“My iPhone 5 battery is amazing”

…said no one ever.

Without indulging in too much self promotion, I wanted to explain my absence from greenicecream for the last part of this year. Since finishing my finals in June I have been working on solarbox  – a company which I Co-Founded with the mission to provide public space solutions to public problems.

Our first product is solarbox – a transformed telephone box which now allows users to charge their smart phones for free. As the name suggests it is powered by the sun! solarbox was made possible thanks to the help of the Mayor of London’s Low Carbon Entrepreneur of the Year Award (funded by Siemens), which myself and Co-Founder were awarded in July. (We were also lucky enough to win funding from UnLtd and our university).

We launched solarbox on 1st October, capturing the attention of Londoners and the press worldwide alike. It was a fantastic few days – my personal highlight being featured in the New York Times (both online and in print). The challenge for us now is to convert this interest into meaningful partnerships which will allow us to both roll out solarbox around London whilst also turning our attention to other ideas.

Please do check us out on Twitter and Instagram – or even better if you’re interested in being involved get in touch at info@solarboxlondon.co.uk

On some days,W…

✭

On some days,
We’d sit around,
Remnant reminiscence,
Of intoxicated bliss,

A fabulous interpretation of youth,
All that glitters is gold,

Twice told tales of madness,
Wreckless, hopeless, fun.

Yes, fun.
It was fun.

The conundrum of adolescence,
Eased by Vodka blurring,
The great simplifier,
And star choreographer,

Yet, in the mornings,
Memories of hysteria,
Enjoy the sprinklings of a fantasist,
Sugar on Bran,

But hangovers don’t do bran.

✭ Lochside Sculptures

While in Scotland last week, I chanced upon some of Rob Mulholland’s work on Loch Earn. The sculptures were commissioned by The 4 Seasons Hotel, St Fillans – where you can have a great dinner too!

✭ Conversations in Greenpoint, Brooklyn

On a recent field course trip to New York, I spent time with some friends researching the Polish community in Greenpoint, which is an area at the very northernmost tip of Brooklyn. While we were there we conducted 13 interviews which sought to uncover how the area is changing for the residents of Greenpoint, an area which has undergone immense gentrification in the last 10 years.

Once I transcribed the interviews from this I looked for patterns in the dialogue of the residents. Using these patterns as the basis for the piece below, I began to put the sentences together of different residents to create one voice- that of all the people who we spoke to.

“The Brooklyn accent is an evolution of Eastern European voices. 6 or 7 years ago, Greenpoint was Little Poland. Centre of the Polish Universe, something like that. It’s a ghetto, not any longer. My observation, I see Americans, I see Spanish. Huge artistic community. More hermetic, more mixed. This is a sign of the times.

It’s really changing, but it’s really not. It’s hard to say. There are two worlds, old and young. Elderly people, they aren’t too much happy. They are not easily adapting. Everyday watch Polish channel. They care much more what’s going on there. But, nothing basically changed. Yes, from seniors perspective nothing much changed. After five of ten years only knew how to say screwdriver and hammer. Still, live all life no English.

Younger folks, they like it more mixed. They speak English, they can do stuff. There are lots of bars. It is still easy to find a job. To study. They are the 3^rd or 4^th generations. They represent other waves of immigrants. They are living history. They have connections through their parents.  It’s the relationships that you build from across the oceans. Some extra activity to learn polish, and folk dancing. But, now there has been a huge housing market jump. What can we do? $2500-3000 rent per month. No one lives here. Polish are moving to live in Ridgewood, in Queens.

The polish butchers are not as good or famous here as they used to be. In Greenpoint, we still have the Polish Delis. Polish Church. Polish Rock Bands. Polish Soccer League. Polish are very friendly. We take care of people. We’re Mahatma Ghandi.” 

✭ An ode to Musa sapientium

This is a homage to the banana, the UK’s most coveted fruit!

The banana, contrary to popular belief, is not a fruit; it is in fact the world’s largest herb. The banana plant, or Musa sapientium, grow to six metres tall, but only produce a single inflorescence – one massive bunch of bananas – cutely named ‘the banana heart’. One of my favourite things about bananas is their lack of seasonality; they are harvested 365 days a year, and taste just as good January or June.

Globally we consume a whopping 10 billion bananas each year and in the UK, the Cavendish, our banana of choice, are supermarkets biggest selling item, kilo for kilo. Only the Germans eat more bananas than we do.A cheap treat, the health benefits of bananas are well known; tryptophan to make you happy, no fat, cholesterol or sodium, vitamin b for your skin and potassium to save that boy in Honey I Shrunk the Kids. Sucrose, glucose and fructose are a magical combination, with two bananas containing enough energy to see you through a strenuous 90-minute gym workout. The banana, in milkshake form boosted with honey, also makes for an excellent hangover cure.

The health and safety risks associated with the banana are less well documented. There are approximately 300 banana related accidents a year in Britain, needless to say that most of these involve people slipping on skins, Mario Kart style!

However, there is another, more pressing, cause for concern. Our beloved bananas are in danger of extinction! The Cavendish lacks genetic diversity, which prevents a build-up of disease resistance, and making it highly vulnerable to diseases. In particular, scientists are concerned that a fungus, the Panama disease, could wipe out the Cavendish in ten to twenty years. A strain of the Panama disease, TR4 has already been reaped havoc in South East Asia, wiping out the species from several countries. Although the disease is yet to reach the Americas, our concern is very real!

While much is being done in the realms of research to save the banana from extinction, I have myself been conducting some research on these pulpy fleshy delights. My (tested) theory is that by peeling bananas the wrong way, you get an all together more pleasurable experience. And, by the way, when I say the wrong way, its not really the wrong way, it’s the way monkeys do it.

So here is the technique, take the non-stem end, pinch it, creating a small tear and just go from there. What I have found is that by opening bananas this way, you are far less likely to encounter those stringy things coming off with your fruit. Those stingy things, which if my GCSE biology does not fail me, I believe are the xylem and phloem, and a mild annoyance for the banana enjoyer.

This alternative peeling method, allows the xylem and phloem to better stick to the banana, reducing the time taken to prepare your banana for eating. What’s also great about this method is that you will never have to use your nails or teeth to get to the fruit, and a handy ergonomic handle is created.

It should be noted that my theory has come under some criticism from my peers, and some more scientific testing would definitely be recommended. Nonetheless, in my experience, the conclusion is overwhelming- peeling the wrong way, is the right way forward.

With this revelation in mind, I hope you’re able to better enjoy your bananas from now on. And remember that we must continue to work hard to ensure the survival of our favourite fruit, so that it may be enjoyed by generations to come. Long live the Musa acuminate!

✭ The Truth about Lies

We all lie. Fact.

Whether it was this morning, yesterday or last week that you last felt your nose go “Pinocchio”, we are all guilty of a little fib here and there.

Deception, sadly, is part of human nature. You might tell the odd white lie just to make someone feel better or perhaps you are more of the exaggerating type. But when does a fabrication of the truth become myth? You might use a false positive, a harmless way to ease initial social tensions with comments like ”I love the new shirt” or “nice hair.” While girls are particularly prone to being economical with the truth when it comes to avoiding upsetting someone’s feelings, men tend to be the ones exaggerating their attributes.

I am by no means saying that we are all compulsive liars, who routinely come up with whopping great big bare-faced lies, but equally, nobody is truthful all of the time. We learn to lie early on; we pick it up from our parents, just as we do speech. Even at the tender age of three, most children know how to lie and by your sixth birthday chances are you were fibbing a couple of times a day. This makes perfect sense, after all who was it that assured you Santa Claus was real and that carrots would make you see in the dark?

Society though relies on the majority of people being honest most of the time, especially when it comes to the “important” stuff. Most people only tell the odd white lie when they really believe that it is better for someone not to know the truth. Sometimes you might tell a white lie because you know you are likely to be rewarded, or less likely to be punished for it. It is much better to say in an email to your class teacher that you have an emergency doctor appointment/lady problems rather than “Hey, heavy night last night, not going to make the 10am class. See you next week.”

Technology brings a whole new dimension to the lie. Have you ever found yourself sending a text/bbm/email ending a conversation by saying you’re having dinner/seeing a friend/watching a film, when actually you just cannot be bothered to chat? Yes, I thought so. This is a new phenomenon known as the “Butler Lie”. Or perhaps you are guilty of deceiving your class teachers, sending a blank file titled “Essay” to give yourself that much needed deadline extension. I have not tried that one myself YET, honest.

Unsurprisingly, it is your parents who are most likely to be hearing, and believing, your little lies. Experts reckon teens try to deceive their parents in up to half of conversations and admit that parents are not always very good at picking up on signs of deception.

I have to confess that recently I have been lying to my parents about something. I entered myself for a beginners Mandarin examination at SOAS and my mum offered to pay the exam fee. On the day I felt that I was ill prepared and my head was further blurred with a hangover, I just didn’t turn up.

When my mum asked over the Christmas holidays if the results had come through, I lied and told her they had not yet. I lied because I thought she would be disappointed and maybe a little annoyed. In hindsight, I really regret not being honest. I hate being forced to tell more lies as my Mum asks again and again over the dinner table or on the phone about the results. I know this may seem like a trivial example, but it illustrates the point that once you tell a lie, it might just creep back up on you.
While it is not really the case with the Mandarin exam, the tricky thing is that some things are better left unsaid. We all like the idea of knowing the truth, but sometimes the truth hurts. Telling the truth can be destructive and it’s easy to see why keeping things to yourself at times seems well intentioned.

Call me cynical, but I’m just not convinced that the world would be a happier place if we knew what was going on behind people’s eyes. It is true that we are not always in the position to judge what is best for people and there is only one way to find out if someone really does want to know the truth. While I am not advocating lying for fun, for self-gain or being down right deceitful, sometimes your skeletons in the closet are there for a reason. I am not quite sure we would be able to handle the pressure if we always knew what our family, friends, teachers and colleagues had to say.

✭ Film Review – Broken

I’d say – 7/10

image taken from stockholm film festival

Director: Rufus NorrisScreen Play: Mark O’Rowe, based on the Daniel Clay’s 2008 novel.

Key Cast: Tim Roth (Archie) Eloise Laurence (Skunk) Robert Emms (Rick Buckley), Cillian Murphy (Mike Kiernan), Zana Marjanovic (Kasia)

Year: 2013

Runtime: 90 minutes

 Rufus Norris’ versatility has already been recognised with a scoop of nominations and awards for his first feature film ‘Broken’, including ‘Best Film of 2012’ at the British Independent Film awards.  A film carrying high expectations, the tale is set in a cosy suburban Cul de Sac, home to three very different families. The complicated story of their dysfunctional lives unravels through the eyes of Skunk (Eloise Laurence), a young girl, but an old soul, enjoying the long summer holidays before starting secondary school.

It all starts with a lie. The opening scene sees the foul mouthed red headed Susan Oswald (Rosalie Kosky-Hensman) tell her father that she had sex with the shy inoffensive Rick Buckley (Robert Emms) who lives across the road. Irate, in a state of protective anger, her father Bob Oswald (Rory Kinnear) viciously attacks Rick. A shock for our witness, the young innocent Skunk, this moment marks the start of the ebbing away of her innocence. Rick, distraught and disturbed by the brutal attack and the events that follow, finds himself institutionalised. The blissful long summer holidays already marred for Skunk.

Rick’s mother, equally overwrought becomes depressive and the marital strain between her husband is real and upsetting. The summer days flitter on by; at home Skunk is contending with her father Archie’s (Tim Roth) blossoming relationship with her Nanny Kasia (Zana Marjanovic), who has become tired of her old lover, and Skunk’s soon to be teacher Mike. (Cillian Murphy) But, in the daytime, whilst Dad is busy working, Skunk passes her time with brother Jed (Bill Milner) and their new found gypsy friend, and soon to be boyfriend Dillion (George Sargeant). They roam around the junk yard behind the Cul de Sac, finding some kind of haven amongst the broken unwanted cars and junk left behind.

Soon September arrives and school begins. Skunk, whilst delighted with the appointment of Mr Kiernan (Mike) as her schoolteacher, suffers at the same time at the hands of the Oswold Sisters, and school bullies. These sisters, tormenters at school, epitomise the broken message of our story.

As the term progresses, the knotting of the plots central themes- love, violence, betrayal, family, growing up and mental health- become knotted; the audience arelost in a sea of dysfunctionality and despair. Yet, at the same time, happiness and laughs are found in the simplest of things. Broken remains effortlessly humorous, so much so that it would be easy to forget to give credit to the gentle witty laughs that line the film. Gentle too is the use of symbols; sunflowers, perhaps quietly symbolic of vitality and happiness, are a reminder that Norris is a purveyor of the small things. Such close attention to detail makes the film worthy of a second visit.

Norris’ execution and Eloise Laurence’s notable performance really shine through in the darkest of moments. Her stage relationship with Tim Roth too is believable and ever easy to relate too. The cast are complimented with impeccable detail in set design and cinematographic excellence. Broken is beautifully shot, from the vivid violent scenes, to the moments of intimacy and playfulness, to big panoramic shots of the junkyard playground. The film scores, a Damon Albarn special, have a similar sound, and feel, to Gorrilaz’ ‘Plastic Beach’. However, this lively, fresh soundtrack is perhaps relied on a little too heavily by Norris, somewhat spoiling its impact.

It’s an irony that the deeper the film moves into its plot, the more it loses its subtlety. It becomes less metaphoric, tactless even. While the film is a bold statement, the result is a little inefficacious; a lasting impression of nothing that we haven’t really seen before.

✭ Sorry Seems to be the Mildest Word

I read yesterday that the word “sorry” is used 368 million times a day in the UK. On average, a person says sorry 8 times a day. That seems like an awful lot of apologising, and it got me thinking- do we really have that much to be sorry for?

So I know that the British are notoriously non-confrontational, and to say sorry is to escape confrontation. But I’m afraid to say that the ‘get out of jail free’ card has been played one too many times. Sorry has come to replace “excuse me,” “what did you say?” and “I don’t agree with you.” And here is the other thing: one in eight people say sorry more than 20 times a day. This does not surprise me, because I’m sorry to say that I fall into that over-apologetic category.

As I write, I can imagine myself saying, “I’m sorry, do you have the time?” “I’m sorry to bother you,” or “I’m sorry if this is a stupid question,” one I use in most of my classes. I’d probably even say sorry if you ran into me. But, I’m not actually sorry for any of these things. I could do with the time, I don’t understand the economics of the European Union and you ran into me, you clumsy dope.

Let me just say that by no means do I think that we should stop apologising all together. There’s nothing worse than someone who knows that they’ve crossed the line, but they’re just too stubborn to say it. If you hurt someone’s feelings, man up. I just think that we need to put the meaning back into it. Because I’d say actually you’re not sorry at all 90% of the time, and neither am I.

When I think about it, being overly apologetic is a trait of mine that I really don’t like. It’s just really annoying! I know old habits die hard, but the over-apologetic amongst us really need to stop with all this people pleasing. When we over-apologise, it’s like we’re seeking reassurance, we don’t want to lose someone’s respect. But when you apologise so much that you might as well be on the floor kissing their feet, there isn’t that much respect to lose in the first place. There is no need to beg for forgiveness if you haven’t done anything wrong, and besides, we don’t need to agree with each other all of the time.

I’m no psychology expert, but it’s clear (after a bit of Google research) that over-apologising can actually have some seriously bad implications. The over-apologisers’ ideas get minimised in group environments; after all, if we are apologising for our views, why would anyone else want to hear them? It’s a sign of nervousness and lack of confidence, which I’m sure can lead to a whole host of grim medical conditions.

There are patterns to when you say sorry too. I can certainly imagine myself saying sorry more often in certain situations, or in front of certain people (certain boys…). But, we’re creating guilt where there was no crime, and if the over-apologiser takes responsibility every time, is this creating a subconscious imbalance in relationships? Or am I getting a bit deep with this now?

At least that’s my New Years resolution sorted; I promise to leave my annoying over-apologising ways behind!

✭ Film Review – The Kid with the Bike

I’d say 6/10

Screenplay: Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne

Key Cast: Cécile de France- Samantha, Thomas Doret- Cyril, Egon Di Mateo- Wes

Year: 2011

Runtime: 86 mins

The plot is somewhat simple. Cyril (Thomas Doret), a young boy who has been deserted by his father, relentlessly pursues him under the watchful eye of his new carer, Samantha (Cécile de France). In many respects the film could described as simple, with sparing use of music, a very ordinary setting and real life costumes.

But do not be deceived, this film is anything but simple. The Dardenne brothers have stuck to their speciality: this is a film about the complexities of real life, a film about people and relationships.

Despite a lack of experience, young Thomas Doret steps into his character with ease. Cyril, who is almost always on screen, is a troubled, pained and often destructive soul, which at times makes for painful viewing. A film about a child’s unreciprocated love for a parent is always going to prey on the audience’s sensitive side, but the accompanying themes of social problems and the conflicts of inter-generational relationships make the first half in particular uncomfortable to watch.

It is by chance that Cyril meets Samantha, a local hairdresser, who agrees to look after him at weekends. Samantha becomes almost like a fairy godmother to him. A motherly figure, she nurtures him and saves him from his uncontrollable rage. But it seems as though finding his father is the only thing that will calm him.

On his only brief encounter, Cyril is quick to forgive him, “Ce n’est pas grave.” He does not see through his father’s casual excuses and does not recognise, or understand, the love that Samantha offers him. In fact, we too do not know much about Samantha’s love for Cyril. The Dardennes provide no psychological explanation for the love that she feels for him, although it is evident that she becomes very attached to him.

As his mother figure, De France is given only a junior role in the story. Samantha is a guide for Cyril; he always remains the focus of the film. The story is built up entirely around his unrelenting pursuit of his father, his unrestrained temper and uncontrollable behaviour.

There is little variation in setting, but instead of being monotonous, this is symbolic. The Dardenne brothers create a geographical triangle – comprising of the estate, the forest and a petrol station – in which most of the film is set. The forestis symbolic because it is a place of danger and trouble, where human nature gets the better of people. The estate represents Cyril’s complex life; his past with his father and the present in limbo at home and with Samantha at weekends. The petrol station is a place where the plot takes significant turns.

Of course, no modern fairy tale would be complete without a bad guy, and indeed the film changes course when Cyril falls vulnerable to gang leader Wes (Egon Di Mateo), who presses him into crime. This brilliantly captures the vulnerability of a young boy being led astray, relating to youth gang culture. However, these scenes seem a little forced and perhaps over-dramatised, making them less believable, and for me, reducing the credibility of the film as a whole.

Both De France and Doret perform wonderfully, and despite a compelling screenplay the film is not quite as noteworthy as some of the Dardennes’s previous work. Amidst the themes of a troubled childhood, criminality, broken homes and destructive behaviour, a loving relationship emerges from the rubble.

Yet, the greatest juxtaposition comes in the form of the ending. It is not happy, but neither is it sad. The film ends somewhat abruptly, unexpectedly perhaps; the uncertainty of the future akin to reality.

✭ Film Review – House of Tolerance / L’Apollonide, Souvenirs de la Maison Close

8/10

Director: Bertrand Bonello

Screenplay: Bertrand Bonello

Key Cast: Hafisa Herzi, Céline Sallette, Jasmine Trinca, Adèle Haenel, Alice Barnole & Iliana Zabeth

Year: 2011

Runtime: 122 mins

Bertrand Bonello skilfully captures the last days of brothel L’Apollonide in fin-de-siècle Paris and of the girls living and working inside the closed world that is the House of Tolerance.

The opening scene begins with the story of Madeleine (Alice Barnole), who is brutally attacked by a client. He leaves her mutilated with a scar in the shape of a smile stretching up her cheeks. This becomes a key symbol and a central focus of the film, and we return to the events of the evening in flashbacks throughout. The closing scene, equally dramatic, parallels this opening scene and brings together the story of Madeleine.

Played out alongside the tragedy of Madeleine is the death of Julie (Jasmine Trinca) from syphilis and the demise of opium addict Clotilde (Céline Salette). However, much of what lies between the dramatic opening and closing scenes is less energetic. The main body of the film often seems little more than a compilation of events and anecdotes from the girls, which often grate against each other rather than fusing together.

This is part of Bonello’s vision to capture everything from the individual perspective of the prostitutes – of the women themselves. It is an uncommon angle of approach. His idea extends beyond the screenplay, as there are very few shots of males at all. The film alternates between the girls’s happiness and misery, allowing them to disclose their worries alongside their confessions.

House of Tolerance is a film of contrasts. Being shot almost entirely in the brothel house, spaces within the building have extra importance. Downstairs is the workplace of the girls, an elaborate aesthetic – think a house of velvet – that is juxtaposed with the upstairs, where the girls live a very simple lifestyle. Paradoxically, it is upstairs that they at times are able to find companionship in each other, quite unlike their relationships with the clients who seek clandestine pleasures in the rooms below. The men are always portrayed as self-absorbed and lacking in character: “men have secrets, but no mystery,” and thus sympathy for the prostitutes is easily felt.

For a film that is essentially about sex, there is less eroticism than you might expect. Although there is certainly no shortage of bosom, the limited sex scenes are characterised by unusual fetishisms. The clients have the girls act out their oddest fantasies, such as bathing in champagne and talking dirty in Japanese while dressed as a geisha.

The casting is excellent with the mélange of personalities complementing each other extremely well. Their friendships are raw and believable. Iliana Zabeth, as the youngest prostitute Pauline, is particularly likeable and her tender naïveté contrasts with Sallette’s role as the haggard and weary Clotilde. While each girl is unique, they all exhibit characteristics of endurance and compliance, and of course all are incredibly sexy.

As with most period dramas the costumes are among the most captivating aspects of the film; the women’s outfits emulate opulence, lavish corsets and provocative lingerie, while the dandy appearance of the male clients works perfectly too. The work of costume designer Anaïs Romand is very impressive.

More debatable is the choice of music. Bonello’s soundtrack mixes early twentieth century classical pieces with modern 1960’s American soul music, aimed at connecting the lives of the girls with slavery. While this is a veritable parallel, the anachronism is jarring and the film has the potential to create such connections more subtly.

This is not the only respect in which the film is not entirely a period piece. The last shot, which acts as a final comment, underlines the perpetuity of the issues highlighted by Bonello. We see the girls of L’Apollonide standing by a busy road, their corsets replaced with short skirts, as they offer themselves and their sex to a resolute twentieth century world.

While House of Tolerance may not be to everyone’s taste, it leaves you with much to think about and, if nothing else, the haunting images of a once beautiful, now disfigured face.