes and beer cans and as one of the late comers, Ginny did not get a job so slept in an abandoned tent, chopped up 3 kilos of mushrooms for a hippie with a flute and devised a plan to get home. Penniless for the next 24 hours she decided to try her hand at hitch hiking (no pun intended) and stood by the side of the road with a sign that read 'Castle Carrey Station Please'.
For the first hour hundreds of cars drove right past her and while she was starting to lose hope who should come to her rescue but a juggernaut of a red truck. Behind the wheel sat Ben, fat truck driver and transporter of mobile kitchens.

G: So , where are you off to?
B: Heading to Wales to deliver some kitchens, big catering event, posh do I think.

G: What kind of people order mobile kitchens, isn't it a bit of a weird niche market?
B: No, not at all, caterers need them all the time, and so do bands going on tour, and any kind of festival of course.

G: Have you dropped off kitchens for any good bands?
B: Yeah, I guess. Jet, Pink, Kings of Leon, Foo Fighters...

G: Did you get to meet any of them?
B: Yeah, generally they're pretty nice, although they seem really fussy about what food they eat. A bunch of prima donnas most of them, bit spoilt I guess.

*Ginny notices little camper bed tucked away behind their seat*

G: Do you sleep there often?
B: Fairly, sometimes I'm driving for 3 days in a row so it gets quite a lot of use.

G: But what do you eat during those massive trips? Do you stop off for all your meals?
B: Well I stop off to buy food obviously, but I just really love KFC to be honest.
*looks shamefully down at foliage of KFC wrappers covering the floor. furtive glance at pot belly*

G: Do you have a family waiting for you somewhere?
B: Yeah, I've still got a wife and two kids at home.

G: Do you get to see them enough?
B: Enough for my liking! (turn out Ben's wife is a bit of a bitch. No further comments.)

*They get to the station, Ginny clambers out awkwardly*

B: See ya vagabond, don't wander around forever, doesn't suit a little girl like you.

And so he was off. Wherever you are Ben, we hope your enjoying your chicken dippers and keeping up the concise answers. You're one unsociable man.

Up from Below- Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

When Alex Ebert quit rehab a few years back he started to write a book about a new age Jesus called Edward Sharpe who "was sent down to Earth to kinda heal and save mankind...but he kept getting distracted by girls and falling inlove." If that isn't the perfect starting point for a band I really don't know what is, and so here is Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros with their gem of a debut album. The 12 man band have created those contagious feel good vibes that only come out of communal living, with tracks like '40 Day Dream' and 'Janglin' making you want to stomp around like a member of a marching band while others like 'Kisses Over Babylon' make for epic background music for washing up. Their hit song 'Home' is also a guddun although the film clip will probably make you wish you were in love, even if you are just a pair of crazy hippies who spend their time spinning around in forests.


Four Lions- Christopher Morris

Once in a blue moon you'll see something that makes you stop, blink twice and ask yourself "did they really just do that?". Watching 3 young Muslims and a white nihilist strap bombs to themselves and run the London Marathon in Sugar Puff costumes only to end up blowing themselves up in Boots and a kebab shop is one of those things. You probably won't be surprised to hear that Morris' film was originally rejected by both the BBC and Channel 4, but after sending out a mass email asking for donations it got picked up by Film 4 and was released in all its controversial glory in May this year. The greatest farce since 'This is Spinal Tap' Four Lions exposes the 'Dad's Army' side of terrorism and shows that "while terrorism is about ideology, it can also be about idiots" -Sundance Film Festival. Take it all with a grain of salt and you will laugh till it hurts and hopefully feel happy to live in a society that allows us to make a joke out of such a touchy subject. Favourite moment has to be when one of the happy crew compares suicide bombing to getting onto the rides at Alton Towers, "Rubber dingy rapids man!" Fucking rubber dingy rapids.


The Engineer- 65 Gloucester Av, London NW1 8JH

Tucked away in a little back street of Primrose Hill, just next to Regents Canal is this marvel of a gastro-pub. Home to the most amazing pancakes in the world (butter milk, super fluffy served with golden syrup and banana) this is my favourite place to laze away a couple of hours on a weekday morning. The tables are a comfortable size to be able to eat alone with a book or papers strewn around your plate, chairs look like they've been nicked from an old primary school, tea is loose leaf and served in floral print pots and hot water top ups are always offered. Dinners seem a little bit on the expensive side but the upstairs is a really nice place to sit if your parents are shouting you and the garden is beautiful although maybe something to be saved for summer. Oh and last time I was there I saw big dirty Tilda Swinton, and I believe an episode of Outnumbered was set there, just in case you needed anymore credentials.

Also...


A friend showed me this the other day and I thought it was hilarious. Type 'China' to 'Japan' in the journey planner of google maps and scroll down to instruction number 42.