But it seemed that all the anticipation and excitement
leading up the event may have worn the poor girl out, as she spent a large
portion of the evening stretched out on a plush sofa, in a larger-than-life
replica of the Lady Gaga Fame fragrance flacon, supposedly ‘asleep’. Tuesday, 25 September 2012
Lady Gaga unleashes her darkest creation
But it seemed that all the anticipation and excitement
leading up the event may have worn the poor girl out, as she spent a large
portion of the evening stretched out on a plush sofa, in a larger-than-life
replica of the Lady Gaga Fame fragrance flacon, supposedly ‘asleep’. Friday, 25 May 2012
Tom Pecheux and Estée Lauder preview new Pure Color Collections
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Beyond the Call of Duty

Video games are the marmite of technology. Those that love them can’t get enough and those who hate them can’t get the ones they love, off them.
Gaming has evolved. Gone are simpler days of Ping Pong and Pacman when small dots evoked yelps of ectasy and gasps of anguish at the arcade. Now games aren’t so much about achieving a super-duper astronomical, record score, but they have been developed to have a totally submersive effect. These modern console games allow the gamer to fall deep into a virtual world and suspend all of their concrete beliefs such as 'humans cannot fly' and 'humans cannot be respawned'.
But what happens when instead of providing fantasy worlds or alternative planets – such as in Zelda, Mario, World of Warcraft etc – developers such as Treyarch, begin manipulating realistic scenarios; things that could actually happen? The answer; Call Of Duty (or COD). The seventh and latest game from the hit franchise, COD Black Ops, is a first-person shooter during the conflict of the Cold War. Within 24 hours of going on sale, the game sold more than 7 million copies, 5.6 million in the U.S. and 1.4 million in the U.K., breaking the record set by its predecessor Modern Warfare 2.
Now, depending on the reader of this blog, I won’t bore you/titillate you with the game's synopsis or pontificate on details of the various firearms that a gamer carries (apparently two different firearms can be held at one time.) My questions for discussion are:
a) Is COD detrimental to social interaction?
b) Is COD melting brain cells and breeding sociopaths?
Let’s look at the benefits that game playing provides.
COD, when played online, is as much about social interaction with other real-life humans as it is blowing up the Russians. When I observe my boyfriend playing COD, I see genuine expressions of sheer joy as well as hilarity. Players do actually laugh an enormous amount whilst hurling grenades and flying apaches. It’s a blast (pun-intended) apparently. There’s also team-work, cohesion with total strangers, organization, and tremendous concentration involved. And although the plot is fictional, at least it’s built around concrete historical facts.
However, when the game drops off the internet and players return to their solitary and silent virtual world (otherwise known as single-player mode), the whole exercise becomes more difficult for friends, partners and family members to comprehend. Social interaction is cut off, laughing becomes a distant memory and the glazed/comatose expression (occasionally interrupted by a jerking of the mouth or a twitch of the brow) replaces the once joyful and animated one. This is where the benefits of computer games are harder to detect. This is when gaming becomes addictive.
Addiction to gaming can be as detrimental to mental and social well-being as one to drugs or alcohol. Although the effects are not physically severe, they are lasting and difficult to counteract. Popular documentary series Panorama, focused on gaming addicts for one of its programmes at the end of 2010. They were speaking to gamers who had dropped out of school or university just to sit around on their arses for 21 hours a day, while the games console replaced reality with an unhealthy dose of escapism.
Escapism – in proportionate doses – is not dangerous and is in fact a healthy exercise that can be as important as cardio vascular. But it’s when the escape turns into a permanent exile from reality that gamers drop of the reservation, so to speak. And it’s not just when the game is switched on that there is a problem. For most gamers the brain still processes battle scenarios long after the console is switched off. For hours, gamers can replay exploding heads, twitching bodies on the edge of death, or transport themselves into the boots of a foot soldier looking through the sight on a sniper’s gun. Prolonged exposure to games affects sleep patterns and concentration on even the simplest task. The brain becomes preoccupied and distracted and as a result habits and mannerisms begin to change. Some gamers can even adopt anti-social behaviour.
Cuba has condemned the release of COD Black Ops (not a surprise there). The Cubadebate website said the game "encourages sociopathic attitudes of American children and adolescents, the main consumers of these virtual games". Evidence which suggests that COD Black Ops encourages the entire gaming population to commit acts of violence, is unfounded. Computer games with violent content are as dangerous to mentally stable individuals as criminal dramas, epic war films or even news bulletins. But, put a person with a personality disorder or a penchant for petty crime in front of a shoot-em-up for 21 hours a day and one morning they might wake up and want to pick up a real gun.
However, thankfully the majority of gamers are just tech mad. COD provides a scenario where (excuse the cheesy sentiment) every player can become a hero. It is escapism at its best. Gamers are part of a team that can never reject them or prevent them for joining in because of the way they dress, the language they speak or their gender. Perhaps online gaming even promotes global social cohesion and acceptance...maybe I went too far.
What I do know is that in order for games to have positive effects, the balance between game playing and engaging in activities outside of the Xbox, PS3, Wii etc, is essential. Playing on COD for more than a couple of hours a day is heading into dangerous territory. Not just for the social and mental wellbeing of the gamer, but also for his/her partner, who, if they're anything like me, need a break from repetitive phrases such as ‘We’ve got the bomb’ or ‘capture the [friggin’] flag’ or whatever it is! It’s a case of SOS for girlfriends/boyfriends worldwide; save our sanity (for just a few hours a day)...please?
Over and out.
For more info surf here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/panorama/2010/12/computer_games_-_a_hard_habit.html
Or here
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Call_of_Duty:_Black_Ops
Tuesday, 16 November 2010
The day it all ended...for better and worse

This next installment has been a long time coming. I apologise. So this is what's happened. Andy is unsatisfied with the relationship he has with his wife and is in the process of deciding what to do about it. After witnessing the sublime happiness of one of his colleagues and his partner, Andy decides to get very drunk. On his way home he comes across a decapitated pigeon. Due to his fondness of pigeons and the unbelievable amount of alcohol coursing through his veins, he then decides to pick it up and take it home. His wife catches him putting the bird on the dining room table. And this is what happens... Don't know what's going on? Read the previous installment here.
This seemed like an incredulous statement. Surely it should be obvious to his wife what he was doing. Andy looked down at his hand and the offending item and nearly threw up...again.
“Oh god. What is that?” he whispered putting a hand to his mouth, without realising it was moist with the bird’s blood.
“Andy, are you pissed?”
“Of course not. Just had a couple with Mike after work.”
“Mike? I thought you were meeting with that army general or whoever he was? Or is that bullshit too?” She fired at him. Her stance was intimidating. She was holding a hand towel with both hands held taught across her thighs. It was if she was getting ready to wind it up and whip him with one moist end of it if he didn't answer correctly.
“Why are you so angry all the time?” He could feel that he was swaying and flinging his arms about without any assertion or control.
“That’s totally unfair Andy. I am NOT angry all the time. Just right now...and this morning...and last night when you told me you didn’t want sex because you were feeling fluish or some crap. And now you come home doused in god knows what...wait...is that vomit?”
He considered the question. Looked down at the various splodges of partially digested food and stomach bile decorating his shirt and continued.
“Yes, I believe it is. So now I’m not allowed to drink, is that right?” The smell of the pigeon carcass reminded him of the kebab he’d previously guzzled. He rubbed the dead bird’s blood between his fingers and inwardly questioned his sanity.
“You are ridiculous and I can’t live like this anymore" she continued.
“Oh come on. Stop exaggerating Jen. For God’s sake, I’m drunk and I missed dinner. Get it together.” That was a mistake, one that he instantly regretted. The towel in her hands snapped tighter and her eyes grew wide as a bush baby's.
“Our life together could have really gone somewhere, but now I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t live with you like this. Not in my condition.” She was breathing short and sharp through her nose, trying to stem her inevitable tears.
“What the hell are you talking about? You’re not making any sense-"
“I’m pregnant you arsehole!”
Andy physically wretched. He didn’t mean to at all. It just happened. It must have been an acid reflux brought on by this extremely distressing news. He composed himself.
“I beg your pardon.” He said. He was back to slurring his words again. It was like his brain and his mouth were numb from the vodka intermingled with the thin blood spurting through his arteries.
“I’m pregnant.” She was far less angry with her delivery this time. She looked down at her hands which were gently tugging at the towel now. She was winding it round her fingers, like a nervous child. She was wearing her baggy pyjama bottoms and thin camisole which revealed her undulating chest, heaving and dipping under her agitated breaths. She started to cry. One hand came up to stop the tears, but it was no good. They had already begun to wet her nose and cheeks.
Andy was horrified. In that moment, he had a brief spell of clarity. He knew he really didn’t love Jenny, but now he was realising that she knew it too. How could he support and love a child with a woman he couldn't share a bed with? What the hell was he supposed to do?
“Jen...I’m sorry. I’m so so bloody sorry. We’ll be fine. My mistake.”
“No Andy. You don’t love me.” Did he say that loud? No he didn’t. She just knew him too well.
“It’s not going to work. I’ll arrange to move in with Alex for a bit.”
“She’s just had a kid herself Jen.”
“Well then she’ll understand.”
She left the kitchen dragging her feet, shoulders collapsed and hunched forward. She had capitulated right in front of him. It had been terrible for Andy to witness. She was always so bright and boisterous, and if he was honest, rarely angry. To see her so dejected crippled him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t love her. He cared for her with all of his heart, but that was a completely useless feeling and one which Jen should never and could never be satisfied with.
*******************
The whole headless pigeon thing had really freaked Jenny out. He could have assumed this by registering her expression the night before, when he had laid it before her in the darkened kitchen like a sacrificial offering. But he knew for sure that she thought he had 'lost it', when he overheard her talking to her sister, Alex, on the phone at 6am. She was trying to mumble, but the walls of the bathroom were so thin, he could hear enough to get the jist.
“He’s....and....but really it’s completely nuts...not right now...it’s none of my business...I can’t ask him that.” This is where Andy became more intrigued. Ask him what? Probably something like; how could he be so despicable? Is he an alcoholic? Is he planning on supporting the baby? Is he insane?
No, it wasn’t any of these. The question that Jenny, prompted by her sister Alex, wanted the answer to was one far more surprising than he would ever imagine...
Thursday, 22 July 2010
Ocean Park Hong Kong
If you've ever been there, you'll know what I'm talking about...
This was my first visit to Hong Kong. I was staying in urban Kowloon where the lights burned hot and bright and were alien to me. They were alien to my home in Lightwater – A small village in straight laced Surrey. In Kowloon the buildings seemed to grow taller every minute. They flashed and reflected every colour, winking at the tiny ants below. There were so many people. Living on top of one another, spilling out of buildings, squashed together on public transport. They squeezed through the streets like toothpaste out of the tube. Five days in, and I began to feel nauseous. The smell of salty fish and Chinese spices soaked my clothes, my hair and was absorbed by my wet skin. My guide decided to show me a different side to the island…
‘Ocean Park is not busy at this time of year.’ Jen said. The crowds of sticky children I had been expecting were at school. I am afraid of heights, but didn’t want to play it safe. It was Hong Kong and I’d travelled 12 hours to see it. The cable cars whirred as they streamed in from their previous destination. Jen helped me into the glass bubble. Only the top and bottom were glass. The sides were open, but for three metal bars on each side. ‘Why are these things open Jen? I thought you said there was glass all around.’ She giggled at me - Laughed at my obvious discomfort. I squeezed the plastic seat between my slippery fingertips and tried to breathe deeper and longer. The glossy bauble began to move. I closed my eyes and held a long breath.
‘No, no’ she said, ‘You must open your eyes. You’re going to miss everything.’ I opened one eye, then the other just as we were leaving the docking station. The gondola floated noiselessly above the landscape, held by a long looping cable. My palms were moist and my arms, sore from gripping the seat. My shoulders hunched around my goose pimpled neck. I couldn’t help but imagine the scenario of the gondola coming loose from the cable and bouncing down the mountain and finally plopping into the shark infested water below. I didn’t know for sure it was shark infested, but your mind always assumes the worst. ‘Honestly. Stop it. I can see you’re scared. Please relax. You’re going to regret it if you spend the whole ride stuck in that position.’
I finally breathed out. This was silly. Jen was right. For the first time, I let my mouth open. I allowed my chest to fill with the rushing air sweeping in between the protective steel bars. Then I began to look around. The gondola began to make it’s descent into the dark green chasm between these two natural mounds in the earth’s crust.
The peak on Wong Chuck Han and the other on Nam Long Chan were each other’s barrier to the rest of the world. Like two fighters squaring before battle, they were motionless, rigid, life pumping under their surface. I tilted my head back to focus on Wong Chuck Han. In this moment I remember feeling insignificant, minute, and humbled by natural beauty. I was a spec on the globe, about to be squashed by something infinitely bigger than myself. There was no clearer argument for God’s existence – the embellished scene lifted me out of my seat, then it lifted the fear right out of me, so it shattered on the crags below. I had never felt so exhilarated, so pumped with adrenalin, like this. My hands left the seat and clamored to the silvery bars. They no longer provided protection. They were holding me in, holding me back, chaining me to my earthly existence.
We were ascending again. I slithered to the other side of the cage, poking my head between the bars. The sea was on this side. The steel blue water wrinkled over the current like the skin over my purple veins - it pulsed with marine life. The ficus which had germinated over the mountain’s surface, concealed the rock’s less vibrant mottled grey/brown. I could imagine the evergreen, broad leaved, vegetation sucking at the wet air, recycling our exhausted breaths.






