I've written about a whole host of different topics in the past. I've written about marriage, sexuality, success, the future, and a whole host more, but yet I've never discussed religion, despite it continuing to be a large part of our society. I had a conversation with a friend a while back, in which we talked about lots of big issues, eventually getting into religion, which sparked some more of my thoughts on the subject.
Why is it that Feminism is a word with negative connotations? If you ask the British public whether they are in favour of equality the vast majority will say yes, they definitely are. They will rightly argue that we fought for it in the past and we pursue it in the present for ourselves and future generations. Now ask them if they are a feminist...
When I got the call I exalted. I pranced around my boxy university room in Edinburgh totally joyous (this news also prompted one of the best high-fives I've ever received, but I digress). As I sank down into my spinny chair trying to stop shaking so that I may return to critically analysing Chaucer, a thought struck me; what the hell do I wear?
What makes a man? That's probably a question every man has asked themselves at least once or twice. According to the many Hollywood action blockbusters that have graced the silver screen in recent decades, it's your typical testosterone filled alpha male with bulging biceps, bundles of bravado and colossal ego to match.
I am feeling slightly sheepish about my previous post. I was griping about the how full on and (implied) uncreative Frieze Art Fair can be. Little did I know that I clearly wasn't the only person who thought that because this years' fair, currently being touted as the 'best Frieze ever' for visitors, was a very different viewing experience.
Sex is fantastic, don't get me wrong, but the very reason sex is sought after and enjoyed by so many is because of the exhilaration of self validation that goes along with the knowledge that someone is attracted to you in the same way you are to them... consent is hot. To coerce, force yourself on someone, or drug them just so you can have your way with them is an awful thing for anybody to do.
It's not that I don't like music. I like music, loads. All different kinds of music. It's not even that I don't like camping. I have voluntarily, repeatedly, slept in a field without a tent in February with the Army Reserve. Festival camping is veritable luxury compared to that. You don't have to poo in a bush. You don't have to eat cold yellow soup of an indeterminate flavour out of a foil bag.
Everything's a marketing opportunity. Our existence is only a chance to prove how brilliant we are, and to congratulate our mates for their brilliance too... The fact is, the more we PR our lives online, the more isolated we become. With every 'Ibiza. Done' status update we move further and further away from meaningful relationships with our families, friends and lovers.
When Hadley Freeman, wordsmith at the end of the 'Ask Hadley' series on the Guardian, described the recent comeback of the 90s in fashion as an 'apocalypse', I was expecting to me met with exactly this. I was ready to be put in my place about the 90s hype that has been taking back over our wardrobes. Nope.
There are, I suspect, some adults who will be seduced by this kind of jolly CBeebies singalong advert. Who will merrily have their brain wiped clean of all the bad news stories that have plagued the energy industry and from now on look at British Gas as Brian Cant would Humpty - with fondness and kindness. Aren't they silly and sweet? I'm afraid I am not one of them.
Syria has been, by and large, relegated from the front page to the 'World News' sections of quality papers. Politicians no longer mention the fate of that nation and its occupants - and, if they can summon up the courage, they do so in mundane statements, of the sort which bloodlessly assert how truly awful it all is.
Although I know I'm in the minority, I felt that this film needed more gags, better use of supporting characters and less slow-moving hanging around. I couldn't help feeling like Anderson must have been told one too many times that he was a genius, and decided to just follow his instincts rather than filmmaking logic as a result...