Category social health

Lights Out – wow. Bloody hell. That was an ordeal. That was 81 minutes of pure, unadulterated terror. That was one of the most terrifying films I’ve ever seen in my life. It was bloody good.

With a cast of relative unknowns, produced and directed by a relative unknown, and only coming in at 81 minutes, less than an hour and a half, it’s easy to look at Lights Out with some trepidation. I didn’t know any of this before though, fortunately, and had only seen the trailer – you know the one I mean, with the factory, the spot lights, the apartment, the rising and fading light, the…thing…in the dark. Those two minutes were enough to convince me to see this film, and I’m really glad I did.

Lights Out is relentless – from the opening scene in the factory, the one from the aforementioned trailer, to the final scene in Rebecca’s mum’s house, this film does not stop. It’s one fright to the next, with no time to rest in between. That’s what makes this film seem a lot longer than it is – you’re almost praying for it to end, just so the ordeal is over. But when it eventually does, you’re pretty disappointed. It isn’t just terrifying, but it’s a genuinely very good film.

It’s a fairly simple concept, preying on our deepest, darkest fear – namely, the dark. The film is cleverly crafted, in that even during the day, scenes are presented in places that are able to be dark – closets, windowless rooms, spaces under beds. As I said, this film is relentless. The cast, all relative unknowns as I mentioned earlier, all perform admirably. Performances of note in particular come from three of our main characters – Rebecca (Teresa Palmer), her boyfriend Bret (Alexander DiPersia), and Martin, her younger brother (Gabriel Bateman). There’s a new trend in film and TV at the moment – actually decent child actors. Bateman definitely falls in to this category.

Martin is the focus of the maliciousness in the film – he’s the one the monster seems to be following, he’s the target. His performance is very believable. It isn’t stunted, or awkward, like a lot of child actors tend to be – we feel his terror, his fear, his emotions. One of the strongest parts of the film is Martin’s bewilderment – the malice is coming because of his mother, and we can feel as he struggles to accept this. In fact, we struggle to accept this, even though we’re privy to slightly more information from this. His own mum. How can she do that to him?

Rebecca is the rebellious but well-meaning older sister, who’s been through what Martin has already, when she was younger. As such, she’s able to help, to be the voice of reason, she’s our anchor in this film. Palmer’s performance is excellent, she sells the film and the concept totally and completely without fail. And Bret is the comedic relief, though only to a minor extent. There is very little comedy to be found amongst this horror. There were moments the cinema burst in to laughter, and rightfully so – but it was nervous laughter if I’ve ever heard it. It’s the kind of laughter you almost have to force out to remind yourself there are other things than fear in the world. The kind of laughter you hope will scare monsters away.

The plot of the film is nothing ground-breaking, but it doesn’t need to be. The concept, the idea, the acting, directing, script and scene detail is what makes this film so good. I can’t really do Lights Out justice here, all I can say is I highly recommend this film. But with one caveat – if you have a weak heart, maybe stay away. Because this will stop it.

As an English Literature student, an avid reader and an (attempted!) writer, there is nothing that brings me more happiness than the feel of a book in my hands. Not only is it traditional and a thing of nurtured and crafted beauty, but books also bring back memories of childhood and reading before bed. However, in an increasingly technology-based society, printed books and bookshops are having to massively adapt. The rise of the e-reader and the e-book is upon us, but does everyone think it’s such a good change?

According to a recent study, young children are calling for books in print as opposed to e-books even more than they did two years ago! This desire massively conflicts the new age of technology that has largely been aimed at the younger generations. However it seems that e-books and things such as the Kindle have been a huge success with older generations than with younger ones. Younger generations (who have been brought up in the new age of technology) appear to be rejecting e-books and calling for traditional printed pages instead!

While this desire for printed books is fantastic, it’s not difficult to see the huge appeal of items such as the Kindle and other e-readers that take our books from the page to the screen. The cost of the books that you can download are vastly cheaper than buying a printed copy, and often classics such as novels by Charles Dickens or Jane Austen are completely free of charge! The e-reader and books act as an investment piece, further highlighting the financial appeal in a struggling economy. However, are these appealing financial reasons enough to sway the public and make us switch from our printed traditional books, and enter into the 21st century and embrace the e-book?

In my personal opinion, the turn away from printed pages and the acceptance of the e-book as the norm eliminates the humanistic element of the book. As a child, I went to numerous book signings of my favourite children’s authors such as Jacqueline Wilson and Michael Morpurgo; I waited in lines, so excited to have my book signed by the person who wrote it. As an adult my beloved gift of all time was a signed first edition of one of my favourite books.

A physical book is personal, it’s sentimental and most importantly, it’s human. I mean lets face it – you can hardly have a favoured author sign your Kindle screen now can you? While e-books are practical, economic and in the long run cheaper the experience of reading a book fits into none of these categories. To read a book is to experience a world of imagination, wonder and the joy that comes from physically turning those pages is something that should be experienced from a young age. Unfortunately, for me personally, the experience and the sensation of reading are completely lost when I’m staring at a screen instead of a perfect printed page.

What do you think? Would you rather read a real book or a Kindle? Let us know in the comments section below!

I had the privilege of attending a Catholic all-girls secondary school for seven years, and besides a love for science and a strong sense of discipline, the most valuable thing I walked away with was an undeniable, universal love for women.

I spent hours upon days upon months upon years, in an environment where not only were my companions female but also the majority of my teachers, the auxiliary staff and the administration! We even had a convent on the school grounds.

Being exposed to essentially only women from ages 11 – 18 has resulted in an inexplicable need to connect with the women in my life. I think the insular nature of secondary school and the fact that we were all discovering ourselves and the world at the same time led to a bond being forged that honestly I don’t think boys understand, and frankly can’t replicate. Though, in my opinion, it’s not their fault! Boys are taught that it is not acceptable to cry unless you have lost a limb, or perhaps your nan or mum, while we girls are given attention and sympathy the moment we begin to tear up. Now that is a whole other story.

Think about your closest group of girl friends, how you relate to each other and rely on each other for almost everything. Go ahead and scroll through your phone, take note of the amount of pictures you have of your nights out, the group messages you are a part of that consist of two to four of your nearest and dearest, the screen shots in your gallery of messages boys (or girls) have sent you that you have forwarded to a friend for the their opinion or a laugh, recall those moments you popped round to theirs to share a bottle of wine or because you didn’t want to be alone after a break up, or it was Valentine’s Day and you both committed to spend it together.

1. Stonewall
2. Mermaids
3. akt
4. Switchboard LGBT+ Helpline
5. LGBT HERO

See what I mean?

Women are encouraged to share our experiences (‘Did you get your period this month? I think mine is late’).

To have each other’s back no matter what (‘That’s Stephen’s new bird’ ‘I already hate her’ ‘No, it’s fine you don’t have to’ ‘You sure?’ lol).

Uplift each other (‘Do you think I’m fat?’ ‘Are you kidding me? I would KILL to look like you’ ‘Shut up, you’re perfect’).

And because of this never-ending sequence of love and support and commitment, we become closer and closer, forming our own little society. I can honestly say that without my closest friends my life would be decidedly less fulfilling. I don’t know how it is for the lads, but I feel like my girls are reflections of who I think I am and what I’d like to be. I have to admit that I am that friend who is like the mum, and because of that, my best girls are a little crazy and out there; they party hard, travel often, snog lots of boys and have an intense zest for life. If I were left to my own devices I’d be on the floor of my flat almost every Friday night reading or watching Netflix.

Fortunately, I have these women who encourage me to put on makeup, go out, have a few pints, talk to boys and embrace the beauty and spontaneity of life. I like to think that I play a symmetrical role in their lives, offering advice, quiet nights in after too many parties, and homemade sausage rolls while we watch movies. We provide balance and inspire all the aspects of a woman: the mum, the wild child, the introvert, the extrovert, the badass, the seductress, the academic and so much more.

Now I know that there are girls out there who say that they aren’t a ‘girls’ girl’ and this honestly makes me sad, because female friendship is rewarding and empowering. There is simply nothing like it. I don’t think male/female friendships can offer the same type of satisfaction.

Life is difficult. It’s even harder for women. From unequal pay to the physical/sexual/verbal abuse faced by many of our sisters around the world, politicians telling us what rights we do and do not have regarding our bodies, the institutional ‘boys’ club’ in many professional areas (engineering, architecture, finance, science, politics…) and the media constantly barraging us with images of what we should look like, sound like, and act like – it is absolutely imperative to lean on each other.

Go ahead and tell your girls that you love them, plan a dinner, a Skype call, or just go to their flat and dance around to music you haven’t listened to since you were 13. We are going to be bombarded with so much in the next dozen years: heartbreak, children, weddings, husbands, ex-husbands, job loss, migration, funerals, infidelity, sickness, and financial struggles. It is going to be difficult – there is absolutely no doubt in that – and we are going to need each other through all of it. Hold on to your girlfriends and walk through life knowing that you have not only your strength to count on, but that of others to carry you through.

Yo Kanye, I’m really happy for you and I’m gonna let you finish, but Britney had the best break down of all time…

Kanye West has always loved a bit of controversy and attention, bearing the brunt of now countless memes about his self-professed narcissism. Whether you think he’s arrogant or rightly self-confident, there’s no denying he loves the limelight. His recent escapades have made for some excellent trending topics on Twitter (and good office chat), but what is really going on in the mind of Mr West? More.

I guess we should start at what I would call the beginning, on January 27th 2024. Kanye West changed his new album name to Waves (because deciding on an album name for certain is too mainstream). Obviously, this is a blatant rip-off of Max B (?), so Wiz Khalifa decides to give his two cents. Long story short, as you probably know by now, this started Kanye on a bit of a rant with Wiz, which got rather personal, ex’s and all.

Rather entertaining this all was for us mere mortals, it didn’t end there. After renaming the album again to TLOP or The Life of Pablo (cos he’s an artist, geddit?) he has announced publicly that he is in some sort of debt and therefore asked Mark Zuckerberg for a casual $1 billion. I mean, fair play for asking, if you don’t ask you don’t get, right? But it is definitely another talking point.

This could all be a PR and marketing stunt to build more hype for his album, as the release has been pushed back again. This seems like a more plausible answer when you consider the promotion he has been doing for the paid music streaming service Tidal, which his album is available on. Or, he could be drawing attention away from the criticism he has received for the allegedly sexist and derogatory lyrics about Taylor Swift in a song on his new album.

Either way, the Twitter-sphere is waiting for the next instalment with baited breath and a box of popcorn.

It seems like it was always at night when my parents fought, probably to spare their only child the sharpness of their words to one another. However, even as a young girl, I was very perceptive and could tell when the volcano was ready to erupt. Mum and Dad would say prayers with me and tuck me in with the same half-hearted smiles they feigned during Sunday morning church. I was supposed to be sleeping but would tiptoe to the end of the long hallway that led from my room to the kitchen. As I crouched down to hide by the oven to remain unseen, I held my only source of comfort – a stuffed bunny named BunBun.

I’m still not sure why I so desperately wanted to hear what they were arguing about THIS time, but I think I came to the conclusion that it was weak attempt to extract knowledge, to be left in the loop.

On an average day, walking around my house wasn’t necessarily eggshell-like circumstances, but more of a landmine – one misstep and the grenade exploded. My father would come home from work and sit in his recliner, eat dinner, then retire to their bedroom. These phases would last for months and then cycle through times of manic happiness. The silence was deafening and I never knew what mood he would come home in or when something I said would set him off. Since my father is a registered psych nurse, he often turned to self-medication and refused to admit he needed help to feel normal, a struggle I myself battle with to this day. Despite my father’s second-generation bipolar disorder diagnosis, there was never a doubt of how much he loved me (and still loves me). Even then I somehow related to him, an understanding my very black-and-white logical mother would never grasp. I understood him because he and I are alike. We both live down the same strange rabbit hole of mental illness and because of this, building relationships from childhood would prove to be tumultuous and confusing.

My parents divorced when I was in junior high once my mother could not try to understand him any longer. I didn’t know how to react and most of my friends were well off and still lived in their perfectly placed nuclear homes. Over time, things became easier. Both of my parents remarried over the next few years and I myself began dating.

It was then when I truly realized how sick I was. I sabotaged relationships and created chaos because I thought that’s what love was. That was what love looked like to me. I would explode much like my father. My heart would tell me everything was fine, but my head created scenario after scenario that never and would never come to fruition. I became paranoid and erratic and labeled that “crazy chick” you overhear during bro conversations at a bar. I didn’t want to be her anymore. I was sick of her and, if I was sick of her, I knew everyone else around me must be also. I was spiraling out of control and knew I needed help. I knew I had a mental illness that could not be ignored any longer.

At age 18, remember sitting in Stephenville, Texas at a Chili’s Bar and Grill across from my characteristically stoic mother when I broke down into tears and told her I thought I needed help. I was dating my then boyfriend at the time, now my husband, and I refused to allow he or our future children to live in the same atmosphere I did. She calmly said, “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me this.” I guess everyone saw it but me. I immediately felt my face flush with anxiety and embarrassment. Sometimes our qualities we try so hard to hide are the very same ones which are the most obvious.

On July 7, 2007, I married the man who I half jokingly say “puts up with me.” Only it’s not even half a joke; it’s not a joke at all. He is even-keeled daily and is the kindest most patient man I know. That makes our marriage much easier. Instead of calling me crazy or telling me to chill out, he hugs me tighter and understands that there is an element of the illness that I truly cannot control. I stress and worry constantly that he’s going to wake up one day and realise what he signed up for and leave. When I have these irrational fears, he calms me instead of insulting me. And while yes, he is an amazing husband and father to our two beautiful children, one thing that needs to be understood is that, even in long-term relationships, YOU are the only one who can pull yourself out of the chasm of depression.

Our marriage is full of good days and bad days, like any other couple. The key is for us to be constantly aware that there is a giant elephant in the room (one that often needs a stout dose of tranquilizer). Seek a partner who supports you and doesn’t dismiss you. Pray. Daily. Pray for understanding from not only your significant other but for yourself. And last but not least, I cannot stress this enough, DO NOT ever sweep mental illness under the rug. That is where it goes to fester and grow into a parasite that can easily kill a marriage. Talk about where you are emotionally every day. Do it so much that it becomes habit. Being invariably aware of your thoughts and emotions each day fosters a feeling of normalcy. Over the last 9 years with my husband, communication has been the most important offering of respect we grant each other. Don’t hold things in when you’re upset. Let them out in a productive way that opens a healthy dialogue.

I feel like I’m married to both my husband and my mental illness, only the oath that the chemical imbalance has taken with my body can never be broken. The cliché “the first step is admitting you have a problem” is equal parts trite and unequivocally true. I wake up every morning next to my husband and to my inner struggle. Both are work but I have to be the one to put forth the effort. My husband convinced me that taking medicine is OKAY. It is. It doesn’t make me weird or abnormal or anything negative; if anything it gives me a chance at the abundant life I’ve so graciously been given. People may not understand it, but there is truth to the adage “better living through chemistry”.

It’s been a long time since I saw the film The Green Mile, however it quickly stole my heart and became one of my favourites. So it’s no surprise that as soon as I finished my last ever (eek!) year of university, The Green Mile was the first book on my own personal reading list!

The classic novel by Stephen King is classed within the genre of horror and, while the book does contain horrifying situations, The Green Mile manages to turn horror into something amazing and emotionally evocative.

The story follows the events that occurred when death row supervisor, Paul Edgecombe was in charge of ‘The Green Mile’ – this is the final walk that prisoners on death row take before meeting their end. As readers we’re introduced to Paul’s co-workers and the prisoners that face their own personal journey as they wait for their turn to walk the mile. With the arrival of William Wharton, a seemingly insane and inherently dangerous criminal, the normally peaceful and comforting mile is disrupted with the threat of violence and arrogance. However, with the arrival of John Coffey, a prisoner accused of a horrific and brutal crime, things on the mile take an unusual turn.

We’re taken in and out of Paul Edgecombe’s past and present life as he reveals his struggles with Percy Wetmore, the newest and cockiest supervisor on the mile, and we see the reality of the fragility of the justice system in America. As more and more inmates take their walk down the mile, we question whether everyone truly deserves to be there.

On top of danger, violence and unthinkable crime there are aspects of this book that will have you in tears. The notion of inherent criminality becomes uncertain, as we see a glimpse into the humanity that lies behind criminality, allowing King to blur the lines of acceptance of crime, humans and our own morality as readers.

The Green Mile is a classic. Combining brutality with fragile humanity and the desire to expose injustice creates a novel that you never want to end. While the characters may not exist in reality, their stories are ones that will teach you things about yourself that you never thought possible, and their messages will stay with you for a lifetime.

We’ve been waiting months for Pretty Little Liars to return to our screens for the 7th season and last night it finally did. The season 7 premiere Tick-Tock bitches didn’t bring many answers, but gave us a lot more questions. Take a look (unless you haven’t yet watched the premiere, in which case navigate away from this page and stop clicking on spoiler articles).

Who are they burying at the beginning?

The episode opens with Spencer, Aria and Emily digging a grave in a very distressed manner. They feel guilty and Aria even says “Poor Hanna”, so is it Hanna? Spencer reveals a little more detail, saying “It was a well thought out plan. When it turns out like this it’s called first degree murder.” Which would indicate wilful and premeditated killing. They wouldn’t plan to kill Hanna and even if A did I don’t see why they’d be clearing up the mess. This and the “Poor Hanna” comment lead me to believe it might be someone close to Hanna. Maybe Caleb, or even her mum.

Who voted for Spencer and Mona?

When the girls voted on who they thought killed Charlotte, the majority thought it was Ali, Emily didn’t vote, and Mona and Spencer got a vote each. I highly doubt they voted for each other, so who suspects them. Caleb has never made much of an effort to hide his dislike for Mona, so it’s possible he voted for her. But who voted for Spencer? Could it be Toby?

Who is Charlotte’s father?

During the episode Mary Drake stops by Spencer’s house looking for her parents. It turns out that they used to be friends, but Jessica DiLaurentis turned everyone in the town against Mary. Mary said she came back to Rosewood as she’d heard her sister was dead which she presumably only heard about when she came back for Charlotte’s release. As Mary leaves, she makes a comment about Spencer’s ability to stay friends with her ex lovers. I’ve always thought the Hastings were very involved in the drama from the start, despite the focus of the show being on a missing DiLaurentis, but this conversation has me thinking Charlotte’s father could be Peter Hastings. However, if it is and Peter is Mary’s ex lover, why is she visiting him? Their daughter may have just died but he didn’t seem to have anything to do with her. My second thought is that Mary could have tricked Kenneth into thinking she was Jessica and had Charlotte that way.

I wonder if Peter Hastings is Charlotte’s father… The Hastings are way too involved and shady #PLL #PLLTheories pic.twitter.com/0oKyFW3EDd

— Digital Princess (@MohammedBanMohammed) March 25, 2024

It turns out I even suspected Peter at the end of season 6. I’m inclined to think Peter may have then killed Jessica thinking it was Mary, but I like to think Peter is too smart to leave a dead woman’s body on his lawn. However, maybe it wasn’t Jessica that was jealous, but Mary. Maybe Mary killed Jessica after she found out that Jessica and Peter had Jason. She might have felt like Peter replaced her with her twin and so removed the problem.

Who was Mary on the phone to?

When Mona said it was a British or Australian guy, most minds immediately jumped to Elliot who revealed to the audience that he was faking his American accent at the end of last season, but wouldn’t it be great if it was Wren? Wren has been top of my ‘Uber A’ list for a long time. He’s been pretty involved at the same time as keeping his distance. It could even be that he and Elliot are related, but with all the hidden blood ties that have come to light recently it’s doubtful.

Did Ali really kill Charlotte?

Ali being in hospital full of incurable guilt, seemingly confessing to crimes and having evidence from the night of a murder still stored safely in her room seems a little convenient. Ali has waited years for Charlotte’s release, she had no reason to harm her. I highly doubt an attack was provoked either because if Ali did kill Charlotte – deliberately or not – she’d have gotten rid of the coat (that Toby said would have blood on it) soon after the incident rather than packing it away in a box in her room ready to eventually go to Goodwill. My money is still on Melissa, protecting her sister and her family from the train wreck.

Are Dr Rollins and Mary Drake A.D.?

Mary and Elliot seemed focused on recovering Mary and Charlotte’s money via the Carissimi group. Mary may have been in the woods when Hanna was taken, but Elliot was not. He found out Ali was Charlotte’s killer pretty soon after Caleb handed the jacket over which suggests he’s been in contact with the receiver, but was that receiver Mary? When Hanna escapes the barn she stops Mary in her car, so who was the night vision-goggled figure who found the barn empty? Mary could change that quick. Mary and Elliot seemed to be after Ali and wanting answers about Charlotte, not wanting to harm to girls. The person who picks up the red jacket cannot be Mary as in the Episode 2 preview she’s still in the car with Hanna, and it cannot be Elliot as he’s with Alison, so who is it? There are a few theories flying around that Spencer is in on it, but I think that’s unlikely. Andrea Parker, who plays Mary, confirmed that Uber A (mentioned in the episode description and previous episodes) aka A.D is not her. If Uber A has Hanna, Elliot could be in cahoots with them too and that’s why he found out about Ali so fast. While he’s likely to have a hunch, I doubt he’s acting solely off of that. Uber A has been in the game a lot longer than Mary and Elliot, so Mary being on the phone to Wren (as Uber A) would make sense.

Stepping out a little further, could A.D. stand for Andrew Drake? The Radley file would probably mention another child, unless it was after she was released. If Charlotte is around Jason’s age and Andrew is around Ali and the girls’ age then it is possible she had a second child when she got out, and put it up for adoption anyway. However, it makes no sense to me to keep one of your children in the family and let the other one be adopted by strangers. However, since Jessica, Jason and Charles were outside the apple farm in the clip from the dollhouse, it’s possible that the Campbells are somehow family too.

Another wild theory is it stands for Ali Dee, the fake badge Mona used to get out while in Radley. Charlotte stole the game off of Mona, so maybe Mona stole it back.

The wildest theory I heard is that Maya St. Germain is Mary Drake and Eddie Lamb’s daughter, and she is A.D. She was a secret given to Eddie’s sister to stop Eddie losing his job. When Maya moved to Rosewood and found out the truth, she relapsed. On her return, Charlotte helped her fake her death to give her sister a free life with her mother Mary. It’s a pretty complex theory that goes into great detail, touching on Mary has a little Lamb (I.E. Maya Lamb) and ‘Maya Knew’.