There is nothing better than good customer service

A few weeks ago (being the bargain shopper I am), I bought myself some train tickets to London via thetrainline.com. I had never actually used this website before but my mother had recommended it as a cheap way to get the tickets I wanted for the same journey and so rather dubiously i must admit, I purchased my tickets.
Normally on a journey to London I have to pay around £40 and yet on the train line I only ended up paying £12 in total. 10 points to Gryffindor! But I was convinced there was a catch somewhere. My tickets were meant to have arrived by now, in fact I was told that it would only take 5 days, but it has been 17 days now and there has been no sign of them. At this point I felt pretty disheartened and I was convinced my money was gone and I had been classically fleeced but in a last ditch effort at salvaging something if anything, I called their customer service team.
Within two minutes of calling I was speaking to someone and within five minutes of calling they had understood my problem and compensated me with new tickets, which this time will be delivered to a station and I can collect them. I am so impressed with their customer service I know I will definitely be using them in the near future once more.

Pompeii

It wasn't the greatest of movies nor was it the worst. To be perfectly honest the film barely made an impression on me; the plot line seemed somewhat confused not to mention unbelievable (I mean who really can hope to out run a volcano). Although I must admit that the action packed fight scenes and some occasional shots of perfectly sculptured pectorals definitely compensated for the obvious flaws.

                       

If you remove the twenty or so minutes of actual fighting within the film, what you’re left with is about a hundred minutes of what could essential be a fairytale. Though the entire thing was littered with improbable scenarios, I found that there were three scenes so ludicrous that I could not help but laugh.

These scenes are in no particular order whatsoever.

Scene 1) The hero (Milo) is chained and must fight a legion of trained gladiators along with his newly acquired accomplice (Atticus- AKA the big black guy who dies because unless its Django, the black guy always dies). Despite the fact that the two are restricted in their movements, they still successfully defeat the multitudes of trained gladiators. Like what the actual fudge! Not only would they have got their arse beat in a more realistic setting, they would not even have managed to kill one man let alone the whole lot of them. Obviously in true Hollywood fashion each trained killer respectfully waited for their turn to be killed cause no one ever fights dirty!

Scene 2) it’s not only men that respect Milo enough to wait before killing him, the volcano (possibly the antagonist in this particular case) really does possess some commendable manners. In the times when a serious discussion is taking place She (cause the volcano is obviously a pissed off woman) would politely quieten down and stop erupting cause you know, that’s just how volcanoes roll -.-

Scene 3) The one thing above all else that really annoyed me though was the one omissions they made through the entire movie and I mean absolutely no-one died from toxic gas inhalation. Like seriously though, there’s a big volcano spewing toxic gas and not one person dies from it. NOT EVEN ONE?

Pretty mediocre film I must say, I think my little sister and her imaginary friends could probably have thought of something more believable but oh well. The abs were most definitely worth it.

The Lego movie

Yesterday began as just another mundane weekend; the cumulation of half-term late nights and early mornings were beginning to take their toll and I wanted nothing more than to have a relaxing lay-in, but the kids were having none of it."Please can we go to the cinema? Please!" Their pitiful wails had the desired effect and I somewhat reluctantly dragged my fatigued frame out of bed and into the shower.

The LEGO movie was the film of choice (despite my profuse protest), and so like any good big sister should, I resigned myself to a tedious 100 minutes of onscreen stupidity. Boy was I wrong!

We had arrived five minutes late for the 3D showing of the film but knowing how the first 30 minutes of any movie is predominantly filled with advertisements, I was relatively unconcerned; it was only when I attempted to purchase the tickets (only to be informed that they were sold out) that I realised how misguided  my initial assumptions may have been.

The fresh faced witty humour of the characters was refreshing and led to shrieks of amusement from the prepubescent’s that filled the cinema and the belly laughed guffaws of parents alike. Unlike many children's films to date, the film featured none of the thinly veiled innuendos and stereotypes (commonplace in Disney films). Deviating from the norm, the 'hero' of the story (subject to personal opinion) was unaware and unprepared to fulfil his role and in actual fact, one of the main lessons to be derived from the film is that anyone has the ability to be someone special as long as they believe in their own ability to do so. Instead of portraying heroism as something designed for the 'elite' and privileged few who have been 'destined' for greatness since birth, the recurring theme within the movie is that anyone can be a hero.

Dramatic irony is utilised heavily throughout the film as almost from the beginning one is made aware that the hero is really just an average guy and not the much anticipated 'master builder' even the prophecy predicting the rise of this 'saviour' is laced with sarcasm and is clearly a poorly constructed hoax and yet it gives the people the hope they need to survive. The synopsis states: the computer animated story follows Emmet, an ordinary, rules-following, perfectly average LEGO mini figure who is mistakenly identified as the most extraordinary person and the key to saving the world. He is drafted into a fellowship of strangers on an epic quest to stop an evil tyrant, a journey for which Emmet is hopelessly and hilariously under prepared. However, there is much more to the story than just that. In truth, the story has so many twists and turns that by the time the end credits roll you're not really sure who the true hero of the story is. And that is what is so ingenious about the film.

The Lego movie may not seem like your cup of tea and perhaps you have instantly disregarded it as suitable for children alone, but I urge you to watch this film at your earliest convenience and see if you too do not become enraptured by this world of LEGO mini figures; and if the end credits appear before you have even uttered a squeak of delighted laughter, then I apologise for the misery that must be your life. Because if the LEGO movie doesn't make you chuckle at least once in the hundred minutes of on screen time then I cannot say I know what will. 

The curse of old age

 

The illusion is one of happiness and joy as one reaches maturity. Hollywood has romanticised the inevitable outcome to every generation, and depicted a maturity where one relaxes alongside their beloved partner, and eventually together, they will peacefully fade out of existence. The reality disturbingly contradicts this popular notion.

The uncontrolled defecation, urination, hair loss, joint pain suffered by most is less than enjoyable and of course there is the constant trauma of becoming a burden onto your family. According to John Bingham, “more than one million families have been forced to sell their home in just five years to meet the cost of paying for residential care” and if you’re unfortunate enough to be sent to a care home of less than the highest quality then you’re likely to be subject to abuse and mistreatment from workers who view the elderly as nothing other than invalids. The likelihood of escaping from such an institute is slim to none; your family (in the same way a petulant child might be ignored) will dismiss claims of mistreatment as nothing more than a decrepit cry for attention.  No place is safe, the acclaimed Orchid view home which costs an outstanding £3,000 a month and is rated as “good” was found guilty of mistreatment and abuse of its residents. “A five-week inquest heard that residents were routinely given overdoses of medication, and were left soiled and in pain during two years of terrible mismanagement and staff shortages.”

In recent years, there has been a shocking rise in the number of reported cases of care home abuse, “HSCIC figures showed that the number of cases referred for investigation by councils in England rose from 108,000 in 2011/2012, to 112,000 in 2012/2013.” The concern is that there may still be a wide number of cases that are still not being reported because people fear the repercussions of being dubbed a ‘snitch’. Charities such as age concern UK are working alongside British city councils in the hope of rectifying this neglect.

Old age will eventually come upon even the best of us, and if the social workers employed to take of us cannot seemingly do so, then there is need for concern. “Abuse is unacceptable and we need a zero-tolerance approach to any abuse, whether through neglect, financial manipulation or physical or mental cruelty” especially if the abuse if to one of the elderly who can no longer protect themselves and are dependent on the generosity of those around them. The Hollywood reality should not be taken as fact; the elderly among us are some of the most vulnerable.

 

 

American Hustle

American Hustle is one of those films one must watch with a notebook and a pen, stopping every so often to make notes and analyse the deeper meaning behind the onscreen activities. It is not the carefree, entertainment piece one ought to view on their one weekend out and it is most definitely not something you should watch in a cinema. Unfortunately for me, I did both of the above.

At some point during the disorientating jumble of onscreen activities my companion turned and thus conceded that this perhaps had been the wrong film selection. My response? It looks like it was written by a schizophrenic. The pure torture of remaining in my seat, resisting the urge to talk as a courtesy to others in the cinema was a worse affliction than gaseous flatulence when in the company of an attractive member of the opposite sex. The sense of blissful euphoria shrouding my person as I strode as fast as I could out of the cinema, dissatisfied and annoyed at such a pitiful lack of effort was astounding; I genuinely considered requesting a refund.

The movie itself definitely has the potential makings of a blockbuster chart topper, however the lack of engagement from the characters and a storyline that is sluggishly prolonged so as to consume as much of your precious time as possible, meant that I could not honestly enjoy the movie experience. 

Perhaps (based on the number of awards it has received and is expected to receive) the movie is a textbook perfect example of great cinematography maybe this is what one is taught in "film school" should such a thing exist. Whatever the case maybe, this tedious motion picture had me continuously reaching for my phone as I sought an escape from the prosaic work of David O.Russell . The worst thing was, up until the rolling credits, I still expected some show of genius; some unexpected twist that would leave me gagging for more, instead, all I got was the commonplace feature happy ending of disney films, where by the protagonist resolves everything, and with no explanation turns a bad situation into something "hunky-dory" while whoever happens to be the villain of the piece receives their just desserts. I would rather have saved myself £20 and stayed home to observe the grass outside my front porch grow an inch or two.I shan't lie, it was an epically shit film.

The merchant of venice (shylock and jessica) in comparison to Growing Up by Joyce Cary

*This is in no way the final draft of my merchant of venice essay, it is simply the beginning however, i did procure full marks 40/40 in the actual essay.

"The Merchant of Venice"- an ingenious play crafted by William Shakespeare in the early mediaeval period exhibits similar and comparable themes to Joyce Cary’s contemporary short narrative-“Growing up.”

Rites of passage are a key motif in both literary works. In “Growing up,” Robert Quick’s recognition of his daughters increasing independence is ultimately what salvages their fractured relationship. Shylock “Merchant” fails to recognise the changes in his daughter, subsequently leading to her elopement and escape from what she considers as “hell”. Quick’s laissez-faire parenting certainly seems to be a more enticing prospect in comparison to Shylock’s more domineering techniques, however, both parents eventually find themselves alienated from their offspring.

When it comes to their fathers, the children are self-absorbed to the point of emotional detachment from all else. During Kate and Jenny’s feral attack upon their father, he is only ever acknowledged as “the man”. Cary strips Quick of his title highlighting his decline into obscurity in the lives of his daughters. Jessica on the other hand, harbours no nostalgic feelings for “the man” who sired her; rather she is publicly scornful and contemptuous of not only his behaviour and mannerisms, but his beliefs as well. “I am not to his manners.” A bold declarative carrying the implication that Jessica is not only ashamed of her father, but that she believes her morals to be of a higher standard than his. Despite Shylock’s derisive comments in regards to “Christians”, Jessica still believes it to be a more palatable outcome than remaining Jewish. Though her anti-Semitic views are most probably fuelled by her environment, her feelings of disdain towards Shylock lead her to he rejection of the religion; she attempts to sever all links to her father who has been responsible for the ever present “strife” in her life. 

That phone addiction

In the true spirit of "new year, new me," I have subjugated thyself to a complete rehabilitation and the restoration of my independence from the addictive hypnosis of 'The Smartphone.' In hindsight, I can not help but regret my impetuous decision. The brutality of  such a sudden separation is unmatched, and though one has never had the misfortune of being subject to a narcotics dependency, one would argue that the pain and complete helplessness of not having that communication portal close at hand must surely be the same. Smart phones are fast becoming the new method of escapism from the drudgery of reality. At the touch of a few buttons, one can manipulate their hand held device into doing almost anything. Despair does not readily describe my  woeful situation and I can not help but engage in euphoric daydreams of a day when I shall at long last be reunited with my Samsung galaxy s4 mini. It is not just a phone for me, but a way of life and though such an admission possibly makes me seem like an awkward social pariah, it is nevertheless entirely true. I find myself reaching for the none existent device as an impetuous reflex to an awkward social situation, or a sudden lull in conversation. It is only as my hand reaches the achingly empty mobile telephone capsule aka pocket, that I remember - I gave up my phone and I can not for the next five/six months seek solace in the intellectually challenging adventure world of Candy Crush. I blame my irrational decision on serve intoxication and a general malfunction in brain capabilities, I would love to claim that I was coerced into the decision, however, it seems to have been my own foolish decision that has lead to this regrettable turn of events.
Despite my general anguish at this estrangement from what has become almost an extension of my person, I recognise the positive effects the withdrawal has had. Not only do I now suddenly appear to have hours more of free time, but relationships with my siblings and my family as a whole have seen an improvement. No longer do I remain oblivious to their existence as I rapidly gossip to my companions, but instead I have been forced to endure through a myriad amount of family discussions and such like and most surprisingly, I have come to the realisation that the absence of my presence from social networking will not cause the Armageddon I had mistakenly believed.

An open letter to Rakhi Kumar

Rakhi Kumar addressed a letter to first lady Michelle Obama criticizing her choice of role model, In the letter, she openly expresses her contemptuous view of the RnB singer who I am sure could care less.She links Beyonce to the child trafficking problems of the US claiming that these children are coerced into the sordid lifestyle of debauchery and abuse because they are tantalized by the Beyonce lifestyle and therefore wish to emulate her actions. What Kumar conveniently forgets is that many children are sold into the sex trade and it is rarely a thing of choice, to suggest such a thing makes light of sordid illegal trade. After all Rakhi Kumar, if the they willing volunteer to be violated by men old enough to have sired their fathers, why should anyone bother to attempt to rescue them? The reality of the child sex trade is a harsher than what even Kumar believes; there is no choice. One does not just stumble upon thirteen year olds from stable homes opting to journey to a new and hostile environment simply because they envisage a opulent lifestyle much like Beyonces to be awaiting them.
As a sixteen year old, I would like to point out that it was only three years ago when I myself was thirteen (the age, according to Kumar, at which one is susceptibility to all manner of things) however, I must admit despite the allure of 'fame and fortune,' I was not stupid enough to foolishly believe that such luxuries could be granted via anything other than immense talent and hard work. Thirteen is not six, and one must always be weary of generalising what can and cant influence children- they are not all as innocent as you may like to believe. The age specified in the article is irrelevant, regardless of the age of the child, if as a parent you can not teach your own offspring to not be lead by what is supposedly a "bad example" what is to stop them being lead astray by other influences? Surely then, you have failed in your duty as a parent?
Can the first lady of an global superpower not publically appreciate a singer who has appeared at countless United Nations gatherings, the Mandela funeral and even performed at her husbands inauguration? Who then  should she be endorsing? Mozart? Well sorry to be the bearer of bad news but he is dead and given the fact that he lived back in the 18th century, he is rather too dated to be a role model for most. Is it not enough that the first lady chose to support one of the few well known female artists (in the public eye) who not only has some semblance of a stable family, but does not (unlike many) feature in the explicitly sordid recordings that are sex tapes. What more Rakhi Kumar do you want? Beyonce is the epitome of femininity entwined with a stage character that is sensual without being crass and a business woman to boot. What more could she be? I may not be a mother, but I know that if my child were to one day enter into the music industry, Beyonce is who I would tell her to emulate and do you know what? Im not even a Beyonce fan, but i recognise that her conduct though not beyond reproach, is commendable.