Grime-encrusted squats, exasperating fashion and Radiohead- is this the reality of a life under a banner? Lauren De’Ath goes beyond the dirt to see what it takes to be a real activist?
It seems everyone’s a-jumpin’ off the mercantile wagon to smudge their faces with mud and get dirt under their fingernails. Heck, even our own king-in-waiting, Prince Charles is an eco warrior these days. Well, albeit from the comfort of his palace armchair and assisted by a CGI frog, but it’s a start. Everyone’s a have-a-go hero: from the G20 rioters to the infamous, and downright legendary, Noddy from Weymouth who sat up a tree to protest Olympic over-development.
“It’s being part of this throbbing crowd; this intrinsic fear of the police on the other side of the line; this almost spiritual chanting- it’s all very intense. That’s why a lot of people come [to protests],” says one enthusiast Alex Wood, who at 25, stands before me in a greying hooded top, as one of the primary instigators of the environmental leg of the G20 riots last month and like all good activists I met him on a street corner, handing out campaign leaflets. “You come alive; remember we’re there to make history happen.”
The British are a notoriously passive race when it comes to fighting for our rights, especially in comparison to our European neighbours; the French average a mass riot a year, whilst the Germans apparently save their angst for May Day, (where the only poles are weapons, of course; not a frolicsome dancer in sight), but none-the-less when it comes to a good old riot we are the lethargic cousin across the Channel. “Lethargic, yeah, maybe,” Alex continues, guns blazing, “But when it comes down to it we don’t mess about. We do our bit when it’s needed.” He has a point. When ripe, we limeys have rallied together for the cause; the last time we strung out our provocative banners was the Iraq war and the time before that was minor’s strikes under controversial British premier, Margaret Thatcher. However there has been a noticeable shift in the way protests have been carried out and the changes are not merely harrowing, but downright un-British.
Police reports from this year’s G20 marches noted a more visibly aggressive, readily violent and less co-operative set of protesters than normal. “Normally, we can work together; sort out what’s appropriate, establishing limits on both sides but this banter broke down this time: there were groups who by their very ethos would not and did not work with us,” one officer, told the londonpaper recently. But what’s different? The answer comes from an unwitting Alex: “We organised a lot of our events on Facebook for the G20,” he tells me. Facebook? Where events are open to anyone? “We saw a massive number of, like, well kids, this year turn up,” he admits. Attempts to salvage the sanctity of the planet were undermined by an apparently unwelcome deluge of under-agers “come for their kicks”; a deluge, Alex insists, that are not the next generation of polemicists. “They didn’t really understand what it’s all about, but on the plus side they like the label ‘eco-warrior’... I think they think it makes them sound purposeful. I don’t know if they’d still want to be as involved after having gone without a shower for a week for the sake of a few potentially homeless bats.”
For some there is a very clear definition of what it is to be an, ahem, “eco-warrior”; one such deferential acolyte is Shahrar Ali, who acts as the Green Party’s London Policy Co-ordinator in his spare time (alongside his full-time job at London’s Institute of Philosophy). Verbose and evidently scholarly, it is often difficult to see around his MP spiel; however I am reliably informed that his attendance to his more academic job often takes the back seat in his quest for mother earth’s salvation: proof that there is more to A Suit than meets our untrained eye.
He tells me- in what transpires to be one of those phone calls where you got more than you bargained for- that: “A real environmentalist assesses the harm which human beings do to the planet; they are proactive in their attempt to get us all to take collective responsibility for this and take positive steps to reverse the harms done. I think there’s a confusion between an anarchist and an activist- and the confusion is deadly to the cause, people associate it with crime and there’s a very negative aura. We need to urgently and collectively put a stop to the unprecedented harm we are doing to the planet – both in our lifetimes and for the sake of future generations.” Such passion as this has seen him campaigning for rights in Gaza; his overwhelming speech against the BBC’s controversial decision to refuse a televised Palestinian appeal, delivered through gritted teeth brought the house down, to the slightly more trivial campaign for better treatment of our fields.
Continues Alex, “There’s more to helping the environment than people think. It’s not all shouting and stamping about by motorways. The beautiful thing is your campaigns can take you anywhere; you’re bettering a global environment. Sometimes you go to places on a whim with nothing but the clothes on your back. It’s more genteel mentality, than mob mentality.”
But there’s just one more thing that’s been bothering me: are you a Radiohead fan, Alex?
Judging by his look of disgust, I’ll take that as a no then.
-Grass magazine, 2009
Monday, 31 January 2011
We Have Band
Hipsters with all their hacked black tights and crop tops have given good music a bad name. There is not a single East London kid in heavy-duty DMs and fraying denim shorts filling the pages of I.D sullenly claiming to be at least partially musical, no matter how untalented, unfriendly or wasted. Thankfully, we an aural saviour, descended from musical realms on high to deliver us from this kind of crap, we give you electric trio: We Have Band.
We Have Band are Darren Bancroft, Dede and Thomas Wegg-Prosser.
So why haven’t we heard of them before now? Well, ‘Band have earnt their brownie points a little differently from their distant ‘It-band’ cousins; shunning the fanzine route they have taken to the high road and have been touring the world for the past two years, collating a barrage of musical knowledge, life experiences and credible creative stylishness that culminated in their debut album, the subtly titled, WHB. Having garnered ‘nuff respect from leading music afionados and fans alike, the band have set themselves apart from other scene stirrers by self-confessedly dubbing themselves a ‘geek’s revenge’ (just what we like to hear at –ology). Having come a long way from playing Catch and Club Motherfucker as well as the usual barrage of European taste-making clubs, the band are now poised Spidey style, synth in hand, to set the music world alight alone.
“I guess it’s a bit strange,” is vocalist and drummer Darren’s blasé summary of the recent global tour. A day after touchdown we catch up with Britain’s hottest unconventional export and find that after all the frenetic flying to and fro over four months; from the Continent to South America, the Pacific and back, a sand fight in Dubai and a tour with semi-precious Basque rock band Crystal Fighters, it is back to reality, back to a dull Dalston and Darren is having problems with his laptop. In between raving about his new obsession with musician Twin Shadow, admitting he never really, shock horror, ‘got’ the Kings of Leon and his celebrity claim to fame was having make-up done by the animator of seasonal classic, The Snowman, we discern a fact or two about what will definitely be your next repeat-button band.
The band’s name was Dede’s brainchild, because, of course behind every great band is a great woman. “It’s the only name we’ve ever had,” admits Darren, pausing. “She’s a bit strange,” he further admits. “Before we started making music, the name was there first.” Flaxen-haired Dede, who is interview-shy, is absent, nursing a sore head from the previous night’s tour wrap party, no doubt. Her and bearded band-mate Thomas are married and together with Darren they formed after a dinner-time tipple or two lead to the trio toying with a musical note here over an old drum machine et voilà, we had band.
Having effectively lived in each others’ pockets for the past two years, one might expect a few cracks to be showing; a Doherty-Barat style rivalry, perhaps? Or a diva-ish demand for stylist B.Akerlund instead of Dede’s usual vintage garbs? How about a struggle over who sings lead in a band where all three alternate on vocals? No. It would appear not. The band has a very mature approach to what they call their ‘business’.
“We’re all quite different personalities,’ muses Darren. “I’m very talkative, whereas Dede’s quite camera-shy and then Thomas is the organised one but on top of that we’ve all been friends for a while, so we all got used to the touring situation quite quickly. The only time is before we go on stage; we all get a bit fractious with nerves and deal with it differently. Like there’ll be some friction because I’ll be chatting away and moving about and the others are more reserved and quiet and they’ll be all like ‘Ok, shut up, now’,” he chuckles.
“A lot of bands break after the first album but seem so extremely grounded, so what’s the secret to staying together, ahem forever?”
WHB: The key is to have as many fun experiences as you can, it should never be boring reality. My favourite memory I suppose was seeing in the new year on Phillips Island in Australia; playing to a thousand strong crowd with a tropical storm overhead so ferocious, it threatened to cancel the gig altogether. Everyone was outside and then suddenly everyone came stampeding inside to escape the rain and there we were playing the dance stage and it was just insane, honestly amazing. Security were going mad. It was electric.
Playing a mixture of drum machine-based electro pop, what they refer to as ‘disco-rock’, We Have Band’s musical influences come in some very grand shapes and sizes indeed, from the ethereal Kate Bush, to the robotic eeriness of Talking Heads and right back to Bjork. Some heroes, huh? “It’s people who have a strong identifiable image; people that the very moment you see them or anything to do with them, you just know, you just identify with it.” And it’s this attention to detail that has become something to define ‘Band by; with meticulous videos such as stop motion animation, You Came Out and the finicky Divisive- that comes as close as you can to Sesame Street on crack under their belts.
“We like care in everything that is done,” continues Darren. They have been dubbed the new LCD Soundsystem; no mean feat and one they are extremely wary of. They are extremely suspicious of titles and press-hyped adulation, instead adopting a refreshingly modest and chancey attitude to what they do; bandying about words like ‘fun,’ strange’ and ‘random’ in the vein of an over-excited teenager. “If you think about that kind of thing it can destroy you, you can’t really think about it too much whatever path you’re on, especially with the way the world is right now.” The key thing about ‘Band is that they don’t take themselves too seriously and thank god.
“How do you feel about this hipster scene, bands like Alice Dellal’s, for example?”
WHB: I don’t know about her but in the beginning when we were starting out we had a couple of songs on the French Kitsune albums and everyone was like, ‘Oh yeah, these are the new thing’ but then the first album came out and we weren’t hip anymore. We were talking to Crystal Castles after a gig once and they were saying how relieved they were about releasing the second album because they could be taken seriously. It’s a hurdle we all have to cross when you’re new. Like, we’re not hip anymore and I’m glad. It happens in anything, any area of industry, like in fashion with bloody Gareth Pugh. We’re just happy now to have a support band to be honest.
Given the nature of the music press’ often overzealous attitude to ‘new music’; one that raves prior to the first album and then chews you up and spits you out after, it can be quite exasperating for music fans to decipher who and what are the next band for them. We Have Band is the kind of music you listened to when music felt new and exciting; in the same way that four years ago clubs were rocking Ladytron and Long Blondes and music felt fresh and young, We Have Band are from the same calibre, the same aural generation. Their pop box-fresh synth will inevitably lure even the least discerning musical ear to the dancefloor on Friday night, an otherwise dulcet melodies belie poignant lyrics and not least because You Came Out is quite possibly the most addictive track that has ever resided in my I-tunes.
Following a self-confessedly ‘random’ year, the band will continue to make music ‘they suppose’. In the vein of so many artists these days, the band want to bring the innovative nature of their visuals on stage and live to their fans; something Darren and the band are jumping in their seats at the thought of. “Last year we did some really fun and random things and I mean we’ll see where the music takes us but I think it would be quite nice to have a visual story that runs through all the singles. You’ve got to be quite brave to do something creative, got to know what’s going on out there and stuff.”
“Thomas always says ‘I’m here for a good time, not a long time.’ The fact of the matter is that none of us really know how long this is going to last or what’s going to happen next, we just want to enjoy life as it comes.”
Long live the Band!
-ology magazine, 2011
We Have Band are Darren Bancroft, Dede and Thomas Wegg-Prosser.
So why haven’t we heard of them before now? Well, ‘Band have earnt their brownie points a little differently from their distant ‘It-band’ cousins; shunning the fanzine route they have taken to the high road and have been touring the world for the past two years, collating a barrage of musical knowledge, life experiences and credible creative stylishness that culminated in their debut album, the subtly titled, WHB. Having garnered ‘nuff respect from leading music afionados and fans alike, the band have set themselves apart from other scene stirrers by self-confessedly dubbing themselves a ‘geek’s revenge’ (just what we like to hear at –ology). Having come a long way from playing Catch and Club Motherfucker as well as the usual barrage of European taste-making clubs, the band are now poised Spidey style, synth in hand, to set the music world alight alone.
“I guess it’s a bit strange,” is vocalist and drummer Darren’s blasé summary of the recent global tour. A day after touchdown we catch up with Britain’s hottest unconventional export and find that after all the frenetic flying to and fro over four months; from the Continent to South America, the Pacific and back, a sand fight in Dubai and a tour with semi-precious Basque rock band Crystal Fighters, it is back to reality, back to a dull Dalston and Darren is having problems with his laptop. In between raving about his new obsession with musician Twin Shadow, admitting he never really, shock horror, ‘got’ the Kings of Leon and his celebrity claim to fame was having make-up done by the animator of seasonal classic, The Snowman, we discern a fact or two about what will definitely be your next repeat-button band.
The band’s name was Dede’s brainchild, because, of course behind every great band is a great woman. “It’s the only name we’ve ever had,” admits Darren, pausing. “She’s a bit strange,” he further admits. “Before we started making music, the name was there first.” Flaxen-haired Dede, who is interview-shy, is absent, nursing a sore head from the previous night’s tour wrap party, no doubt. Her and bearded band-mate Thomas are married and together with Darren they formed after a dinner-time tipple or two lead to the trio toying with a musical note here over an old drum machine et voilà, we had band.
Having effectively lived in each others’ pockets for the past two years, one might expect a few cracks to be showing; a Doherty-Barat style rivalry, perhaps? Or a diva-ish demand for stylist B.Akerlund instead of Dede’s usual vintage garbs? How about a struggle over who sings lead in a band where all three alternate on vocals? No. It would appear not. The band has a very mature approach to what they call their ‘business’.
“We’re all quite different personalities,’ muses Darren. “I’m very talkative, whereas Dede’s quite camera-shy and then Thomas is the organised one but on top of that we’ve all been friends for a while, so we all got used to the touring situation quite quickly. The only time is before we go on stage; we all get a bit fractious with nerves and deal with it differently. Like there’ll be some friction because I’ll be chatting away and moving about and the others are more reserved and quiet and they’ll be all like ‘Ok, shut up, now’,” he chuckles.
“A lot of bands break after the first album but seem so extremely grounded, so what’s the secret to staying together, ahem forever?”
WHB: The key is to have as many fun experiences as you can, it should never be boring reality. My favourite memory I suppose was seeing in the new year on Phillips Island in Australia; playing to a thousand strong crowd with a tropical storm overhead so ferocious, it threatened to cancel the gig altogether. Everyone was outside and then suddenly everyone came stampeding inside to escape the rain and there we were playing the dance stage and it was just insane, honestly amazing. Security were going mad. It was electric.
Playing a mixture of drum machine-based electro pop, what they refer to as ‘disco-rock’, We Have Band’s musical influences come in some very grand shapes and sizes indeed, from the ethereal Kate Bush, to the robotic eeriness of Talking Heads and right back to Bjork. Some heroes, huh? “It’s people who have a strong identifiable image; people that the very moment you see them or anything to do with them, you just know, you just identify with it.” And it’s this attention to detail that has become something to define ‘Band by; with meticulous videos such as stop motion animation, You Came Out and the finicky Divisive- that comes as close as you can to Sesame Street on crack under their belts.
“We like care in everything that is done,” continues Darren. They have been dubbed the new LCD Soundsystem; no mean feat and one they are extremely wary of. They are extremely suspicious of titles and press-hyped adulation, instead adopting a refreshingly modest and chancey attitude to what they do; bandying about words like ‘fun,’ strange’ and ‘random’ in the vein of an over-excited teenager. “If you think about that kind of thing it can destroy you, you can’t really think about it too much whatever path you’re on, especially with the way the world is right now.” The key thing about ‘Band is that they don’t take themselves too seriously and thank god.
“How do you feel about this hipster scene, bands like Alice Dellal’s, for example?”
WHB: I don’t know about her but in the beginning when we were starting out we had a couple of songs on the French Kitsune albums and everyone was like, ‘Oh yeah, these are the new thing’ but then the first album came out and we weren’t hip anymore. We were talking to Crystal Castles after a gig once and they were saying how relieved they were about releasing the second album because they could be taken seriously. It’s a hurdle we all have to cross when you’re new. Like, we’re not hip anymore and I’m glad. It happens in anything, any area of industry, like in fashion with bloody Gareth Pugh. We’re just happy now to have a support band to be honest.
Given the nature of the music press’ often overzealous attitude to ‘new music’; one that raves prior to the first album and then chews you up and spits you out after, it can be quite exasperating for music fans to decipher who and what are the next band for them. We Have Band is the kind of music you listened to when music felt new and exciting; in the same way that four years ago clubs were rocking Ladytron and Long Blondes and music felt fresh and young, We Have Band are from the same calibre, the same aural generation. Their pop box-fresh synth will inevitably lure even the least discerning musical ear to the dancefloor on Friday night, an otherwise dulcet melodies belie poignant lyrics and not least because You Came Out is quite possibly the most addictive track that has ever resided in my I-tunes.
Following a self-confessedly ‘random’ year, the band will continue to make music ‘they suppose’. In the vein of so many artists these days, the band want to bring the innovative nature of their visuals on stage and live to their fans; something Darren and the band are jumping in their seats at the thought of. “Last year we did some really fun and random things and I mean we’ll see where the music takes us but I think it would be quite nice to have a visual story that runs through all the singles. You’ve got to be quite brave to do something creative, got to know what’s going on out there and stuff.”
“Thomas always says ‘I’m here for a good time, not a long time.’ The fact of the matter is that none of us really know how long this is going to last or what’s going to happen next, we just want to enjoy life as it comes.”
Long live the Band!
-ology magazine, 2011
If a Man Were Here
Dita and her teasing are world famous. Armed with a sixteen inch waist, a Lacroix corset and a life sized cocktail glass she has wowed the world over with her burlesque routines. If like me you have ever dreamt of trying to take on the corseted one herself, it is your lucky day: for £15 Danceworks offers hour-long drop-in sessions teaching the best of burlesque. So, I, armed with sunstroke, bad posture and a suppressed inner Athena take my two left feet along to a class.
Our seductress instructress is one Audacity Chutzpah, or Leela, as she is known off stage. Perked up on 6AM train-induced coffee, Chutzpah is all fun, frolics and feather boas as she leads the class in a warm-up exercise that ‘warms up our high heels’. Trying to release my inner goddess is all in the hips, the quiet clop of a seven inch heel and a gentle seductive wave of the arm apparently and walking about the parquet floor as gracefully as a ballerina, I start to feel a tad more Miss Demeanour, than Miss De’Ath.
Originally a mid-nineteenth century form of working class entertainment, burlesque meant something a little different than just the retrospective form of titillation we know today; known as ‘travesty’, it promoted a more forward-thinking female sexuality in an otherwise prudish Victorian society. The key is suggestion: “You don’t need to be a dancer,” calls Leela, coquettishly. “It’s all about facial expressions.” Two-left feet, here, breathes a sigh of relief. I am no dancer. I most certainly do not look good on the dancefloor and am a dancing embarrassment, but face-pulling, now that I can do. Amidst my pouting, pointing and suggestive winks I hear: “And now for the routine!” O heck.
The price for my complacency? A two-minute dance number to Son of a Preacher Man.
“All your poses need to look like something from a flip book. Imagine if you stopped on any one page, they’d always be beautiful,” explains our tutor, in between long exaggerated arm movements and lunges. “Keep ‘em guessing. Always wanting more,” she further advises. The routine moves between being coy prayer hands to a full blown Fem-Bot ‘boob shimmy’. “Knock ‘em dead, girls! If a man were here, he’d just die!”
Burlesque is not for insecure and a lesser person would be left a tad red-faced by such body conscious moves but aroud me are a few slightly ropey-looking girls that me and my companion deduce are here to spice up their boyfriends lives. For despite all the comedy, the playfulness and the camp scripts, burlesque is all about sex. No question about it. The fact alone that one of the requirements of the class was a pair of high heels puts Freud’s Castration Theory into perspective, and then there are the skimpy outfits and the subtle seductive elements of the routine to consider. “The great thing about burlesque is it is the only place where wobbling is allowed,” calls Leela, as we, as a troupe, shake our behinds as violently as possible.
One of the most liberating things you can do, even if I did look like I was doing the Macarena. If in search for your inner goddess, sign on the dotted line. It allows you to create a persona that is comfortable within your own limits, yet one hundred percent more smouldering then your real self. Dita-licious.
Contact Danceworks, 16 Balderton St, W1 on 07958 314107 for more details.
-Bucket List, August 2010-
Our seductress instructress is one Audacity Chutzpah, or Leela, as she is known off stage. Perked up on 6AM train-induced coffee, Chutzpah is all fun, frolics and feather boas as she leads the class in a warm-up exercise that ‘warms up our high heels’. Trying to release my inner goddess is all in the hips, the quiet clop of a seven inch heel and a gentle seductive wave of the arm apparently and walking about the parquet floor as gracefully as a ballerina, I start to feel a tad more Miss Demeanour, than Miss De’Ath.
Originally a mid-nineteenth century form of working class entertainment, burlesque meant something a little different than just the retrospective form of titillation we know today; known as ‘travesty’, it promoted a more forward-thinking female sexuality in an otherwise prudish Victorian society. The key is suggestion: “You don’t need to be a dancer,” calls Leela, coquettishly. “It’s all about facial expressions.” Two-left feet, here, breathes a sigh of relief. I am no dancer. I most certainly do not look good on the dancefloor and am a dancing embarrassment, but face-pulling, now that I can do. Amidst my pouting, pointing and suggestive winks I hear: “And now for the routine!” O heck.
The price for my complacency? A two-minute dance number to Son of a Preacher Man.
“All your poses need to look like something from a flip book. Imagine if you stopped on any one page, they’d always be beautiful,” explains our tutor, in between long exaggerated arm movements and lunges. “Keep ‘em guessing. Always wanting more,” she further advises. The routine moves between being coy prayer hands to a full blown Fem-Bot ‘boob shimmy’. “Knock ‘em dead, girls! If a man were here, he’d just die!”
Burlesque is not for insecure and a lesser person would be left a tad red-faced by such body conscious moves but aroud me are a few slightly ropey-looking girls that me and my companion deduce are here to spice up their boyfriends lives. For despite all the comedy, the playfulness and the camp scripts, burlesque is all about sex. No question about it. The fact alone that one of the requirements of the class was a pair of high heels puts Freud’s Castration Theory into perspective, and then there are the skimpy outfits and the subtle seductive elements of the routine to consider. “The great thing about burlesque is it is the only place where wobbling is allowed,” calls Leela, as we, as a troupe, shake our behinds as violently as possible.
One of the most liberating things you can do, even if I did look like I was doing the Macarena. If in search for your inner goddess, sign on the dotted line. It allows you to create a persona that is comfortable within your own limits, yet one hundred percent more smouldering then your real self. Dita-licious.
Contact Danceworks, 16 Balderton St, W1 on 07958 314107 for more details.
-Bucket List, August 2010-
A Long Way to Double 0
When was the last time you tried to be subtle? Can’t remember. Or tried to blend in with the crowd? Not likely. How about turn your conscious self off and become someone completely different? In an age of accountability, Lauren De’Ath personally dons the trench and dark glasses and goes undercover to decipher the undecipherable- the world of espionage.
In a world where we are all accessible via a mere click of a button or at the end of a phoneline, ambiguity could prove immensely liberating, I figure. My pre-teen memories are dominated by a little-known BBC try-spy programme, where average members of the public were sent to a secret MI6 camp (in a concealed booth just outside Liverpool Street Station) and put through their paces in a series of heart-stopping tests. Could Barbara go up to that stranger and manage to get an invite into their house? Would Darren ever be able to break into his son’s school and plant hidden cameras in his desk? They could melt impressively into the background like water, so fuelled by wannabe spy transparency, I began what I imagined was my own training programme... My mission, if I chose to accept it, was to trick even my own mother into believing I was someone else.
And so accepted and raring to go, my mission begins...
The lure of a career in secret intelligence is not just isolated to me. Many a childhood has been infiltrated by, at least on one occasion, the desire to go covert. Indeed there are few boys (and grown men for that matter) who have never yearned for the double-0 status, a gadget armoury to die for and of course the pick of beautiful women. And, conversely, what girl has never secretly wished she had the body of Ursula Andress and the ability to bed any man in ten languages? The spy lifestyle, no matter how perilous or lethal is one that has fired many an imagination. To date there have been over 175 movies on the subject, are some ninety-six spy fiction novelists alone, making it the second most published genre after romance and the illustrious James Bond tuxedo remains one of the most iconic costumes of all time.
Meanwhile, recent genre revamps, such as Horowitz’ ineffable Alex Rider and the BBC’s M.I. High, whilst cashing in on highly lucrative franchises, have introduced a whole new generation to the murky yet distinctly glamorous underbelly of espionage.
“Fictional spies appeal to our fantasy selves,” explains Professor James Chapman, a cultural historian of University of Leicester, who as well as being hooked on Bond since age eight, has written extensively on the subject. “Spies offer us an alternate identity, another self, who will of course be smarter, braver and sexier than our real selves. They therefore have something in common with the superhero, [but] of course “The Spy” is a more realistic fantasy.”
The creation of Spy Academy in Buckinghamshire by a mysterious unnamed former SAS offers a real life taste of the Bourne Identity. Associate Dave Newman, an experienced surveillance officer (and an alias name of all things) comments,” People hear of this very exciting lifestyle that takes them all over the world. There’s been a lot of books and cartoons released recently that have encouraged a lot of children to become interested. Of course, it sounds very glamorous so we take the exciting bits out of the surveillance industry and translated that into Spy Games.” In the first quarter of 2010 alone, they saw a “ballistic” two hundred percent increase in sales proving that being Bond means big money.
Back at the aptly named “Mission Mum”, my first port of call is to the MI6 website. The media section provides me with my first real-life spy simulation- I have to memorise a series of nondescript information about the altogether nondescript Stephanie Johnson who is travelling to a nondescript fictional country and then answer a series of questions. Of course, my interrogators throw in some red-herrings along the way: ‘What is the name of my third eldest brother?’ Pfft, amateurs. Stephanie only has two sisters.
The key to being a good spy lies in adaptability, resilience and an aptitude for critical thinking. Putting behind me the fact I got an E in my A Level Critical exam, I press onwards. “It’s all down to intelligence” explains Dave, who, as I spoke on the phone, was busy preparing a hostage recovery. “In a lot of what you do, the most important thing is often the weeks and weeks of pre-planning. Stake outs can last up to two or three weeks before you stop the target.” Being compromised is not an option. He continues: “Think smart, think covert and be prepared to change what you are doing very quickly.” Baring all of this in mind, I begin to pre-plan for Mission Mum. I contact my M, one Sophie Killingback for a full make-over. “I don’t want to look like myself,” I brief and armed with Mac make-up, off she goes. In just under an hour I am transformed and cannot help but wonder: is this how it works in the industry? Who out there on the streets of London is really themselves?
The world of MI6 and its domestic counterpart MI5 is one famously shrouded in secrecy and although answerable to government much of their work is still kept largely under wraps. Indeed, post 9/11 the UK’s secret service recruits are equal to that of the Cold War and rather against the Recessive grain, they are still employing. Whispers of the hiring process send shivers down my spine: a tap on the shoulder of an Oxbridge graduate; some Hooray Henry with a degree in a tropical language and they’re bags are packed, planes ready and off they go.
MI6’s online statement ominously tells me that they not only have ‘Operatives’ actively stationed around the UK, but on a global level also. The surprising openness of their online presence is in true spy style, I fear, misleading. Having come under fire in the past few years for gagging press over a number of “unspeakable” issues, including the controversial Extraordinary Rendition episodes and a supposed million dollar pay-off to their very own ‘Dr. No’, Osama Bin Laden, I can understand why the SIS would want to shake a very shady reputation.
“Oh, it was all boring!” says Denise Chisholm. Pardon? “We spent the whole day looking for files, putting them in envelopes and sticking pieces of paper on the front. It was of real importance regarding our countries’ security but it was mind numbing. When I realised that this was all there was to MI5, I had to get out.” Disheartened I press for stories of speedboat shoot-outs in the back streets of Venice, however it would seem the most exciting thing about a job at MI5, bar a bomb going off at The Hilton down the road, was the Secrecy Act she had to sign that required her name to be altered in this article. Even so, the incomprehensibility of British Intelligence continues to ring true: there is no contact telephone number, nor email address. Just a rough PO BOX number for letters to SE1.
It is the night before Mission Mum and my plans for a rendezvous at 1615 hours the next day have hit a spot of bother after a suspicious mother asks, “Why do you want meet anyway?” and forgetting 00Dave’s Number One tip- to think critically on your feet- I reply, “...It’s a secret.”
Changing identities is all down to the fine details. I opt for a plastic carrier rather than my black PVC holdall and remove day-to-day jewellery, but out in the real world my disguise has stumbled at the first hurdle- when even the guy in the canteen recognises me! “Is that your real hair? You were beautiful but now you are ugly.” Shaking off my past life is proving a challenge. When a man you rarely see recognises you, how do you trick your own mother? Back on the street, however, I am pleasantly surprised- people are ignoring me. I am incognito for the first ever. Blonde hair tucked away under a greying curly wig, I am a nobody. I am free.
As the hour of rendezvous rapidly approaches I brush all concerns away and from a distance survey my target’s exit.
1613: No sign.
1614: The disjointed clop of a sling-back.
1615: It is her.
She sees me five times as she looks up and down the street, but doesn’t clock, until an aghast face and: “Lauren, get to a Boots now. You look like a transvestite Mormon!” I guess there are just some missions that are out and out impossible. And mothers are one of them.
Mission accomplished.
-Bucket List magazine, June 2010
In a world where we are all accessible via a mere click of a button or at the end of a phoneline, ambiguity could prove immensely liberating, I figure. My pre-teen memories are dominated by a little-known BBC try-spy programme, where average members of the public were sent to a secret MI6 camp (in a concealed booth just outside Liverpool Street Station) and put through their paces in a series of heart-stopping tests. Could Barbara go up to that stranger and manage to get an invite into their house? Would Darren ever be able to break into his son’s school and plant hidden cameras in his desk? They could melt impressively into the background like water, so fuelled by wannabe spy transparency, I began what I imagined was my own training programme... My mission, if I chose to accept it, was to trick even my own mother into believing I was someone else.
And so accepted and raring to go, my mission begins...
The lure of a career in secret intelligence is not just isolated to me. Many a childhood has been infiltrated by, at least on one occasion, the desire to go covert. Indeed there are few boys (and grown men for that matter) who have never yearned for the double-0 status, a gadget armoury to die for and of course the pick of beautiful women. And, conversely, what girl has never secretly wished she had the body of Ursula Andress and the ability to bed any man in ten languages? The spy lifestyle, no matter how perilous or lethal is one that has fired many an imagination. To date there have been over 175 movies on the subject, are some ninety-six spy fiction novelists alone, making it the second most published genre after romance and the illustrious James Bond tuxedo remains one of the most iconic costumes of all time.
Meanwhile, recent genre revamps, such as Horowitz’ ineffable Alex Rider and the BBC’s M.I. High, whilst cashing in on highly lucrative franchises, have introduced a whole new generation to the murky yet distinctly glamorous underbelly of espionage.
“Fictional spies appeal to our fantasy selves,” explains Professor James Chapman, a cultural historian of University of Leicester, who as well as being hooked on Bond since age eight, has written extensively on the subject. “Spies offer us an alternate identity, another self, who will of course be smarter, braver and sexier than our real selves. They therefore have something in common with the superhero, [but] of course “The Spy” is a more realistic fantasy.”
The creation of Spy Academy in Buckinghamshire by a mysterious unnamed former SAS offers a real life taste of the Bourne Identity. Associate Dave Newman, an experienced surveillance officer (and an alias name of all things) comments,” People hear of this very exciting lifestyle that takes them all over the world. There’s been a lot of books and cartoons released recently that have encouraged a lot of children to become interested. Of course, it sounds very glamorous so we take the exciting bits out of the surveillance industry and translated that into Spy Games.” In the first quarter of 2010 alone, they saw a “ballistic” two hundred percent increase in sales proving that being Bond means big money.
Back at the aptly named “Mission Mum”, my first port of call is to the MI6 website. The media section provides me with my first real-life spy simulation- I have to memorise a series of nondescript information about the altogether nondescript Stephanie Johnson who is travelling to a nondescript fictional country and then answer a series of questions. Of course, my interrogators throw in some red-herrings along the way: ‘What is the name of my third eldest brother?’ Pfft, amateurs. Stephanie only has two sisters.
The key to being a good spy lies in adaptability, resilience and an aptitude for critical thinking. Putting behind me the fact I got an E in my A Level Critical exam, I press onwards. “It’s all down to intelligence” explains Dave, who, as I spoke on the phone, was busy preparing a hostage recovery. “In a lot of what you do, the most important thing is often the weeks and weeks of pre-planning. Stake outs can last up to two or three weeks before you stop the target.” Being compromised is not an option. He continues: “Think smart, think covert and be prepared to change what you are doing very quickly.” Baring all of this in mind, I begin to pre-plan for Mission Mum. I contact my M, one Sophie Killingback for a full make-over. “I don’t want to look like myself,” I brief and armed with Mac make-up, off she goes. In just under an hour I am transformed and cannot help but wonder: is this how it works in the industry? Who out there on the streets of London is really themselves?
The world of MI6 and its domestic counterpart MI5 is one famously shrouded in secrecy and although answerable to government much of their work is still kept largely under wraps. Indeed, post 9/11 the UK’s secret service recruits are equal to that of the Cold War and rather against the Recessive grain, they are still employing. Whispers of the hiring process send shivers down my spine: a tap on the shoulder of an Oxbridge graduate; some Hooray Henry with a degree in a tropical language and they’re bags are packed, planes ready and off they go.
MI6’s online statement ominously tells me that they not only have ‘Operatives’ actively stationed around the UK, but on a global level also. The surprising openness of their online presence is in true spy style, I fear, misleading. Having come under fire in the past few years for gagging press over a number of “unspeakable” issues, including the controversial Extraordinary Rendition episodes and a supposed million dollar pay-off to their very own ‘Dr. No’, Osama Bin Laden, I can understand why the SIS would want to shake a very shady reputation.
“Oh, it was all boring!” says Denise Chisholm. Pardon? “We spent the whole day looking for files, putting them in envelopes and sticking pieces of paper on the front. It was of real importance regarding our countries’ security but it was mind numbing. When I realised that this was all there was to MI5, I had to get out.” Disheartened I press for stories of speedboat shoot-outs in the back streets of Venice, however it would seem the most exciting thing about a job at MI5, bar a bomb going off at The Hilton down the road, was the Secrecy Act she had to sign that required her name to be altered in this article. Even so, the incomprehensibility of British Intelligence continues to ring true: there is no contact telephone number, nor email address. Just a rough PO BOX number for letters to SE1.
It is the night before Mission Mum and my plans for a rendezvous at 1615 hours the next day have hit a spot of bother after a suspicious mother asks, “Why do you want meet anyway?” and forgetting 00Dave’s Number One tip- to think critically on your feet- I reply, “...It’s a secret.”
Changing identities is all down to the fine details. I opt for a plastic carrier rather than my black PVC holdall and remove day-to-day jewellery, but out in the real world my disguise has stumbled at the first hurdle- when even the guy in the canteen recognises me! “Is that your real hair? You were beautiful but now you are ugly.” Shaking off my past life is proving a challenge. When a man you rarely see recognises you, how do you trick your own mother? Back on the street, however, I am pleasantly surprised- people are ignoring me. I am incognito for the first ever. Blonde hair tucked away under a greying curly wig, I am a nobody. I am free.
As the hour of rendezvous rapidly approaches I brush all concerns away and from a distance survey my target’s exit.
1613: No sign.
1614: The disjointed clop of a sling-back.
1615: It is her.
She sees me five times as she looks up and down the street, but doesn’t clock, until an aghast face and: “Lauren, get to a Boots now. You look like a transvestite Mormon!” I guess there are just some missions that are out and out impossible. And mothers are one of them.
Mission accomplished.
-Bucket List magazine, June 2010
In My Lover's Lies
Was there ever such a subject that has had the capacity to fascinate, consume and divide, as love? It has been the centrifugal subject for art, music and literature since the first man had his heart broken by the eponymous hominid, “Lucy”. A few million years later, in the ten years it took for Carrie to marry Big, I had grown breasts and been subsequently loved and left by at least five boys. Alas, the path to true love is never smooth but after all the troubles and toils of romance, what can we expect to find at the end of it; in short, asks Lauren De’Ath does love exist?
At this very moment, over 75% of the world’s population believe themselves to be heart-wrenchingly, romantically, deeply, painfully in love. Fact. Via such romantic institutions as Romeo and Juliet, Heathcliff and Cathy and erm, Jack and Rose, it is something of a bizarre entrenched truth that a life without true love is indeed our own end.
Bombarded with amorous pop songs, books and movies we are conditioned to believe that It is at the heart of everything, the moral of the story, all around and lifts us up where we belong; yes, sang Sir Paul, all you need is love... I shall stop with the idioms, I have a feeling some of you are feeling nauseous. “Love sucks,” my friend ventures. “End of.” Better? But it does seem as though the twenty-first century has gone love crazy: romance novels are the most popular genre in the world, online dating site match.com has some 15million users worldwide and even Paris Hilton wanted to ‘settle down’ (for a while, anyway). As human nature would have it, we all like to imagine that our passions in life are lead from the heart, but Love’s big problem however can be likened to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow- it just does not exist as the spontaneous, mysterious, destructive emotion outside of our wistful imaginations.
As any obliging scientist will tell you, unsurprisingly there is no part of our brain called The Love Lobe, rather through a rather more methodical cocktail of chemicals our brain entices us to fall in love for reproductive means. As writer W. Somerset Maugham writes in 1949, love is only a dirty trick played on us to achieve continuation of the species- ouch and indeed I stumbled across a successful experiment online that broke Love down into three simple scientific steps (two of their three participating couples went on to get married).
The science of love goes as thus, when Juliet felt that rush of stabbing love the first time she saw Romeo across the crowded room of the Capulet ballroom, it was no doubt down to a chemical kinsmen named Dopamine, working in the same way as cocaine, it releases a pleasure endorphin triggered by the sight of your beloved. Come Act 3, Serotonin creeps in and in the same way as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, makes it nie on impossible to think of anything or anyone but that person. “O Romeo, Romeo, where for art thou Romeo?” By Act 5 the release of Vasopressin during Act 4, a bonding hormone following sex, is entirely pointless as the star cross’d lover’s destiny has been tragically cut short.
Critics of the famed Shakespearean play have condemned the greatest love story of all time as something of a quixotic fraud. Norman Holland, erstwhile critic and Shakespearean devotee claims the story is “nothing more than Romeo’s own wish-fulfilling fantasy.” Indeed, I have vivid recollections of my own Literature teacher slamming the supposed amorous intentions of the play with damning realism, demeaning Romeo as a randy vagabond dallying with a relative minor in the nonplussed twelve year old that is Juliet. “Now is this love?” he called to a rather despondent class. As much as we just adore falling into the pages of a love-story, continues Holland, we shouldn’t expect to find similar breath-taking romances in the real world. “We have to acknowledge that a dramatic character is not like a human being with the same mental processes as its author,” he says.
Western culture has a romanticised view of relationships hence our doleful remarks at the almost business-like way in which our Islamic counterparts are ‘arranged’ their marriage, following the age-old reasoning: ‘But what about love?’ According to the LoveGeist report 95% of the singletons want a relationship, but significantly fewer desire marriage. Has romanticised culturalism led to a generation seeking romance and love rather than long-term commitment? Argues Dr. Helen Fisher, world-renowned New York based biological anthropologist, “Culture sculpts these feelings of love- it gives us energy; makes us feel optimistic, elated, enthusiastic. Why not romance? What Hollywood is doing is merely piggybacking a uniting force that has been around for millions of years; it is impossible for any one person not to feel ‘love’. Legal statements aside romance and love are animal instincts and what people want are exciting relationships, something marriage supposedly contravenes.”
But here is where our argument comes unstuck because whilst we have cultural proof of our own love of love and so enamoured are we with the very idea of love, to admit so is seen as some kind of social blip. To admit to liking someone is seen as soppy and effeminate and the ‘I Love You’ of our grandparents’ generation have been replaced with no-strings casual sex; a rose with a Facebook Poke and The King and I with Heidi and Spender Pratt. There does seem a contradiction in the cultural myth that we do indeed love to love. Is the L-word on the decline, destined to die out on the waves of the digital age?
Continues Helen, “Contrary to belief, romantic love is very primitive; we have proof of love poetry from Ancient Greeks, China, Rome, it has transcended time because it is an instinctive brain system that has lasted and will continue to last for millions of years. We need to feel a certain romance to focus on the mating process, without it you would never be able to dedicate your time to another human being.”
So, is love the great cultural myth of our time, a science promoted to some social obligation? In the words of my grandmother, “All I know is, I’ve been in love with my husband for fifty long years and science or no science that’s all that counts.”
Yeah, I know, just call me Carrie Bradshaw.
At this very moment, over 75% of the world’s population believe themselves to be heart-wrenchingly, romantically, deeply, painfully in love. Fact. Via such romantic institutions as Romeo and Juliet, Heathcliff and Cathy and erm, Jack and Rose, it is something of a bizarre entrenched truth that a life without true love is indeed our own end.
Bombarded with amorous pop songs, books and movies we are conditioned to believe that It is at the heart of everything, the moral of the story, all around and lifts us up where we belong; yes, sang Sir Paul, all you need is love... I shall stop with the idioms, I have a feeling some of you are feeling nauseous. “Love sucks,” my friend ventures. “End of.” Better? But it does seem as though the twenty-first century has gone love crazy: romance novels are the most popular genre in the world, online dating site match.com has some 15million users worldwide and even Paris Hilton wanted to ‘settle down’ (for a while, anyway). As human nature would have it, we all like to imagine that our passions in life are lead from the heart, but Love’s big problem however can be likened to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow- it just does not exist as the spontaneous, mysterious, destructive emotion outside of our wistful imaginations.
As any obliging scientist will tell you, unsurprisingly there is no part of our brain called The Love Lobe, rather through a rather more methodical cocktail of chemicals our brain entices us to fall in love for reproductive means. As writer W. Somerset Maugham writes in 1949, love is only a dirty trick played on us to achieve continuation of the species- ouch and indeed I stumbled across a successful experiment online that broke Love down into three simple scientific steps (two of their three participating couples went on to get married).
The science of love goes as thus, when Juliet felt that rush of stabbing love the first time she saw Romeo across the crowded room of the Capulet ballroom, it was no doubt down to a chemical kinsmen named Dopamine, working in the same way as cocaine, it releases a pleasure endorphin triggered by the sight of your beloved. Come Act 3, Serotonin creeps in and in the same way as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, makes it nie on impossible to think of anything or anyone but that person. “O Romeo, Romeo, where for art thou Romeo?” By Act 5 the release of Vasopressin during Act 4, a bonding hormone following sex, is entirely pointless as the star cross’d lover’s destiny has been tragically cut short.
Critics of the famed Shakespearean play have condemned the greatest love story of all time as something of a quixotic fraud. Norman Holland, erstwhile critic and Shakespearean devotee claims the story is “nothing more than Romeo’s own wish-fulfilling fantasy.” Indeed, I have vivid recollections of my own Literature teacher slamming the supposed amorous intentions of the play with damning realism, demeaning Romeo as a randy vagabond dallying with a relative minor in the nonplussed twelve year old that is Juliet. “Now is this love?” he called to a rather despondent class. As much as we just adore falling into the pages of a love-story, continues Holland, we shouldn’t expect to find similar breath-taking romances in the real world. “We have to acknowledge that a dramatic character is not like a human being with the same mental processes as its author,” he says.
Western culture has a romanticised view of relationships hence our doleful remarks at the almost business-like way in which our Islamic counterparts are ‘arranged’ their marriage, following the age-old reasoning: ‘But what about love?’ According to the LoveGeist report 95% of the singletons want a relationship, but significantly fewer desire marriage. Has romanticised culturalism led to a generation seeking romance and love rather than long-term commitment? Argues Dr. Helen Fisher, world-renowned New York based biological anthropologist, “Culture sculpts these feelings of love- it gives us energy; makes us feel optimistic, elated, enthusiastic. Why not romance? What Hollywood is doing is merely piggybacking a uniting force that has been around for millions of years; it is impossible for any one person not to feel ‘love’. Legal statements aside romance and love are animal instincts and what people want are exciting relationships, something marriage supposedly contravenes.”
But here is where our argument comes unstuck because whilst we have cultural proof of our own love of love and so enamoured are we with the very idea of love, to admit so is seen as some kind of social blip. To admit to liking someone is seen as soppy and effeminate and the ‘I Love You’ of our grandparents’ generation have been replaced with no-strings casual sex; a rose with a Facebook Poke and The King and I with Heidi and Spender Pratt. There does seem a contradiction in the cultural myth that we do indeed love to love. Is the L-word on the decline, destined to die out on the waves of the digital age?
Continues Helen, “Contrary to belief, romantic love is very primitive; we have proof of love poetry from Ancient Greeks, China, Rome, it has transcended time because it is an instinctive brain system that has lasted and will continue to last for millions of years. We need to feel a certain romance to focus on the mating process, without it you would never be able to dedicate your time to another human being.”
So, is love the great cultural myth of our time, a science promoted to some social obligation? In the words of my grandmother, “All I know is, I’ve been in love with my husband for fifty long years and science or no science that’s all that counts.”
Yeah, I know, just call me Carrie Bradshaw.
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