An open letter to Joe Rennison, London Student Editor

I sent this to Joe Rennison, this year's London Student editor, this morning. Thought it was worth throwing open for opinions.

Dear Joe,

I’m writing to you not with a view to being published but because I strongly feel that something must be done about the reprehensible behaviour of ULU President Clare Solomon.

I am a graduand of Heythrop College UL and former President of its Student Union. Since I was lucky enough to find full-time employment after finishing my studies in June, I was unfortunately not able to attend yesterday’s protest but followed events closely through both news channels and social networking sites. In common with, I am sure, the vast majority of those who supported the aims of the peaceful protest, I was horrified when a tiny proportion of those attending the march ignored its aims and perverted its message by committing illegal acts of vandalism and assault. NUS President Aaron Porter was entirely correct in condemning the violent agitators and disassociating the protest from their actions.

I was disgusted but entirely unsurprised to hear that Ms Solomon, who has a history of extreme radicalism and was recently expelled from her chosen political party for secret factionalising, had entered the Millbank Tower along with a few hundred vandals and hooligans. What did surprise me was her happiness to admit this on the BBC’s Newsnight yesterday evening, along with her persistent refusal to answer legitimate questions posed by the presenter and her glib assertion that the invasion and criminality with which she was involved was a true and proportionate reflection of the feelings of students. Having spoken to many friends and former classmates who attended the march in a spirit of solidarity and optimism, I am confident that Ms Solomon speaks only for the sort of extremist minority with which she has long allied herself.

All of this, however, pales in comparison to Ms Solomon’s final comments on the programme, in which she explicitly stated that a failure by the Government to heed the wishes of students would result in direct action comparable to that seen in Paris and Athens in recent months. This is nothing less than a direct threat of violence and death, and should be treated as such.

I do not believe that Ms Solomon’s radical politics or her confrontational attitude are consistent with the office which it is her privilege to embody. Furthermore, I contend that her endorsement of of violent, anarchic and otherwise illegal behaviour, combined with her transparent attempts to turn ULU into a vehicle for her own extremist views, render her future in the post of ULU President untenable. Were I still a member of ULU Senate I would certainly propose a vote of no confidence in Ms Solomon, and I urge current Senators to consider this option.

From next month, I will be a graduate of the University of London; it is an accolade of which I am less proud today than I was two days ago. My only hope is that the shame of being associated with Ms Solomon’s comments dogs her CV longer than it does mine.

Yours sincerely,

John M Underwood

Back. Possibly.

So, I'm a journalist now. Like, a real one. I write at Best For Film, which is lovely, but gives me even more of an excuse to neglect this sorry thing. I may yet decide to axe it altogether, but for now it may be used for cross-posting if the powers that be decide I'm allowed. I'll keep you posted either way.

Yep.

Whether or not England wins, society will lose.

I've just seen an advert for this. In very brief, it's for a Nationwide fixed term account which offers a 0.5% interest bonus "if England lift the cup in South Africa".

I would genuinely like someone to explain to me how this differs from gambling. Nationwide is trying to entice people to invest with them, which is fine, but instead of offering particularly competitive rates or whatever else it is promising a wee financial treat if England bucks a forty-three year trend and wins the World Cup. That's not the done thing.

And to add insult to injury, this ridiculous and morally dubious scheme is being advertised by a 'comedy' double act consisting of a person who isn't really disabled and a person who has apparently been modelled on The Sun's expectation of how paedophiles dress and do their hair.

Comme j'ai dit, I'd genuinely like thoughts on this. Am I being hopelessly old-fashioned? It just seems so inescapably grim.

Incidentally, we moved out of our lovely little West London flat today - expect frequent pissed-off updates about my househunting escapades. Pfft.

Capitalist cynicism, doublethink, and plastic nipples.

For about as long as I can remember, I've been puzzling over why shop mannequins are almost invariably crafted in such an inconsistent fashion. Shall I explain? Righty ho.

As the spectre above ably demonstrates, mannequins do not generally display a level of detail consistent with someone wanting to make them look more than vaguely human. To start with, they're either a gleaming Vaderesque ebony or this rather unpleasant zombie grey, neither of which are hues reminiscent of normal people or even of models. They are also lacking in convincingly human facial structure, with very much the best-case scenario being the unnerving and excessively-browed grimace above (cf Doctor Who's positively Neanderthal opponents the Autons, who actually have brow ridges and look like whitewashed clones of Stig of the Dump). The alternative is a featureless oval which irresistibly brings to mind the new Prime Minister.

All of this is fine. I do not expect mannequins to emulate the appearance of an actual human being, other than to whatever extent is necessary for them to have clothes conveniently draped over them. Malproportioned or undecorated heads, improbable colour schemes and occasionally being left in a window devoid of shirt, trousers or arms are all par for the course. What I don't understand is the nipples.

Look again at the photo above, and pay particular attention to the snug fit of the dummy's rather unattractive tank top. As in this case and in thousands of others, it is very rare to encounter a lady mannequin which isn't proudly gesturing skywards through whichever top or dress has been draped over it, its implausibly pert plastic breasts crowned with faintly threatening nipples frozen in a permanent state of dizzying arousal or chilliness. This drives me absolutely mad. Quite apart from the ecological indifference which is clearly demonstrated by our willingness to waste our finite oil reserves on plastic destined for pointless cosmetic teats, 'mannequin nipple syndrome' is simply another example of the incredibly insulting marketing ploys which we are forced to dodge every day in what is theoretically one of the most liberal and advanced societies on earth.

Mannequins are obviously not endowed with nipples in order to make them look more real - there are many more obvious areas to work on before minor anatomical inaccuracies become relevant, and in any event the uncanny valley effect demonstrates that it is actually not advisable for non-human models to too closely resemble us. Why, then, do the majority of plastic clothes-horses persist in being so damn perky?

I can think of two possible explanations, each as depressing as the other. Mannequins are uniformly tall and skinny, usually more so than could be healthily achieved by any normal woman (in fact, in 2007 the Spanish health ministry demanded that all shop dummies be made at a minimum of a size 10 to help combat body worries amongst female consumers). Could the nipples be simply an extension of this? They serve to accentuate the mannequin's unnaturally upright breasts, drawing the eye to just how perfectly the relevant garment hangs on its freakishly slender frame, and doing their level best to convince passing shoppers that this could be THE purchase, the one which finally exorcises any shred of low self-esteem and and lifts your ego as abruptly as the mannequin's nipples lift its significance. Given how frequently mannequins are used for display without having their arms attached, it seems that absurdly prominent nipples are genuinely considered more important (read: more likely to sway a purchase) than ensuring a mannequin has the standard complement of limbs.

The other explanation which springs to mind refers to men rather than women. Given the odd degree to which breasts and nipples have been sexualised and fetishised to a degree far outstripping their sexual relevance, men can reliably be drawn in by the promise of bralessness (cf every lads' mag and tabloid newspaper ever). Could it be that mannequin nipple syndrome is actually a device to get men more interested in clothes shopping? If every aspect of a mannequin bar the plastic nubs artfully deforming its coverings is ignored, I would not be in the slightest surprised to learn that men are more likely to buy their significant others outfits modelled by nippletastic dummies or find themselves happier to accompany their wives and girlfriends into shops where sexual provocation looms large on every plastic chest.

Isn't this just utterly spirit-crushing? As far as I can see it, a small but not wholly inconsequential proportion of our extraordinarily thin-spread natural resources are possibly being diverted to this sordid little game, in which the widespread objectification and idealisation of the female form is cynically manipulated to power the capitalist money machine. Men are taught to obsess over breasts and buttocks just as women are brought up to hate their own bodies, and then their conditioning is exploited through a dazzlingly unpleasant piece of doublethink - although we can rationally understand that shop mannequins are in no way representative of real human bodies (indeed, they are deliberately created to look alien, with their exaggerated or non-existent features and improbable colouring), we are able to subliminate that understanding in order to focus on their ridiculous nipples and think "gosh, if that blouse makes the featureless plastic doll look so pert maybe it'll do the same thing for me/my girlfriend".

During Winston's visit to the Ministry of Love, O'Brien tells him that "The sex instinct will be eradicated... We shall abolish the orgasm". However, the phenomenon of mannequin nipple syndrome is much more reminiscent of Huxley's dystopia than of Orwell's - the trick is not to remove pleasure from the equation, but make sure that nobody can conceive of indulging in it without some degree of financial outlay. In Brave New World, the Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning mentions that  in the dark and disorganised daysBefore Ford many games had involved no equipment more complex than a ball, some sticks and a bit of netting. "Imagine the folly of allowing people to play elaborate games which do nothing whatsoever to increase consumption. It's madness...". This trick has been perpetuated just as effectively in the modern marketplace - the only difference is that in our world the tools employed are fashion and men's magazines instead of hypnopaedia and conditioning, and the beneficiaries are Ann Summers and Simply Pleasure rather than the shadowy manufacturers of Electric Golf and Centrifugal Bumble-Puppy.

If both women and men believe (at whatever level of consciousness) that it is a modern woman's job to emulate the absurd and unhealthy physical characteristics of catwalk clotheshorses and glamour models, and that this is best achieved by buying into a fragile dream through which consumption becomes the key to achieving the image which society demands, I daren't think what the future holds. But when you're saving up to buy a nice pair of silicon implants for yourself or your girlfriend out of an inexplicable concern that breasts sitting naturally where they belong is in some way less attractive or appropriate than having them thrust painfully towards the heavens, keep an eye out for nipples in shop windows - and don't say I didn't warn you.

Oh. WHAT.

This, the Internet tells me, is the front cover of today's The Sun.

I think that to say anything at all in an attempt to analyse this image would take away from its raw, primal power. Just take a few seconds to stare at it, and imagine Obama violently vomiting into a drawer in the Oval Office.

Goodnight, electorate.

The BNP are doing my job for me.

Honestly. I don't know why I bother spending time and energy thinking up fresh anti-BNP arguments, when they just go and do things like this:

I appreciate that the boys who get involved don't come across enormously well either, but just look at Bob Bailey and his henchmen - this is a man who's standing for parliamentary office, and he's manifestly nothing but a streetfighter and a common thug. Take time in particular to observe him trying to put the boot into the face of a boy who's lying on the floor, that's a skill which would really translate well to the House.

I've got a horrible feeling that I know what's going to happen tomorrow. But even if (Christ help us) we've got David Cameron PM settling into Number 10 on Friday*, at least the Tories are a moral step up from the filth who have absconded with our national flag.

I'll be out from 7am tomorrow, trying to get people into my local polling station - even if you haven't got time to get involved, then make your voice heard in support of whoever has the best chance of cripping the Tories in your area. With any luck, this is the last time we'll need to vote tactically.

See you at the ballot box x

*To be fair, he is now being backed by the Holy Trinity of morally-bankrupt public figures - Robert Mugabe, Simon Cowell and Jim Davidson. Not to mention Matt from Busted. That election after-party is going to be SHIT HOT.

Gordon Brown: our most credible choice.

Okay, I'll put my hands up. I've been as guilty as almost every other liberal leftist in the country in the past month, temporarily seduced by the charms of the Liberal Democrats and their suddenly-plausible third way.

No longer, kids. Watch the video above, and I implore you to comment if you've ever seen a more credible politician. I've got a book of 'speeches that changed the world', and for sheer passion and honesty there are very few to match GB at his finest - there is certainly nobody else involved in this election who can deliver a speech of that quality. For all that Gordon Brown is media-shy, dour and occasionally prone to gurning, he is the most talented politician to have entered Whitehall in several generations - his record as Chancellor speaks for itself, and he managed to keep the country afloat through the worst recession in eighty years despite inheriting his office practically on the eve of the financial collapse.

Politicians of Gordon Brown's stock come along perhaps two or three times in a century. He deserves to be given the mandate which he has so richly earned - the risk of voting Lib Dem and ending up Tory is simply too great.

Vote Labour. In fact - fuck our evident lack of a presidential system - vote Gordon Brown. Do it.