omg!! like kim kardashians totes pregnant?!?!

During a performance at Atlantic City's Revel venue on the 31st of December, Kayne West announced to concert-goers that his partner, Kim Kardashian, is pregnant with their first child. The subsequent frenzied internet speculation and media attention was simultaneously both predictable and pitifully undeserved. We live on a planet where it's understood that approximately at least 600,000 women conceive every single day, so the justification of such sycophantic attentiveness to a single couple and their (unborn) child must surely be questioned.  

Searching 'Kim Kardashian' into Google will yield an incredible 496,000,000 results. As to why this is will become perhaps a little more obvious if the internet search is specified to 'Images'. Don't mistake that remark for misogyny or sexism. She has devoted her entire career and adult life to the superficiality and enhancement of her body and relentlessly maximised its commercial (sexual) value. 
(There are established rumours that her own mother, Kris Jenner, was personally involved in the negotiation and sale of Kim's home sex tape with singer Ray J in 2003 to adult film company Vivid Entertainment - the inception of her career, and the catalyst for the subsequent television show Keeping Up with the Kardashians.)

Kardashian & West

Kardashian has also ventured (with questionable success, although of indisputably little merit) into the television derivatives Kourtney and Kim Take New York and Kourtney and Kim Take Miami, and a brief musical career (the single of which was described by Daily News as a "dead-brained piece of generic dance music, without a single distinguishing feature," continuing that Kardashian is "the worst singer in the reality TV universe.") 

She has also diversified into numerous perfumes, clothing lines and fashion collections, all the while pursuing a busy modelling career. She is described (in polite circles), among other things, as: a socialite, television personality, businesswoman, fashion designer, model, and actress. 

In truth, she is the most successful example of the generation that are 'famous for being famous' - and is frequently criticised for her apparent vanity, banality and vacuousness. (She also did not escape scorn and derision when it transpired that television entertainment channel E! actually advertised and promoted her forthcoming marriage to basketball player Kris Humphries for longer than the 72-days they were husband and wife before filing for divorce.)

At least it can be said of Kayne West that he worked for his fame. His début album The College Dropout is often listed as one of the greatest hip-hop albums of all time. Unfortunately for West, he has yet to contest this initial (admittedly great) achievement. Even more lamentably, it has become apparent that West's likeability and pleasantness is inversely proportional to his musical talent. 

Over the past few years he's earned a long and boring reputation for rude outbursts and acts of  astonishing arrogance. From claiming institutionalised racism when not favoured for his performances, to abandoning ceremonies when not the recipient of an award ( "I felt like I was definitely robbed... I was the best new artist this year"), to even interrupting the acceptance speech of another artist to hijack the microphone (as he did with Taylor Swift) and protesting at the unjustness of the result. It's certainly true that few public figures can boast of being personally described as "a jackass" by none other than President Barack Obama. 

A depraved and pervasive attitude persists among many tabloid newspapers and celebrity news websites regarding women (or more specifically, their objectification) and also children. Both groups are relentlessly exploited as constant (and lucrative) features, stories and articles, but it profiteering from the latter that is so particularly sinister. 

The best and most accesible explanation of this complex issue I've yet seen can be found in the hilarious Pod Delusion video entitled "Why The Daily Mail is evil". For example, during the first six and a half years of Suri Cruise's (the daughter of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes) young life, the Daily Mail published 824 articles - approximately two or three a week - featuring her. 

The children of celebrities are often subjected to repugnant persecution by paparazzi and journalists, and this is surely more offensive than the treatment of their adult parents - the child is denied privacy and a natural upbringing before they can understand (let alone consent to) their surroundings and environment.

This trend shows no sign of abating, and perhaps saddest of all, it is apparent that Kardashian and West will only exacerbate it.

Jack Kerouac and the Original Manuscript of "On the Road"

A few days ago I journeyed out of the beautiful and sedate countryside of East Sussex and ventured into the vast concrete metropolis of London. Having lived in Islington until I was 13, the novelty of endless traffic, the palpable taste and smell of pollution during inhalation, and the monolithic grey buildings is somewhat reduced upon my return visits. However, all cantankerousness aside, London is an incredible city, and it is the sheer vibrancy, culture, and exhilarating scale I am most envious of.

My visit that particular day took myself and a couple of friends to the British Library - admittedly perhaps not the most frequent destination for three teenagers - and we nonetheless negotiated the woefully disrupted Northern line (due to the apparently endless 'maintenance and repairs') with some excitement. 

We made our way to the library itself, and after meandering through past some of its countless items and artifacts on display we arrived at the incredible exhibition of the original manuscript of Jack Kerouac's seminal On the Road. 

The beginning of the actual manuscript

When I read the novel, it wasn't so much the work itself I found so fascinating, rather than what it represents. The Beat Generation is a literary movement of particular interest to me, and it is arguably epitomized by Kerouac's novel, along with that of his contemporaries, Allen Ginsberg (Howel and Other Poems) and William Burroughs (Naked Lunch).

As a spectacle the manuscript is extraordinary. It is 120ft long, and made of tracing paper and stuck crudely together with sellotape by Kerouac, allowing him to write continuously with no need to change the paper, in the three-week frenzied surge of creativity. It is so long, of course, that it is impossible to display in its entirety, and even with the British Library's ample space, only around half of the manuscript had been carefully unfurled and laid out carefully inside a protected display case, the remainder still coiled tightly in a stained and aged cylinder. 

The novel is one of the most culturally significant of the 20th century, and influenced all mediums of art. It was incredible to observe it in such detail - mistakes, omissions, corrections, and Kerouac's own idiosyncratic scribblings and rectifications.   

This particularly pleasing day was improved even further with the edition of an excellent lunch among great company. So impressed were we by the British Library's absence of an entry fee that, even on modest budgets, we were compelled to donate - not a frequent occurrence for those carefully watching their student loans. 

Only one grievance occurred. As we stood around, admiring the manuscript before us, we harbored a wish to leave with our own modest contribution to the enduring memory of the manuscript - a simple photograph or two. Regarding the stern signs forbidding photography or filming as more guidelines, or perhaps suggestions, rather than strict rules we set about carefully and innocuously taking a picture or two on our mobile phone cameras. 

We were than tapped on the shoulder by an austere and official-looking member of staff, who instructed us to remove all offending images from our mobile phones at once - whilst watching the screens carefully to ensure we had done so. The notion that an apparently unobjectionable (and low resolution) photograph for our own enjoyment would somehow critically breach any copyright or ownership seems slightly inane, and it did not go unnoticed that this humorlessness was particularly in contradiction to the principles and intentions of the Beat Movement itself. 

Bowie & Ziggy Stardust

It's often mooted that the surviving musicians of the revolutionary sixties with the greatest musical catalogues are: Bob Dylan, Neil Young, David Bowie, B.B. King, Brian Wilson, Paul McCartney (ignoring his pitiful decline and considerably irritating qualities). The order itself is of course subjective, although regardless of of incredible contribution to popular music, McCartney is now simply incontrovertibly embarrassing.

Watching BBC 4 (reliably excellent for its informative and interesting documentaries) while slumped on the sofa late one evening/morning a few days ago I watched a fantastic documentary on none other than David Bowie, or more specifically, the truly extraordinary persona he created from himself in 1972: Ziggy Stardust.

Bowie/Stardust was shocking, androgynous, uncompromisingly sexualised, and daring. He was to 20th century popular music and culture what Lord Byron was in his scandalous and much-discussed contribution to the notion of celebrity over a century before, although strikingly contemporary and avant-garde.  

Bowie was also musically talented, and his song writing was exquisite. His work was also unprecedentedly intellectual - I cannot name any other pop artistic whose lyrics explore the philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche, for example, as Bowie does in the superb "Oh! You Pretty Things"

The documentary also elucidated perfectly my nagging and persistent doubts as to the validity and authenticity of modern pop music. I've long dismissed it as contrived, cynical, unoriginal, and cheap. As a commentator in the documentary explains so concisely, there is nothing in modern pop music that cannot be directly connected to Bowie and his visionary creation, and citing Lady Gaga as an example, he pertinently notes that she has even adopted Stardust's lightening-bolt makeup.

Whatever your views on the credibility of modern pop culture, Bowie's extraordinary influence is incontrovertible, and recorded admirably in this absorbing documentary. 

'Heart of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalyspe'

As a young child I was fortunate enough to have a father who regarded film classification and censorship as merely perhaps a little quaint and irrelevant concerning my cinematic education, particularly so if the film in question was of significant calibre and merit. 

Unafraid as he was of corrupting my impressionable mind, I enjoyed a wonderful schooling in the works of such contemporary masters of film as Stanley Kubrick, Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino, and Francis Ford Coppola, among others.

I cannot say exactly how old I was when I first watched Apocalypse Now, although I was too young to truly understand it, thematically or conceptually.  I did not appreciate that it was an adaptation from Conrad's Heart of Darkness, or its influence derived from Herr's Dispatches - nor even the innate connection to (and exploration of) the Vietnam War, of which I knew very little. 

However, I can clearly recall its electrifying, pulsating, primal instincts and urges. It was cinema and film-making at its darkest and most primitive, exploring the most disturbed and frightening realms of the human psyche itself. To watch at a later and more mature age, I immediately recognised it for the visceral and innovative masterpiece it is.

The production itself is one of the most infamous in film-making history - and chronicled superbly in the documentary Heart of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalypse.

America & Guns

As the United States of America yet again grieves and mourns the victims of another incomprehensibly horrific mass shooting, during which 20 children (aged between 6 and 7) and 6 adults were brutally and meticulously slaughtered with the aid of an assault rifle, the international community can only look on once again in bewildered horror.

The tragedy that occurred in Sandy Hook Elementary School, Newtown, Connecticut, is made even more awful by both the utterly inexplicable nature of the crime itself, and the disconcerting irrationality and troubling disconnectedness in the American psyche that has permitted such events to occur once again. 

To the rest of the developed world, the culture of weapon-obession and the fanatical insistence of the "right of the people to keep and bear arms" is utterly unfathomable - or more specifically, regarded with such melancholic derision due to the overwhelming moral dissonance between this antiquated patriotic idealism and the galling, deplorable reality which must finally be acknowledged.  

A tired cliche it may well be, but there is apparently truth in the hackneyed phrase 'Americans don't understand irony.' Perhaps the most serious and plausible explanation I've heard for this notion is that in its youth and intense patriotism and pride, the U.S.A. is a cultural fledging in its acquisition of the traits of self-deprecation, self-criticism, and derision. 

This perceived absence of self-awareness was macabrely derided as I, like millions of others around the world, watched the terrible scenes of anguish and chaos on television. I then recieved a text from a friend that read: "How long before the NRA release a statement saying that if only the teachers had carriying guns they could have brought down the shooter?" Although this may seem vulgar and insensitive, I actually read such comments posted in complete seriousness and agreement across social networking websites in the wake of the tragedy. 

It is a shocking indictment of the state of a country so ravaged by such heinous crimes that, even in the wake of yet another senseless and tragic mass-shooting, the President himself cannot even utter the words 'gun control' in a speech addressing the bereaved nation, for fear of reprisal by the all-powerful gun lobby on Capitol Hill. 

It is the refusal to acknowledge or accept the sheer intolerability of the problem that is most bewildering to other developed nations - although in fairness, the repercussions of this latest horrific incident have resulted in the most comprehensive criticisms from countless countries around the world, regardless of their socio-economic status. How many more need die before the U.S.A finally takes (lamentably simple) action to ensure such catastrophes never occur again?

Why Blaming 2Day FM and its Radio Hosts is Reactionary and Undeserved

Both the act of suicide itself and its discussion remain, understandably, one of contemporary society's most decisive and controversial taboos. No other act denotes such tragedy and anguish, while inflicting comparable wretchedness and despondency upon friends and family members. (Christopher Hitchens was harrowingly resonant to write that "the lowest depth of misery ought to be distinguished from the highest pitch of anguish.")

A few days ago, King Edward VII Hospital nurse Jacintha Saldanha ended her own life. The exact means and circumstances have yet to be officially established, although it seems unlikely that her suicide was unrelated to her answering of the now notorious telephone prank call by two Australian radio hosts. 

Her death is of course tragic, and no decent person could possibly claim otherwise. However, I believe that the overwhelming media and public persecution of the radio station and the two presenters is both reactionary and undeserved - although explainable. 

As with any suicide, it is natural and reasonable to wish to understand the motive and influence - or more specifically in Mrs Saldanha's case, to establish a cause and subsequent blame: 2DayFM is simply the most convenient target.

This opinion may appear callous and insensitive, but I write as someone who has personally lived through the suicide of an immediate family member. Suicide is simply so emotive and profoundly distressing for all involved that reason and rationality is often negated. Instead of the resultant impulsive international condemnation and contempt expressed towards the previously insignificant Sydney-based ratio station, to be objective and unbiased requires a more measured and thoughtful analysis.

In brief: Was the telephone call made by Mel Greig and Michael Christian, the two unfortunate radio presenters, truly so at fault it was explicitly responsible for Mrs Saldanha's suicide?

That explanation, however convenient, is simply unusable. 

To listen to the call itself, the only thing more striking that its banality and insignificance is the innocuousness of the contribution made by Mrs Saldanha herself. Upon answering the dubious telephone call, her sole participation was to direct the line through to the shift nurse present on the floor where Kate Middleton was spending the night. So inoffensive was her involvement that the King Edward VII Hospital made no effort whatsoever to discipline or criticise her actions.

Once the harmlessness of her mistake is realised, the radio presenters themselves must of course be subject to scrutiny and enquiry. However, upon doing so, just as little justification for Mrs Saldanha's  regrettable actions and the resulting outrage is found.

Ms Greig was not attempting merely to cheaply excuse her own behaviour and that of Mr Christian when she said earlier today: "The accents were terrible. You know it was designed to be stupid. We were never meant to get that far from the little corgis barking in the background - we obviously wanted it to be a joke."

This is self-evident, and throughout the stunt no maliciousness, cruelty or cynicism occurred. 

Mr Christian was equally justified to say: "Prank calls are made every day, on every radio station in every country around the world, and they have been for a long time and no-one could've imagined this to happen.''

Not only do prank calls happen, constantly, on countless radio stations across the planet, they are often far nastier, cheaper, and vulgar than the efforts of 2DayFm. In fact, to Google or YouTube 'Prank gone wrong' will yield literally millions of results, of varying extents of seriousness and depravity.

Very few commentators seem to have acknowledged this, and many that have done so belong to the Australian media, perhaps quicker to defend the actions of their beleaguered fellow compatriots. 

Sydney's Daily Telegraph wrote that "the orgy of abuse, posturing and cant… is completely unsurprising given the modern enthusiasm for joining the lynch mob", while the Sydney Morning Herald forewarned: "The tragedy should not be used by the regulators in our midst to introduce even more controls over the media,". 

It's not scaremongering to state that these events risk imposing a dangerous precedent regarding censorship in the media and elsewhere. If consequences so shocking and unexpected can occur from comparatively inoffensive and mild behaviour such as this, to what extent are measures taken to prevent recurrences?

I do not believe that a single person has not encountered more far adverse, distressing, and challenging situations than that which sadly proved overwhelming for Mrs Saldanha in the early hours of Saturday morning, making her death all the more distressingly futile. She was understood to be of a nervous disposition, and it is not yet apparent if she suffered from any conditions to exacerbate her troubled mental state, such as depression. She leaves a husband and two teenage children, no doubt distraught and terribly bewildered as to why Mrs Saldanha decided so unnecessarily to make an end of it all.

Sightseers - review

Director Ben Wheatley could justifiably be described as the most adept contemporary British proponent of one of the rarest decent cinematic amalgamations: disturbing elements of horror/uncompromising brutality and violence, and farcical comedy.

Superficially this may appear to compose the necessary elements for a conventional black comedy, but is in Sightseers differentiated by its unusually extreme macabre nature and utterly polarised comedic moments infused simultaneously, to create exceptionally disconcertingly dissonant viewing.

The explanation of the premise of the film offered to the film's respective studios must have no doubt been somewhat unusual and perhaps challenging, even for someone of Wheatley's talents. (Although the pitch was reported rejected several times 'for being too dark.') It's also problematic to describe without revealing spoilers, which I'll do my best to refrain from doing. 

Tina (played superbly by Alice Lowe) is frustrated, insecure, and listless. She lives a sheltered and mundane existence, constantly overseen by her controlling and eerie mother. All she wants is to experience life, see the world, and do her best to move on from the tragic accident involving a pair of knitting needles that killed her beloved dog, Poppy.

This dream is made real by Chris (also played excellently by Steve Oram). Chris is quiet, reserved, and rugged. Clad constantly in outdoor clothing, and aspiring to be a troubled writer, he reveals his love for Tina by promising to show her the world in a caravanning holiday, experiencing such wonders as the National Tramway Museum in Crich and the Keswick Pencil Museum. 

Some way into their modest odyssey, it becomes apparent that Chris is a psychopathic murderer - and his victims include anyone who dares threaten the peace and tranquillity of their holiday, namely; litterers, the pompous and rude middle-class ("He's not a person... He's a Daily Mail reader"), rude and noisy teenagers, and those who secure superior places in the caravan parks. 

Tina soon overcomes her initial shock and Chris' murderous revelation, and begins to indulge in behaviour much the same - the two even begin to view it as a romantic activity, and continue enjoying their holiday together.

The film is fantastically written, and the screenplay perfectly navigates the exceptionally dangerous cinematic territory of the necessity to balance astute comedy with genuine shock and surprise - even the climactic ending is pleasingly unanticipated and original. 

The satire is consistent and intelligent, and perfectly mocks English sensibilites and humour - even the idiosyncrasies of the kitch caravan decour and holiday intentions are wonderfully accurate and genuine. (An editor of the U.K's Caravan Magazine described the film as "absolutely brilliant" while saying that "every detail rings true.")

Wheatley also exploits some of the country's most beautiful scenery and landscapes as pathetic fallacy for the tone of the film, as the pair become ever more remote, distances, and isolated from normal society. 

In a season of unbearably lengthy and indulgent films, it's also refreshing to view a film that runs for a total of 88 minutes - Wheatley deftly avoided the potential peril of extending the film beyond its best worth and effectiveness.

Sightseers is admirably concise, surreal, intelligent, surprisingly earnest, and wickedly amusing.

The Stones Should Stop Rolling

Last night rock & roll's living legends took to the stage to commemorate their 50th anniversary plus obligatory greatest hits album "Doom & Gloom" (their 30th compilation, in fact) in a vast stadium performance at London's O2 arena.

Their 23-song set was acclaimed as one of their best gigs in years and the media and press subsequently supported the Stones' efforts very favourably.

The Master - review

Paul Thomas Anderson is, in my humble opinion, without doubt the most talented and distinguished film-maker of his generation. I'm certainly not, however, alone in this thought.

The New York Times described him as "one of the most exciting talents to come along in years" while Sight & Sound magazine wrote that he is "among the supreme talents of today". The American Film Institute lists Anderson as "one of American film's modern masters", and the Guardian ranked him first in their list of the greatest directors, saying: "His dedication to his craft has intensified, with his disdain for PR and celebrity marking him out as the most devout film-maker of his generation."

I adore Anderson's films, and above all There Will Be Blood (2007). It's my belief that There Will Be Blood is, in all seriousness, perhaps the first masterpiece of 21st century American film, and one of the finest works of American cinema of any era. 

It's successor, The Master, explores a disturbed World War II veteran enticed into joining an alluring and mysterious cult known as "The Cause" during the late 1940s and early '50s.

Freddie Quell (played superbly by Joaquin Phoenix) suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder, unable to readjust to peacetime society after his experiences in the Pacific. His symptoms manifest themselves in his alcoholism, sex-obsession, and proneness to unpredictable outbursts of violence and aggression. 

One night, drunker than usual, he stows away on a large and opulent yacht. When discovered, he is taken to Lancaster Dodd (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) - the owner and captain of the ship. In his own words, the charismatic and cryptic Dodd is "a writer; a doctor; a nuclear physicist; a theoretical philosopher."
In less effusive and verbose terms, Dodd and his clandestine philosophical movement evokes direct and not particularly complimentary comparison to L. Ron Hubbard and the founding of Scientology. (Amusingly, the Church of Scientology predictably expressed their horror at the production of this film, particularly at the suggestion that the doctrine is a product of the leader's imagination. It's understood that some members of the Church even attempted to disrupt or censor the film entirely).

Quell is inducted into "The Cause", intrigued by Dodd's promises of psychosomatic harmoniousness, and begins exercises known as "Processing"- disturbing psychological questioning exploring past traumas, and soon their convoluted relationship quickly begins to spiral dangerously beyond either man's control.

Quell (Phoenix) & Dodd (Hoffman)

 Events turn increasingly sinister as emotions are strained and Dodd's legitimacy is challenged, culminating in scenes of the most genuine tension and cinematic brilliance in recent years. 

Phoenix's performance as the deranged and unhinged Quell is phenomenal, and in my opinion a close rival to Daniel Day Lewis's towering and unforgettable turn in There Will Be Blood - both actors inhabit their roles with feverish, maddened, and disconcerting intensity. Hoffman, dependably brilliant, doesn't disappoint in any way whatsoever, in a performance many are hailing as among the best of his considerable career. 

The Master is expertly directed, exquisitely beautiful, perfectly acted, and wonderfully written - although it's not quite Anderson's successive masterpiece that many (myself included) so wanted it to be. 

It is a supremely competent and engrossing work of cinema, and immediately ranks as one of my favourite films. However, it is not Anderson's magnum opus, despite how enamoured I am with it.
I'm equally disappointed to write of the cause of this criticism (near enough my sole critique of the entire film) - particularly due to the tragically simple and avoidable nature of this imperfection.

To be blunt, it's too long. Or rather, not so much that it's too long, but more so that (especially in the last half-hour) the film loses momentum and sags, however slightly. The energy throughout the majority of the film was palpable, and brilliantly visceral and raw - however, if it was unsustainable, it simply should have been more concisely edited. Any failure to do so by a film-maker of Anderson's calibre can perhaps (admittedly harshly) be regarded as self-indulgent.

The film is two hours and twenty-three minutes long - and while that length is not unusual by Anderson's standards, it certainly requires every single scene to be consistently engaging and compelling (The Godfather, Apocalypse Now, Lawrence of Arabia, etc) - if not, their purpose is wasted.

However, that said, the film is unquestionably superb: Mesmerising, uncompromisingly brilliant, exceptionally crafted  - while Anderson's continued unpredictability in his writing and film-making combined with his peerless talent will only result in the continuation of his possession of the very highest esteem from many, and I certainly count myself as one of those.

The 'Apeman' of Tunbridge Wells

The picturesque and quaint Royal Tunbridge Wells Pantiles - circa... 2007

 My local town, Royal Tunbridge Wells, dear boy, has long been synonymous with genteel and quintessential Englishness. However, it appears it may have a new and rather unusual new resident, according to the Sun.

Eyewitnesses reported "a hairy beast with demonic eyes" stalking the common and surrounding woodlands, before "roaring" and frightening members of the public.

The Tunbridge Wells People forum, usually preoccupied with urgent discussions on gardening and 'the traffic crisis,' featured a surprising post: "One of the strangest stories to emerge about Tunbridge Wells this week is the claims that a British Bigfoot has been spotted in woodland near the town.

  "The Kentish Apeman has recently been spotted on Tunbridge Wells - the exactly spot where it was also apparently seen 70 years ago."

The post adds, helpfully: "The beast is reportedly eight-foot tall, has red demonic eyes and is covered in hair.

  "Have YOU seen the Kentish Apeman in Tunbridge Wells? And, more importantly, do you have a picture? Let us know!"

“One of the strangest stories to emerge about Tunbridge Wells this week is the claims that a British Bigfoot has been spotted in woodland near the town.

Read more: http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/4656967/apeman-in-tunbridge-wells.html#ixzz2D3gZqJSm

“One of the strangest stories to emerge about Tunbridge Wells this week is the claims that a British Bigfoot has been spotted in woodland near the town.

Genteel ... stockbroker belt town Tunbridge Wells in Kent

“The Kentish Apeman has recently been spotted on Tunbridge Wells Common - the exact spot where it was also apparently seen 70 years ago.
“The beast is reportedly eight-foot tall, has red demonic eyes and is covered in hair.”
It then calls on locals to help, adding: “Have YOU seen the Kentish Apeman in Tunbridge Wells? And, more importantly, do you have a picture? Let us know!”


Read more: http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/4656967/apeman-in-tunbridge-wells.html#ixzz2D3gRJ6ya

“One of the strangest stories to emerge about Tunbridge Wells this week is the claims that a British Bigfoot has been spotted in woodland near the town.

Genteel ... stockbroker belt town Tunbridge Wells in Kent

“The Kentish Apeman has recently been spotted on Tunbridge Wells Common - the exact spot where it was also apparently seen 70 years ago.
“The beast is reportedly eight-foot tall, has red demonic eyes and is covered in hair.”
It then calls on locals to help, adding: “Have YOU seen the Kentish Apeman in Tunbridge Wells? And, more importantly, do you have a picture? Let us know!”


Read more: http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/4656967/apeman-in-tunbridge-wells.html#ixzz2D3gRJ6ya

Dismiss me as a cynical sceptic, but I somehow have my doubts as to the existence of an undiscovered 8ft tall higher primate with "demonic eyes" frequenting the elegant parks and woodland of Tunbridge Wells.

At any rate, 'the disgusted of Tunbridge Wells' would have made a quick end of such a creature years ago.

Israel & Palestine

The iconic comedian Bill Hicks distinguished and differentiated the use of the word 'war' when describing the Gulf War conflict of the early '90s: "Well, a war is when two armies are fighting."

Two decades later the Middle East remains beset by violence, and over the past few days the incessant embroilment between Israel and Palestine escalated with a series of Israeli air strikes targeting Hamas members in the Gaza Strip. One of the most bloody and sporadic conflicts of the last half-century, Israel's latest of many military initiatives is in response to rockets and crude missiles fired into Israeli territories from Gaza.

I would personally say I'm quite successfully impartial and unbiased in this issue, or at least equally critical of both positions. I have no religious or political affiliation or association to either side, and have an intense distrust of any party or group who either scream Allahu Akbar before suicide attacks, or who claim divine and holy right to demand and insist (with violent consequences if disobeyed) that land and property now belong to them.  However, the dominance and exercise of military power that Israel exerts in the conflict is undeniable.

  

The statistics need no explanation to reveal the true dissimilarity between the damage and injury inflicted on the citizens of Israel and Palestine, particularly during the years of increased bloodshed (2002, 2004, 2008-'09, present).

In the past six days alone, at least 105 Palestinian citizens have been killed by Israeli air strikes - last week, three Israelis died in a Hamas rocket attack. Notice any disparity between those two figures?
  
Israel's militarism is absolute, and the IDF (Israeli Defence Forces) are without doubt the most accomplished close-quarter and urban combatants in the world. Consisting of ground forces, air force, and navy, the IDF is infamous for its unhesitating and uncompromising utilisation of force (even against civilians) until any aggressor or provocateur surrenders or is annihilated. For this reason Israel has been criticised by the international community, and particularly condemned for its brutal Zionist expansionism into Palestinian territories. 

When Hamas rockets fired into Israel from Gaza (that aren't intercepted by "Iron Dome", Israel's advanced anti-missile defence system) strike the ground, they of course kill civilians in the immediate vicinity (they are sometimes literally directly hit by the rocket itself). However their crude and basic nature causes extremely low explosive capability, and limits their destructive power sometimes even only to damage the individual room of the building they hit, and only very rarely more than those in close proximity.

Israeli security personnel survey a building after it was hit by a rocket

Unsurprisingly, the Israeli military responsive is more than a little different. In the Israeli air strikes, entire buildings are levelled and destroyed in an instant by a single missile, reduced to piles of twisted steel and smouldering concrete rubble.

Palestinians stand around the ruins of a former Hamas building

However, although use of such excessive force against a comparatively defenceless and disempowered population is deplorable, Palestine is viewed globally with sympathy and support due to its victimised nature - yet this should be distinguished from its intentions and desires. It cannot seriously be argued that if in possession of the same military resources and technology as Israel, Hamas would respond with a ceasefire or call for reconciliation.

Public support for Hamas by the Palestinians is reinforced with every Israeli attack, and Israel is loathed and hated by countless citizens - while many wish for the destruction of the Jewish State and its inhabitants altogether. Although Israel and Palestine differ so greatly, they are united by a mutual hatred. 

In my opinion, there will never be peace in the region until religious tribalism is eradicated - a notion even the most idealistic do not contemplate, and dismissed by many as a laughable impossibility. While America remains predictably complicit in its unconditional support of Israel, and the IDF prepare for the possibility of a full ground invasion, one sad certainty is that more lives will be pointlessly lost in the future attempts to acquire this small but significant area of land.