A Weekend In Rome: Fall For The The Eternal City In 48 Hours

Posted on July 18, 2015 by Holly Thomas

by Holly Thomas. All images copyright Holly Thomas [Twitter, Instagram: @HolstaT]

Rome might not have been built in a day, but with enough pizza bianca under your belt you can sure fall for it in one. Here are a few unmissables you should squeeze in between slices…

The Walk up the Via dei Fori Imperiali

[Make this your route to the Colloseum, and in ten minutes you’ll see enough of Ancient Rome to make your trip worthwhile]

Start early at the Piazza Venezia. Avoid the overpriced ice cream (tends to be better when found down a side street), and start down the Via dei Fori. On your right you’ll pass the Altar of the Fatherland, which looms massively over the square, a fantastic titan-scale monument honouring the city’s fallen soldiers.

Trot a little further and on your left, you’ll see the Foro di Augusto, the ruins of a forum which once served both as a temple to Mars, and space for legal proceedings. It’s classic Ancient Rome, slick efficiency coupled with due deference to conquest. If it’s dry, you can head down the steps below street level and wander through the remains.

[I never cease to be impressed by the gumption of national heritage sites which allow this – tourist footfall must be eroding the SHIT out of everything, surely?]

A little further up on your right, past the Julius Caesar statue, you’ll see the Roman Forum. It’s architectural excavation on a huge scale – like a valley of ruins overlooked on all sides by 2000-year-old temples, government buildings, and palaces. Get a guide to explain all this to you properly (on which more later).

Next on your right is the beautiful Basilica SS Cosma e Damiano. A very lovely building, but by this point you’ll be having trouble tearing your eyes away from the main event…

The Colosseum

It’s staggering, no hyperbole. This was my favourite thing in the city. See the Colloseum, and you’ll understand why the Romans thought so very much of themselves for 500 years. Even beyond the scale and majesty of the building itself, it encapsulates an idea of Rome (my apologies to Ridley Scott), that no number of churches can match. It’s brutal, imperial, clever, showbusiness, business business, it’s everything you want it to be.

Book a tour

Give yourself up to the socks and sandals legions. Ruins are very lovely to look at, but they take on such greater significance when someone explains what exactly you’re seeing, and this is history. A good guide can tell you how the cunning Romans drained their valley-straddling city, where the centre mile is (all roads lead to…), where the citizens had to apply for planning permission, and how one vestal “virgin” evaded being buried alive when she discovered she was pregnant. Go to the top of the hill where the orange trees grow for a stunning panoramic view of the old city, and don’t be shy to ask your guide to pause while you take the pictures it deserves.

Make sure that your tour includes both the under-stage level of the colosseum and the third tier. It’s a little more expensive, but a worthwhile education. Stand on the lights in the tunnels and imagine yourself one of hundreds of slaves preparing hundreds of desperate, dangerous animals for their moment in the spotlight. Then when you’ve climbed to the top, you can better imagine the view of the gladiators – the most expensive beasts in the Colosseum – making their bloody names on the stage.

Go to lunch at Al Cardello, which is tucked away behind the guide office. It’s small and sweet, with the modest seating open onto the kitchen. Diners speak softly to preserve the peace just a stone’s throw away from the busiest tourist area in the city. It helps that the food (the traditional menu you’ll see everywhere – grilled vegetables, pesce, carne, pasta) is prepared with great care, and quite delicious enough to command your full attention.

After eating, you can nip around the corner to see Michelangelo’s Moses at Basilica di San Pietro in Vincoli.

Take a wander towards the Spanish Steps. If you’re parched for green space, continue beyond the steps and into the park behind. Aim yourself at the Temple of Asceplius for photos opps. Be sure to get back to the top of the steps in time for sunset, though…

The Vatican Museums & Sistine Chapel

Well, obviously, but might as well if you’re in the neighbourhood, right? It’s €16 for the museum and chapel. Give it a good half day – if you were to attempt to look at everything in the Vatican you’d be camping there a month, but a few hours will give you a good sense of the place, and get you comfortably to saturation point on the fresco-and-sculpture front.

Of course, you’ll also drop into The Basilica of St Paul. If you’d rather do so without buying the full Vatican ticket, you can enter via the Roman square, but get their early (before eight) to avoid the staggering queue. Bear in mind that the Pope likes to swing by without forewarning sometimes, and when he does, the church is closed to the public.

If you have some time to kill…

… and are in the mood for a little educational Schadenfreude, head to the Museo Criminologico. This former prison now houses the most satisfyingly macabre collection you could wish to lose an hour or so gawping at. Observe, the spiked iron collar placed on “chattering” women in the seventeenth century! The skeleton of some poor bastard left to die suspended in a metal cage! The torture seat which had a fire lit underneath! I loved every minute in this place.

Travel Jerusalem: A Modern Guide To An Ancient Wonder

Posted on January 30, 2015 by Holly Thomas

by Holly Thomas. All images by iPhone, copyright Holly Thomas [Twitter, Instagram: @HolstaT]

Jerusalem is in our consciousness from earliest childhood. But it’s a place that, for many of those who have never been, occupies the same mental space as fairy tales. Something which we’ve known of since we can remember, but can’t imagine being real. I’m not religious, and in Jerusalem you are met at every turn with things which described second-hand would sound preposterous. But when you’re there, the history of it all is immediate, indisputable, and alive.

It helps that so much architecture is – against all odds – beautifully preserved. Jerusalem has amplified since the days of crusades and crucifixions and the new city and West Bank stretch far, swaddling villages and towns, including Bethlehem. But step inside the Old City, home to the Western Wall, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and the site of the Last Supper, and you’re plunged into another world.

So, you should go to the Old City first

The Old City stands east of the (busy) Hebron Road, which runs through the centre of Jerusalem. The sections of Hebron Road which north and south of the West Bank, and through Jerusalem, are barred to green – Palestinian – license plates. Israeli license plates are yellow. Jerusalem feels safe, and as a traveller, you have nothing to fear.

The first thing you see when you walk through Jaffa Gate on the Western side of the city is King David’s Tower, which was built (bar an extension courtesy of the Turks) by King Herod – a crack architect, it turns out. Every night the sand-coloured building plays host to a light show which tells the 3000-year story of Jerusalem accompanied by music. It’s a beautiful show, well worth spending 30 minutes on to get a sense of the city’s roots. It’s a tiny place but the concentration of marvellous things is so high that I couldn’t possibly recommend them all in this space. So here are a few unmissables. Everything is so close together that I promise you’ll discover your own in-between hunting these out:

The Western (wailing) Wall

For obvious reasons, this is the only area of the Old City which you must pass though some security to enter. Standing against a backdrop of the Mount of Olives, and with the Call to Prayer echoing regularly just next door, it is plain why this is a site of high emotion for so many. But it’s so worth seeing. Dress conservatively – knees covered – and behave with respect for the three thousand years of history the wall represents.

The Cenaculum of the Last Supper

This is just down the street from the Western Wall, but for the full experience, head to the Church by way of the Stations of the Cross. These days the path is lined with shops and stalls, but there are still lasting signs, such as the Church of Simon, built on the spot where its namesake apparently helped a fatigued Jesus make his final steps.

A few treasures in the Church

The first thing you see when you Church of the Holy Sepulchre is the stone of the anointing, where Jesus is said to have been prepared for burial. To reach the site of the crucifixion itself, you must pass through a small, dark archway and climb a short winding staircase. There you’ll find the Alter of the Crucifixion, and next to it a hole in the floor covered by glass, exposing the bare ground below. Be prepared for a crowd, particularly in the evening and on Sunday. Descend the other side, and you’ll see what looks like a sensationally ornate hut – that’s the Aedicule, which contains the Holy Sepulchre itself. The Aedicule has two rooms, one holding the Angel’s Stone, which is believed to be a fragment of the large stone that sealed the tomb, and another holding the tomb itself. Be prepared to queue for entry.

The roof

This was my favourite place in Jerusalem. I was lucky in that I met someone who showed me how to get up there, but it wouldn’t be hard to find someone to point the way (you might have to be prepared to buy a trinket off one of the street stall vendors). Go at dawn or sunset, if you can. Unlike the walls walk, the roof is never closed.

Away from the bustle of the tourist-jammed streets below, this is where you’ll feel you’re in the Jerusalem the Romans found. Schoolboys park their bikes up there, people hang their washing (oddly like Edinburgh, Jerusalem is stacked in layers, house atop house atop street), and you can quite literally see everything from a perspective you’d never otherwise have known existed.

Don’t forget the new city

I’ll admit I biased my time in Jerusalem pretty heavily in favour of “old stuff”, but there’s a whole lot beyond that to see if you fancy a dip into the 21st century between biblical ruins. Try the market, unlikely jazz cafes in the evenings, and the adorable hipster quarter. There are a few decent clubs, but if you want a wild one, go to Tel Aviv (about 40 minutes in a taxi). And don’t be perturbed by all the teenagers with guns – they’re in the middle of their compulsory military service.

Further afield

The Holocaust Museum

If you only have time for one excursion beyond Jerusalem’s city centre, make it to the Holocaust Museum. It was the first stop on our trip, and it lingered in the back of our minds until long after we’d left. The building is stark, and beautiful, clean lines which stand in the midst of quiet serpentine grounds dotted with trees, overlooking the valley. Entry is free, but children under ten years old aren’t permitted inside.

Set at least 4 hours aside for it if you can. If you have a day spare, this could fill it. There is a staggering amount to see, plus over 11 hours of video footage playing throughout the main exhibition alone. It’s all riveting, beautifully presented, and will tug powerfully at your heart. The extraordinary breadth and delicacy of the subject matter is handled exquisitely, covering the historical prelude to the Shoah, the Nazi’s rise to power and gradual attrition of Jewish liberties, and at last the gruesome unfolding of the Holocaust across Europe in horrifying detail. The collection is acutely personal, packed with details which will knock your breath out. Like mementoes from the ghetto, set next to a video interview describing first-hand the sight of emaciated bodies littering the street, no clothes spare to protect their final modesty. There are letters flung through train windows bidding farewells which were never known, and charred shoes from the death camps piled in a heap on the floor. There is more to take in than you possibly could in one viewing, but once you start you will continue, wrapt, until you are saturated. Make sure that you leave time at the end for the children’s memorial, a cave in the grounds with candles reflected to infinity on its mirrored walls. Also, the Avenue of the Righteous Among The Nations, where you’ll find a tree dedicated to Oskar Schindler and his wife Emilie.

Out of town

Go to the Jordon Valley. Sinking 400 kilometres below sea level is like arriving onto another planet, conversely a drier, hotter, desert Mars-like planet, dotted with thin donkeys and ibexes. If you can, pass Jericho on your way to the beach. It’s one of the oldest cities in the world, dating back 11,000 years. It was Alexander the Great’s private estate, and King Herod later leased it from Cleopatra (who received it from Mark Anthony as a gift). Even if you just drive past it, it’s worth planning your West Bank route around. And you must an hour or two aside for a trip up to Herod’s fortress on Masada.

Masada (Herod’s fortress)

You can either climb or take a ski lift up the mountain to see this spectacular evidence of Herod’s final paranoia (he built the fortress in -reasonable – anticipation of a rebellion by his long-suffering subjects). The view is unparalleled, and to Herod’s credit as a mad architect, the fortress remains in fantastic condition millennia later. See if you can spot the lockers in the wall next to the old indoor swimming pool (really). Also remember to walk right up to the edge (it’s obvious where that is once you’re up there) and shout something into the canyon for a wicked echo.

The beach

The Dead Sea calls for a couple of hours at most. Spend longer and you’ll get bored, but a dip and a splash is uplifting and delightful. It’s smaller than you’d imagine – so much so that iPhones became confused, and O2 welcomed me to Jordon (which was visible through the mist which hung over the water). The beaches are concurrently small, dotted along the shore, and have a vaguely dated resort-like feel. A hint of Butlins lingers over the deserted playground behind the beach huts. The water, though, is magical. Slather yourself in thick mud, wait for it to dry, and then wade in to rinse it off. You *really* can’t sink, and Jesus’s feats suddenly appear less fantastical as you realise the impossibility of not floating. Lie on your back and you feel supported, safe, and importantly, warm.

Where to stay

The Arthur Hotel has resided comfortably on Tripadvisor Jerusalem’s top five list for some time now, and it’s instantly clear why. This boutique hotel – just 15 minutes’ walk (or a three minute tram ride) from the Old City maintains an intimate, private atmosphere, tucked down a side street of one of the most buzzing neighbourhoods in Jerusalem. The service is lovely – you hardly notice it’s there until you need something, at which point help materialises immediately. The rooms have an individual, luxurious feel, and are decorated with obvious care, a world away from the homogeny of so many elite chain hotels. Breakfast, served as a daily buffet from 7am-10am, is delicious, with regional delicacies such as shakshuka, grilled vegetables, and fish offered alongside more familiar pastries, cereal and fruit salad. For explorers who have been too busy gaping at their surroundings to stop for lunch during the day, there is also a ‘happy hour’ in the restaurant from 5pm-7pm, where you can enjoy snacks and sandwiches with your complimentary wine.

Final note

Jerusalem is a complicated place, no mistake. There isn’t space here to dwell on the implications that one of the holiest sites on earth, sacred to so many, is perplexed on all sides by strife. There is pain in Jerusalem, both older than the ruins, and newer than the Hebron road. If you ask why it isn’t advised to go to the Mount of Olives on a particular day (this is sometimes the case, though visitors really are the safest people in the city), the answer you get will vary hugely depending on who you ask. Wounds are deep, and though I fell for Israel heart and soul, I think it is necessary to stay mindful of your surroundings. This shouldn’t be a deterrent – on the contrary, it should be an incentive to go to this important and fascinating country. Just be respectful and cautious with your opinions when you are talking to the people for whom it is home. “It sounds silly, to call a four-day trip ‘life changing’,” said my friend on the plane back. “But it was.”

Kennedy’s Chocolatiers’ Convention; The Latest In Chocolate

Posted on October 4, 2013 by Holly Thomas

“It’s just lovely,” says Richard Reilly, Managing Director of Kinnerton Confectionary. Everyone knowseveryone, and people tend to help out where they can. Around Easter sometimes we make eggs for each other.”

I nod through a mouthful of rum and raisin ganache truffle. We’re standing in the British Library, a venue aptly ripe with imagination and invention for the Chocolate Industry Network, where manufacturers, innovators and gluttons gather annually to discuss their dearest subject. There are tables covered in samples, chocolate moulds, chocolate history, chocolate everything. “You should come see the chocolates being made in the Norfolk factory. It’s beautiful,” adds Richard. Willy Wonka might dance off the shelves at any moment.

Not all industries are nice. Fashion is notoriously bitchy. Finance is stressful.

But the business of making chocolate seems rather sweet. Richard is keen to stress this point, enthusing: “Everyone knows about the main producers of course. But there’s camaraderie among the lesser-known chocolate makers. We’ll happily make things for one another here and there. Co-operation is good, it’s all about trade.”

And so riding our sugar high, we network away. The day consists of a mixture of lectures, discussions, and general chat over the good stuff. Refreshing lemon drinks are on offer for those who have had a little too much. I learn about the always-encouraging health advantages from Leen Allegaert, an innovation manager in clinical research. Apparently just 10 grams of high-cocoa chocolate provides beneficial flavanol, an antioxidant which helps to maintain the elasticity of blood vessels. This contributes to normal blood flow and general cardiovascular health. “And that amount only contains 55 calories. It’s pretty reasonable,” adds Leen. It occurred to me that I must already have consumed enough chocolate during the day to reap the delightful effects of flavanol many, many times over.

There are inspirational stories brewed in the conches of chocolate factories all over the world. Heikel Ethel, owner and manager of the Lebanese company Ethel Chocolates, describes his embryonic creations when he set out to form a business in the early nineties: “I clumsily sandwiched biscuits – I bought bags of all kinds that I could lay my hands on- with chocolate for the children in the local villages around the Bekaa Valley.” Heikel was quick to respond to sweet-toothed demand, and his business grew swiftly. He bought a building, machinery, and took his brother on as sales manager. Two decades later what began as a one-man show is now one of the most well-regarded luxury chocolate brands in the world, operating out of 160,000 square metres of factory space. I sample several of his elegantly-packaged wares, they are refined and delicious.

There are still constant challenges, ones particular to operating within a turbulent environment. Ethel describes his approach as “The Lebanese reaction to a tough time.” Things change quickly, and he adapts. “Fuel and electricity are expensive at the moment. But we still train every employee how to wrap chocolates perfectly.” He stresses that Lebanon is an “open market country”. Saudi Arabia and Kuwait are the biggest buyers of his chocolates in the Middle East.

On the other side of the coin is Charbonnel et Walker, who have sold chocolates since 1875 out of their flagship store on Old Bond Street. Peter Irvine, Director of UK Sales and Export was adamant that even despite cruelly high rent, they would never change their location “to say, Regent Street”. Tradition is everything, even among employees. “Our average experience level on the core team is 25 years,” he added.

And Charbonnel have – gradually, carefully, made some headway towards attracting a younger market. Their ‘handbags and heels’ range of shaped chocolates shifts 250,000 units per year, and their target demographic is no longer the over-sixties. Women between 35 and 50 are now Charbonnel’s most devout consumers – though their pink champagne truffle sets hearts racing across the board. Charbonnel remain suspicious of new trends. Peter sniffs that while introducing a sea salt flavour was a “brave but unavoidable risk”, you’ll “never see us start to use chilli. It’s not for us, and others do it better.” They ought to know what works. Charbonnel sell chocolate at a breathtaking £75 per kilo, a staggering margin beyond any other company present today.

Chocolate is addictive. Once they enter the chocolate world, people tend to stick around. “It’s a good place to be,” muses Richard Reilly. “One thing I would emphasise is the importance of ethics, though. People get very hung up on the idea of organic. But the thing is, that’s all just a question of certification. Cocoa is grown in places that are organic by their very definition. If you’re willing to pay a little extra for chocolate, spend it on fair trade. Make sure people are paid fairly.”

The Oyster Shed | Food Review

Posted on January 18, 2013 by Holly Thomas

A little while ago, I was treated to oysters, ceviche, and sundry other fishy treats at the Oyster Shed. Thoroughly spoiled, I ran (staggered) home afterwards, tummy fat, fully intending to record my enthusings over the delightful evening at length immediately upon arrival.

Sadly, due in no small part to the soporific (and delicious) combination of scallops, pork belly and cauliflower puree on which I had gorged, I passed out en route to my laptop. By the time I awoke Christmas was underway, and it hardly seemed fair to bury my appraisal of this establishment amidst the seasonal deluge of mince pies and boring charity singles.

So, belatedly, to the Shed. I’d infiltrated a small group of foodies who were privy to an evening spent inside the Captain’s Table- a hidden dining room which like the main bar and restaurant, overlooks the Thames. Reflected lights sparkled in the inky water a stone’s throw from our window.

The Shed’s head chef, Mark, was on hand to give us freeloading hacks a thorough and informative demonstration of the correct way to fillet sea bass, among other necessary life skills (no sarcasm). Handy tip: Flat fish loses 50% of its body during preparation, and round fish 60%. Use this ‘waste’ for stock. Mark deftly parted said bass from its spine as we watched, mouths full of rich, silky, smoked salmon and trout which was laid out on platters to sustain us. Also important- serve fillets skin side up. It’s prettier.

We munched on translucent haddock and cod ceviche while Mark explained that scallop shells must be closed, or close when tapped, if you are to eat them without fear of stomach upset. He also reassured us that all the fish eaten at the Shed comes from reliably sustainable sources.

Then to the serious business of oyster shucking. While his audience (myself probably included, I can’t remember) muttered ‘hilarious’ witticisms along the lines of ‘shucking good evening’/’they look shucking delicious’/’nothing like a good shucking’, Mark freed one slippery, salty crustacean after another. He remarked as he did so that he had 15 scars on his hands, all from shucking. We nodded seriously, and by now rather tipsy on free champagne and wine, some of us had a go at shucking ourselves. I delivered mine messily, fingers briny as I tipped it back into my mouth. It tasted reasonable- certainly fresh, at least. I had another, then turned my attention to a table behind us now groaning with other ‘nibbles’. Mini fish and chips and burgers were both standard ‘fun’ party fare, but satisfying enough. Pork belly and scallops were accompanied by cauliflower puree, which was delightful. After that my memory becomes hazy. Freelancer turned freeloader, and I stuffed myself until I could stuff no more.

I’m reassured that Oyster Shed menu is seasonal- ‘specials are special’. However I’m pretty confident that staples such as oysters, ceviche and scallops will still be in evidence if you should find yourself there in the near future. Which wouldn’t be a bad idea at all.

Dinner- £40-ish (quite expensive, all considered)

Service– Hard to say, since I ate at a specially-for-hacks event

Head Chef– Charming

Oysters– Fresh, salty

Food in general: Good enough

Cauliflower puree- A revelation

View– Lovely

5 Angel Lane London EC4R 3AB, 020 7256 3240

The Joy of Teen Sex?

Posted on January 30, 2011 by Holly Thomas

America is not impressed. Teens are having sex, and MTV is doing f***all to discourage them. As if showing Miley Cyrus’s videos on an hourly rotation isn’t abominable enough (AOL has voted her the worst celebrity influence for the second year in a row – why such a poll was considered necessary, or how Taylor Momsen slipped through the net who knows), the channel is currently airing a brand-new US version of Skins, the cult UK TV show thanks to which youngsters all over Britain have been snorting cocaine and having barely legal lesbian sex after and (more likely) during school hours since 2007. American parents, advertisers and activists are protesting, claiming that the show exhibits child pornography and violates legal requirements to protect young viewers and the teen actors themselves.

In one sense, I sympathise. I feel like I can’t switch the TV on these days without catching a glimpse of sexually hyperbolic children. During last Wednesday’s episode of The Joy of Teen Sex the nation was treated to one youngster’s cringetastic first attempt to ‘go down’ on his girlfriend having just overcome his chronic fear of vaginas. Cue applause from the cameramen?

Now it’s not that long since I was a teen (those who saw my last column will know I cling to youth with a desperation to rival Dorian Gray). However, as a mildly antisocial specimen I wasn’t privy to what one might call the full spectrum of experience early on. I wasn’t (quite) a complete dork, but I was nevertheless more an Inbetweener than an Effy (see below – notorious and sorely missed UK Skins character seasons one through four – I will cool off the TV references soon I promise). When a friend recently told me that he “was getting head in year eight at the school disco, and was one of the later ones,” I was taken aback. I have a brother in year eight, perhaps why I found this particularly disturbing.

Left-right: Freddie, Effy, Cook and Panda- UK Skins gang seasons three and four

I remember a definite ‘awakening’ occurring during my mid-teens however. For example, I recall a year nine English lesson during which a friend and I compared what we’d done over the weekend. I had written an essay, ironically on Romeo and Juliet – an early parable about the potential hazards of teen sex. She’d given her boyfriend a blowjob during Shrek at the cinema. “WHY???” I gawped. “He wanted one,” she shrugged.

Obviously there had been various infamous events: “I heard she had an abortion when she was 12,” “they had sex on the beach during the year nine Isle Of Wight trip and TEACHERS FOUND THEM,” and house parties were, by year ten, synonymous with all manner of sexual hijinks. Still, I wasn’t quite prepared for this revelation from a hitherto very shy and retiring girl. But it was not an outrageously outlandish example, and rightly or wrongly, a good proportion of my year had swapped fluids by via one means or another by the time they sat their GCSES.

More recently, I was chatting with a 14-year-old girl when the question of BOYS came up. Ah, I thought, a chance to share the wisdom of years, perhaps help my young friend avoid some of the pitfalls into which I in my naïve youth had fallen. What was the problem, I asked? “Well my last boyfriend dumped me because I wouldn’t give him a blow job. It was kind of unfair, as I had ‘received’, but wasn’t ‘giving’, yano? I mean I’m not at all what you would call frigid, but I just didn’t fancy it. Also the guy I like smokes, and I used to LOADS but I quit a year ago and I really don’t want to start again, and I’m worried if I go out with him I will.”

I took a deep breath. Then I told her as tactfully as possible that her ex was an asshole she was best shot of, and that perhaps she might prove a healthy influence on the new guy and get him to quit smoking. The admittedly tenuous point is that the decisions and attitude she expressed to me in no way mirrored what she had seen on the box the previous night (she likes QI). Furthermore, she rightly stopped when she felt uncomfortable, and this can probably be attributed to her own resolve rather than abstinence from inappropriate television.

The argument I’m havng a semi-arsed attempt at making is that teens are going to have sex whether their parents like it or not. At least some of them. We should accept this, and as they say in The Joy of Teen Sex, the main thing is that it is safe and consensual. Though Skins might be amplifying the fantasies of the Inbetweeners crowd more aggressively than Glee (I lied about the reference thing), if parents are to complain, I’d argue that the smoking/narcotics-related element of proceedings is more worthy of their energy. I personally found the total departure from any attempt at a cohesive or engaging plot in last week’s episode infinitely more offensive than the frequent references to f***ing.

Obviously the second my brother goes anywhere near a girl with the intention of touching anything other than her hand I’ll be whacking a chastity belt on him faster than he can say ‘hypocrite’.

We love: Avril Lavigne's 'What The Hell'

Posted on January 13, 2011 by Holly Thomas

Avril Lavigne’s lastest nugget of angsty delight hit iTunes on Monday, and has already soared past Bruno Mars and Katy Perry to nab the No.2 spot behind Ms Spears’ ‘Hold It Against Me’. It’s the first single from her fourth studio album ‘Goodbye Lullaby’ (due March 8), and although we’re not quite hearing the promised evidence of a more mature Avril (it certainly doesn’t sound like the offering of a recent divorcée), it is undeniably, arrestingly catchy.

Despite her absence from the charts we’ve grown fonder of Avril over the last year or so. Mainly because we’re highly impressionable tweens at heart, and so when ‘Keep Holding On’ featured in Season One of Glee and then Cher Lloyd sang the crap out of ‘Girlfriend’ on X-Factor we were reminded of her in the most favourable light possible. And irritating though it can be when a woman in her mid twenties looks and sings like a 14-year-old (‘yeah’ & ‘woah’ are to Avril what ‘uh’ is to Britney), she does come up trumps when it comes to peppy, infectious girlypunk. You can try to resist, we say don’t bother.

Why we love What The Hell:

1. The lyrics. They’re just so darn sympathetic. Who among us hasn’t at times needed to “be a little crazy” and wanted nothing more than to “mess around”?

2. The barest, faintest, flicker of pain: “You can’t save me”, “You never call or listen to me anyway”. We’re imagining Avril in a Skins-type scenario, starved of affection from the one she truly loves, and therefore doing the natural thing, ie: put it recklessly about. “Yeah, I am messing with your head, When I’m messing with you in bed”- Effy anyone?

3. The tune. It’s VERY similar to Girlfriend. But we loved Girlfriend as well, so that’s fine.

4. The pure shamelessness of a 26 year old refusing to grow up . Obstinate, foolhardy party-pop, let it wash over you…

Fall in love:

We love: Britney's 'Hold It Against Me'

Posted on January 13, 2011 by Holly Thomas

Britney Spears dropped her new single Hold It Against Me just before midnight on 11/1/11 to an overwhelmingly positive response from the media and general public.

Anticipation had built to a deafening clamour following the leak of a demo, prompting Britney to release a few hours ahead of schedule, tweeting: “Don’t #HOLDITAGAINSTME for coming out early. I couldn’t wait any longer. Hope you don’t mind….. – Britney”

The addictive track shot to the top of the iTunes charts within 24 hours of its release, and has been a constant request on the most influential US radio stations since, breaking records for first day spins according to her label and top industry analyst Kevin McCabe. Twitter and YouTube have been flooded with exuberant praise for the single, which was produced by pop masters Dr. Luke and Max Martin. Hold It Against Me is the first single from Britney’s new album, tipped by Jersey Shore star DJ Pauly D as an ‘amazing’ sure-fire hit, packed with ‘incredible’ tracks.

Why we love Hold It Against Me:

1. The name. Genius.

2. Up tempo. So necessary to get through these grey months.

3. The hint of dub-step, thanks to which we feel almost credible recommending it. Just tune out for the cringalicious: “Cause you feel like paradise… and I need a vacation tonight”

4. An unprecedented quota of Britney noises. Practically every other word ends in ‘uh’, and listen out for what happens when ‘hazy’ meets 12 + sound technicians.

5. The line ‘pop it like a hood’- so many terrible moves/puns will surely occur thanks to this phrase.

6. It is irresistibly danceable, so resign yourself – those committed to going out regularly may as well choreograph something.

Fall in love:

Bambi legs: Holly Thomas dips her toe into the icy pool of freelance journalism

Posted on January 12, 2011 by Holly Thomas

Age is a sensitive issue. From childhood, we are taught that there can be no more heinous insult than to enquire as to a stranger’s vintage. I never really understood why until now.

Despite my youth, given the choice between a student debt-clearing windfall or three years wiped off my passport, I would choose the latter without a blink. Because there is nothing more depressing than awaiting the arrival of another birthday without feeling that you’ve achieved anything to merit celebration, and in the bleak knowledge that you’re another year closer to expiring. And when said achievement is largely dependent on the procurement of a job, or at the very least, sufficient work to keep financially afloat, it’s fairly tempting to climb under the covers with a tub of (cheap) ice cream and eat your way into chilly depression as your pride wrestles with the desire to call Mum and tell her to ‘come get you’.

Yes kids, this is what happens to optimism when you enter the world of freelance journalism.

Perhaps I sound unduly pessimistic. I only graduated in July. However, let us consider the landscape: I took a gap year. I also took a break for personal reasons after university [read: I went home for a few months, confronted a less than savoury family situation, ate an obscene quantity of chocolate, found that didn’t help, and so moved to London]. BUT there are people more organised than me who didn’t take gap years, jumped on the application wagon during their third year, and are now, at the age of 21, sitting pretty in their first job and well on their way to having ‘a life’.

Not everyone of course, we’re talking about the blessed few upon whom karma smiled, and who of course had the acumen to think ahead. But you see what I mean. Once stuck in professional no-man’s land, it’s pretty damn hard to claw your way out, especially when you’re aiming for a job in a competitive field such as journalism (hi), which requires evidence of busy labour. “But I have a first class degree, a bagful of awards and a pretty sweet list of work experience placements”. Nope, unless you’ve been employed by a respectable (ie: widely circulated) publication for at least a year OR have a helluva good specialised qualification, you are barely worth the gum on the heel of that elusive editor who refuses to answer your emails.

What happened though? When did the outlook become so bereft of any hope? And when did we supposedly bright young things become such ungrateful, acrid husks of woe? After all, a few decades ago my main concern would have been the hunt for a groom to worry about all this job malarky on behalf of us both. Now that’s only plan two (*JOKE. Unless things get really bad).

The recession (I’m really sick of that word, so that will be the only time I whisper its bromidic name in the course of this moan, er, article) obviously hasn’t helped. The unrealistic glamorisation of the hack trade, has, I think, also added rather to the numbers of aspiring scribes clamouring for their slice of the journo pie.

Take Twitter for example. I joined a couple of months ago because it appears to be the ‘done thing’. And thanks to Twitter, I am now privy to the minutiae of the lives of almost every well-known journalist one might care to name. And this doesn’t just entail their personal opinions on the hot topics of the day, but actual titbits (or jaw breaking gobfuls) of their home lives. And what fabulous lives they are.

Initially, I must confess to having felt a hint of jealousy. When, for example, India Knight and Caitlin Moran, both highly successful and extremely talented self-made journalists tweet each other to arrange celebratory cocktails “when you’ve finished your book” (and we know that this book will inevitably sell by the bucket load), the figurative stomach thunders with hunger for that lifestyle – the luxury to type away in one’s beautiful London home safe in the certainty that the fruits of your labour will comfortably furnish an entire Christmas shop within the hallowed confines of Selfridges and Harvey Nichols.

I wouldn’t dream of suggesting that this is undeserved, or that these fortunate women didn’t have to pay their dues and work their way up. But things have undeniably changed in the last couple of decades, and whilst deeply painful to accept, we ‘newbies’ (until October that is) must either find something else to do or acknowledge the fact that we’re just going to have to suck it up and endure whatever it takes to get ahead.

SO if you can’t afford an MA or quickie journalism course (I can’t), write. Get a blog. Learn your stuff. Apply for things. Obviously learn how to use InDesign, WordPress, etc. But to be honest, though all the technological fireworks look pretty on a CV, ultimately the key thing is to be good and be motivated. And be interested. It doesn’t matter what your topic is; be it music, film, fashion, the environment (gulp), whatever, keep up to date so that when your dream job comes up you’ll ace the interview. Don’t be picky.

Frankly, if you’re actually talented you don’t need loads of serious writing practice. Just take what relevant work you can, suck up, be prepared to make tea and copies, and thank your lucky stars you have somewhere to go in the mornings. And most importantly, find the thing that spurs you on, cling to it like a limpet, and let it push you forward. For me, that’s watching India and Caitlin on Twitter, and imagining the day when I too will have 57,000 followers (sounds quite cult-like doesn’t it) and can afford to stuff myself to the gills with organic goodies bought online and delivered to my W1 door.

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