Panorama: Smoking and the Bandits
Date: March 7, 2011
Length: 29:00
First broadcast on BBC One, then made available online through BBC iPlayer.

This investigation focusses on the financial aspect of illegal smoking imports, identifying tax evasion and highlighting the national deficit directly affecting ‘you’ (the viewer).  Sam Poling emphatically notes what ‘we’ will pay in rising NHS costs and to HMRC in order to keep both smokers and non-smokers interested.  The variety of cinematic techniques serves to make the broadcast dramatic – jump-cuts, split-screen and atmospheric music are all intermittently employed.

To convey honesty in an interview with an independent expert there are shots which show lighting and camera equipment – breaking down the fourth wall (of the fourth estate!).  The top of the programme accompanies a raid on a tenement flat, however we are never told the consequences or sentencing of those arrested.

The episode tracks counterfeit imported cigarettes, with a subsequent investigation into the toxicity of the goods, using ‘exclusive secret footage’.  The stock footage is of variable quality and therefore of indeterminable age – the reliability of the report becomes less important than the action of the narrative. Poling admits ‘I did not know the importance of these papers then’ – giving rise to a notion of selective revelation by the narrator for a heightened sense of drama.

After arriving back in the Guildford area, I thought I’d get my car cleaned.  Which was great, except I’d forgotten to buy a ticket for the car park.  Luckily, the lovely car wash man bought a ticket for me, leaving it on my windscreen when I returned.  Isn’t that lovely?  In Godalming, however, I’d been out of the car less than two minutes before I had to charm my way out of a parking ticket from a nearby official.

And then began the inevitable cycle of travel vaccinations, downloaded TV shows & movies and late-night cereal.

I’d have plenty of time to prepare for my trip, right? Wrong.  I like to busy myself.

I went to see Hamlet, featuring Jude Law.  Law was funnier than I’d been led to believe, but it seemed like he was channelling a Mr. Tennant a bit much. My favourite part, though? Ophelia. Her under-acting was phenomenal as her subtle insanity shone through as clearly plaguing her. The speech-song-speech patter matched her lovely voice and she never seemed the gimmicky nutter…

The only thing I found myself wondering by the end, aside from how well Tennant’s performance was (and his supporting cast), by comparison, was a criticism of Shakespeare. Just how old is Hamlet supposed to be? Off the top of my head I’d guess 23, but his oft-talked about “adolescence” would peak far before that!

Thanks to my mother owning a Peugeot, we managed to get VIP corporate hospitality tickets to the London Taste Festival for free, which was a pleasant (and pallet-pleasing) day in Regent’s Park.

Among the hostel bookings, bus tickets and rail-timetable perusing, I also had the small matter of a pesky Russian visa to get hold off.  A trip to London, a wad of money lighter, 36 hours later and I was granted a visa.  We’ll gloss over the fact I mistook a ‘free massage parlour’ for an internet café that day, though.

Just in case I’d been missing university a bit too much, I ended up attending the RHUL Black Tie Summer Feast, sitting on the Principal’s table and having a jolly good (free!) evening meal.

And finally, I’d managed to wangle myself a job in telephone fundraising for the RGS.  Run in MacGregorJones’ offices in Southwark, I was officially a ‘friendraiser’ for the RGS Foundation this past week.

Drumming up support (i.e. money) for the 500th Anniversary of the school, I was subjected to a man who lied about his age, minor verbal abuse from a Venerable Archdeacon, an NYC OG whoo thought he was the police and even spoke to a nice lady en France qu’elle n’avait jamais entendu parler de la RGS.  All for £8 an hour, I raised about £1000 for The Foundation.  I was quite pleased with myself, althoough my career as a telephone fundraiser is definitely on hold (pun intended?).

Oh, and I got a 2:1 for this year, which I’m moderately pleased with.  Who knows what I can get if I attend more than sixteen lectures?

Anyway, I’d better go and think about the most important question plaguing my three-and-a-half weeks of travelling around Eastern Europe: cards or TravelScrabble?

I’m actually typing this on my iPhone, because I had to send in my beloved MacBook Pro to have its fan replaced.   I first discovered something was up when my usual torrenting of whichever Gilmore Girls season I didn’t yet have was accompanied by the sound of a tractor driving into the blades of a jet engine.  I know enough about Rory Gilmore to know that’s not normal.  Never fear, AppleCare was there to pick up the repair tab.

The Ambassador’s Theatre Group coupled with lastminute.com meant I went to see New Boy with Nicholas Hoult (Trafalgar Studios), I went to see La Cage Aux Folles starring Graham Norton (Playhouse Theatre, Northumberland Avenue) and I finally went to see On The Waterfront starring Stephen Berkoff (Theatre Royal, Haymarket).  I also hung around the Stage Door at each theatre like a groupie, collecting autographs like a seasoned fan. After studying Berkoff’s work during my A2 Drama & Theatre Studies syllabus, it was quite an experience to meet somewhat of a textbook idol.

Mr. Hoult, also known as thatguyfromskinsyouknowtheonewhat’shisnameohmygodTonythat’sit, was annoyingly charming. I’m just jealous.  I was a little disappointed with the production, though, which was in a tiny, tiny studio, showcasing none of the classical theatre-acting traits I wanted to see the actors cope with.

Mr. Norton was a bit smaller than I anticipated (although not as short as when I met Dawn French), yet my mum still managed to compliment the lead actor on his ‘lovely legs’, of which we saw a lot during the performance, seeing as there was a lot of drag-queen activity involved.

Mr. Berkoff casually dresses in oddly ghetto-subculture attire.  Think slack trousers and a large gold gangster hoodie. He also drives a Volkswagen Beetle.  I found this all so surprising that I missed out on an obvious Metamorphosis-jibe about his choice of vehicle.

No, actually, my night-time London pursuits didn’t stop there. I also went clubbing at 54London‘s Commercial Street venue, on one of their monthly Light nights.  That just sounds like another set  of buzzwords, doesn’t it?  To be honest, you’re probably right.  Along with two friends (Sahar & Morgan), I was there from 11pm until about 7:15am.  We’d had dinner and been to the pub beforehand, so by the time it came to leaving the venue, we were pretty worse for wear.  Not to mention Morgan and I were a little sick of the last-gasp attempts for the sexuality-questionable 95% male population of the venue to locate a breakfast mate.

The shock to the system upon seeing the bright light of day and hearing the sudden absence of a DJ in London’s East End meant it was probably time to go home.  Walking with Sahar to Aldgate East tube station, Morgan and I decided we were hungry.  Not realising that it was now 7.30 in the morning, we walked down the entire length of Mile End Road.  To find nothing open but ‘Billy’s 24hr…’ roadside shack.  Morgan chanced a ‘survivor bap’ from this one-man-stand while I decided I wasn’t that peckish after all.  The good news is that Morgan hasn’t got E.Coli. Yet.

Oh, and in a fit of SURHUL-inspired despair, we sort of broke into Queen Mary, University of London’s campus and tried to get into their spankingly-pretty Students’ Union building.  It was locked.  Now time to go our separate ways, I found that there were even fewer services operating on Sunday morning from Mile End than there were from Aldgate East almost an hour previously.  With my hatred in Transport for London renewed, sitting on the red-eyed Tube with various other shameful ‘shouldn’t-be-up-this-early-in-the-morning-normally-don’t-ask-me-where-I’ve-been’ citizens, that was the end of another chapter.

With some thrilling sights posted to Flickr entitled In which I discover the early-morning East End, (all ofwhich seemed far more fascinating at the time) and the everlasting quest to reach a photo-a-day in How I Spent April 2009,  I can safely say I don’t really want to post something this long from the iPhone WordPress client ever again.  Proofreading was…problematic.  Twitter‘s certainly on to something with a 140 character limit.

Before I begin, what’s happened recently? I received my NUJ press pass in the post (yay!) but ended up not being allocated tickets for the Guardian Student Media Conference (boo!).

Last night, I went to see Wintersleep support Dan Le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip in London, with a friend.  He shall hereby only be known as “BB”.  An simple evening out, one might think.  A train from Egham, up to our desired location via Waterloo and London Underground.  Back in time to catch last order’s at InsanityRadio‘s House Party at the SU.

On the tube. 1930 (doors open at 2000)

NS:  So, where are we going?
BB:  Club Koko?
NS:  Ah, cool.
BB:  Do you know how to get there?  I’ve got no idea.
NS:  (slightly perturbed) er…yeah, it’s in Camden, but it’s closer if we get off at Mornington Crescent.
BB:  Cool.

A true 2008 student-to-student dialogue.  It was also revealed that BB was off too see Wintersleep the following night at Koko, too.  With a different main act.  Slightly odd, seeing as there was only that gig mentioned on the website…

We arrive at Koko in Camden.  There’s a large man dressed as Uncle Sam and people dressed as cowboys filing in to the venue.  Well, our acts for tonight have certainly taken a change in musical direction…

Camden.  2000

BB:  (walking up to the door, pulling out tickets from inside jacket pocket)
Bouncer:  Er…nope.
NS:  ….what’s going on?
Bouncer:  Not ‘ere, mate.
(pause)
BB:  Ah, mate – it says Club FANDANGO on here!  (chuckles)
NS: (exasperated) Well, where the bloody hell is that?

iPhone 3G to the rescue!  A quick Google reveals Club Fandango is located at 24 Highbury Grove, N1.  To the tube, to take us deeper into North London!  And we’re running late – doors are already open!

Tube takes us from Mornington Crescent to Highbury & Islington.

iPhone with Google Maps navigates us to Higbury Grove.  We start walking down the street, briskly.

2030, after walking for approximately 10 minutes.

BB:  (counting) 56…58…60
NS:  Oh, wait!
BB:  What?
NS:  Bugger.  Turn around, it’s at the other end.
(more time passes)
NS:  28…26…24.
BB:  Is this it?

We’ve arrived at a house.  Just a house in Islington. iPhone 3G now reveals that we’ve travelled to the record label’s registered address, not one of their many gig venues.  Cue tears of blood and frostbite setting in to my numbing hands.  Capacitive touchscreen sapping my soul.

2050

BB:  Aw, mate!  It’s on the ticket!
NS: (apoplectic exasperation)
BB:  229 Great Portland Street!  How do we get there?

Nervous twitching aside,  I navigate back to the tube, and get us to change onto the Hammersmith and City line at King’s Cross for Great Portland Street.  As we’re waiting for our train, we relax.  BB sneezes.  At the precise moment a shorter Oriental lady walks in front of him, resulting in BB sneezing right onto her face.  The most hilarious event of the journey thus far.

BB, shellshocked, and I board our tube train, arrive at Great Portland Street, ask for directions to the gig venue, get heckled by the bouncer and enjoy a gig. Wonderful.  The last train to Egham leaves at 11.30, so we’ve got to elave in enough time, which we do.  We board a train at Great Portland Street Station.  Scroobius Pip is on the platform opposite, a good time was had by all.  We’ll change at Baker Street and hop to Waterloo.

Until BB and I got chatting about university.  Our course, literature, etc.

2315

Announcer:  The next station is Finchley Road.
BB/NS:          Bugger.

We’ve missed our stop.  Fantastic.  A lengthy wait at Finchley Road to catch a train to Waterloo ensures we completely miss the last train to Egham.  Just our luck, really.  Our revised plan: a train to Staines and a cab.  We’re not talking by this point.

We arrive at Staines, befriending an Inebriated BusinessMan (IBM) at the taxi rank.  We agree to share a taxi.  When it pulls up, we are treated to:

0045

IBM:  Where’re’you headed?
Us:   Egham (for the second time)
IBM:  (to the Taxi Driver) Awright, c’n you go to Bracknell via Egham?
TD:   Sure, sir.

Now just repeat this dialogue for the next fifteen minutes:

IBM:  So, where do you guys live?
Us:   Egham.
IBM:  So, where do you guys….

Yep.  Until we revealed we were off to a student radio station party.

IBM:  Aw, mate, what is it?
Us:   Er…it’s a student radio station.
IBM: Yeah, yeah, but what is it?
Us:   Er…it’s a student radio station.
IBM: YEAH I KNOW THAT BUT WHAT IS IT?
Us:   Oh, er 1287AM…

IBM then wrestles with Taxi Driver to tune radio, with car swerving in road.  Not the safest of journeys, but we finally make it to Royal Holloway, unscathed.  InsanityRadio gains two more listeners.

0115

We arrive at the SU just in time to see the party wrapping up.

I’d like to say that I’d seen the last of the unexpected events of the evening…