What's Banter Anyway?

If you had to describe exactly what 'banter' was to an alien you'd have somewhat of a challenging task on your hands. In the Oxford English Dictionary it is defined as the "friendly and playful exchange of teasing remarks" which, from my experience anyway, has hit the nail on the head.

Coming from a family who enjoy passing around regular taunts I've had to learn not just to be able to take the affectionate jeering, but be able to instantaneously swoop in with a suitably jocular comeback. However, this set me up well for the introduction to my boyfriend's family whom, from our first acquaintance have slowly but surely turned up the banter-o-meter to full.

For me, banter is a way of showing affection. The best banter, after all, is the sort that is tailored to the persons deepest darkest downfalls, and to do that you have to know the (dare I say) 'victim' extremely well.

However it seems other's don't agree. When I was researching previous comments on the use of banter around the web I stumbled across a Tom Chivers' post on the subject on the online blog for The Telegraph. <http://blogs.telegraph.co.uk/news/tomchiversscience/100141906/if-you-like-banter-you-are-an-idiot/ >

It is not what I was expecting to see, the headline reading: "If you like 'banter', you are an idiot". In his post he then goes on to describe the use of the banter as "the single worst thing in the history of the universe"... well I wouldn't quite go that far Tom.

"Banter is Soccer Am" he goes on to say, "it is not humor, banter is what people have when they lack a sense of humor."

Well Mr Chivers I have a question for you.

My boyfriend's dad has very recently had an accident which has left him in a bit of a state with several broken bones currently recovering in hospital (I'll spare you the gory details.) I can almost hear your sympathy, well no... he doesn't want it. When visiting this weekend, and my boyfriend will back me up on this, he said: "I want the banter! It's what is gonna get me through until I get better."

So, is this just because he has a lack of appreciation for a good old fashioned gag, or does it depend on your personal preference when it comes to humor?

From my experience banter requires the intelligent use of wit and knowledge combined into a slick and ingenious statement with the intention of mocking someone... all in the name of a joke. And! furthermore, a joke from my experience, can be described as something that causes amusement and or laughter, thus surely underpinning banter as one of the most successful forms of humor guaranteed to make you titter... so long as you know yourself well enough.

Maybe it is that Tom Chivers doesn't quite have the capacity to laugh at his own mistakes which, ultimately, is what banter is. And if you can't laugh at your mistakes, I ask you what is the point in making them in the first place?

Banter is a form of affection that, however harsh it may seem to an outsider, to me will forever remain a certain way to show your closeness, warmth and love towards someone, be it your friends, partner or family. It's not offensive, because something offensive is meant with malice. It's harmless, and if you can't take it, well it's generally because you're not astute or quick enough to conceive a response.

Fantasy Football... What's the appeal?

Somewhat of your stereotypical girly girl I've never really held any interest in the beautiful game... until now.

My on-going love affair with football has been that of a rocky one. Even though I possess absolutely no enthusiasm where 22 sweaty men running up and down a pitch are concerned (okay, maybe a little if one of those men is Joe Hart), I still seem to find myself embroiled into the sometimes, in my opinion anyway, rather extreme passion for kicking a ball around a field.

Reformed: picking this weeks team

With a father and brother who are keen Notts County Football Club supporters and now boyfriend and family that are also fans, there lies little hope in me escaping from Saturdays meaning one thing and one thing only, and the fate of my life forever more hanging in the balance of whether or not Enoch Showunmi scores.

So, when my boyfriend told me he'd set up his own fantasy football team, who may I add enjoys taking the mick out of my minimal football knowledge on a regular basis, I decided to set up my own team... all in the name of research of course...

I signed up on the Premier League website (http://fantasy.premierleague.com) which is completely free to use and allows you to compete against friends and family in your own private leagues. 

Rather daunted at first with the prospect of having to pick my own team of 11 players plus four subs from the Premiership, I decided to tackle the most important (in my eyes) part first... designing my own kit and team name and joining a team full of my boyfriends, also football orientated, friends. 

After enjoying that rather a little too much I set out on the intimidating task of picking out my players. With £100 million to spend on whoever you so wish ( max three players from each team) the only way I could see to best tackle the problem was to pick players by looks... don't have me down for being shallow though, reputation did play a small role, otherwise I'd have never ended up with someone like Nemanja Vidic!

Truth be told I did lose some interest after I'd made the team.... until Saturday came around and I suddenly became strangely excited- an emotion that I never thought I'd be putting in the same sentence as something football related. Gareth Bale was moving to Madrid, and my uneducated self had put him in my team! I had to transfer (a word that wasn't even in my vocabulary up until last week) and quick. 

Ok, so I'm bottom of the league (for now) but starting a week late, and considering my football knowledge can only be described as dreadful I don't think I'm doing too bad. I've learnt which teams are in the Premiership, I know which teams are playing which on a weekly basis, and after revamping my team this week I have high hopes for the rest of the season. Wow... if you close your eyes I sound a little bit like Alex Ferguson giving his comments on the latest Manchester United match... little past it I know but do I look like the sort of person who knows who manages which football clubs!? I'm not quite at that standard yet.

An Alternative Ibiza

At 19 years old I will merely be one in a good few thousand teenage girls visiting the famous party island this summer. However, instead of a party holiday with my girlfriends this is my twelfth visit to the white isle with both my middle aged parents (sorry mum!) and now sixteen year old (not so) little brother.

Why there I hear you ask? Truth is I'm not entirely sure to the answer of that question. My dad has always had a love for house and electronica music for which the island is famous for, but from our first visit we’d all fallen head over heels in love with the beautiful beaches, quaint towns ( yes they do exist), and the general loving atmosphere about the place.

One of my first memories of being in Ibiza is on one of our first visits: I must have been around seven years old and my Dad took us to Bora Bora Beach Club in Playa Den Bossa (one of the more party orientated areas of the island). For those of you who are unaware, Bora Bora Beach Club is a go to bar in the district with resident DJs in a prime position on the beach. Yes, my parents started me young- I blame them for my party animalistic traits! We asked a youngish bloke who was dancing around the bar at the time to take a photo of us all and he replied with “wow... you’re the coolest family on the island!”... I guess we probably were.

It’s no secret that alongside being a popular (and expensive!) destination for party holidays, Ibiza has also captured the hearts of families with many hotel complexes around areas such as Santa Eularia... a world away from the infamous San An!

Each to their own, but what’s the fun in visiting an island famous for its music scene and clubs and not giving them a go!?

When my brother and I were a little older we stopped going to hotels as such and decided to let our adventurous sides out, staying in a Dutch couple’s apartment we had found advertised on Facebook. The rest is history... We return every year, and think of them as our extended family. I can’t imagine going anywhere else.

Joe, Mum, Dad, Me, Peter and Eelco

So how do we experience the best of both worlds while we’re there? By doing a bit of everything.

A trip to Ibiza, for me, would not be complete with our several visits thrown into the mix- along with a lot of sunbathing and some dodgy Lidl Mojito of course! So without further ado here are my musts!

Ses Salines: My whole family will be in agreement with this one. Celebrity spotting can often be a past time here, with crystal clear blue seas and white soft sand bordered by pine woods and three great (some more expensive that others) bars it has everything you could want from a trip to the beach... the best on the Island (in my opinion anyway.)

Los Pasajeros: The best kept Ibizan secret if ever there was one, this tiny first floor restaurant located in Evissa offers not only the best mash potato I've ever tasted in my life but an explosive atmosphere with comforting home cooked food at an extremely reasonable price. We've been going every year since we first discovered the place which speaks for itself!

Cafe Del Mar

Sunset Strip, Cafe Del Mar, San An: Out the way of the usual you’d expect from the typically British seafront of San Antonio the sunset strip is a spectrum of people. With several bars looking out on rocky bay famous for its beautiful sunsets you have the option of spending £50 on a round at one of them... or nipping to the local beer off and sitting in front of them, still listening to the chilled out tunes for
more than half the price.

Cala Bassa Beach Club

Cala Bassa: Just outside of San Antonio this beach is a rival to Ses Salines in the best beaches of Ibiza. A slightly shorter strip with one long bar playing out tunes perfect to chill and similarly clear blue waters with soft white sand it is a must!

The Bucket List

My boyfriend has recently become Karl Pilkington and An Idiot Abroad's biggest fan, and  thus I have some how become embroiled into also watching every episode ever made at every available opportunity since he bought the box set.

If you've ever watched An Idiot Abroad you'll know that it goes a bit like this: Ricky Gervais (my favourite man on earth... not) sends Karl to different places across the globe throwing in a few little twists and turns on the way, and series two of the program is built around sending him to places to participate in activities that may be on someones 'bucket list'.

So! With YOLO in mind (You only live once for those who are unsure) and this new found inspiration I decided to come up with my very own bucket list...

1. Visit NYC: a must really for any girl as obsessed with sex in the city as me- would be rude not to.

2. Beat my boyfriend on Mario Kart: this ones more of a point to be proven, would just be nice to have victory that one time and I'd never let him forget it.

3. Ride an Elephant: I've always liked elephants (not that I've ever met one) and this has been a want ever since I've been a little girl.

4. Go on an African safari: something amazing about going to see animals in their natural habitat... That and I fancy myself as a bit of a David Attenborough.

5. Meet the royal family: anyone who knows me well enough knows that this is definitely number one on the list... I'm a big royalist and think it would be an honor and a pleasure to meet her majesty... And I have a tenner riding on it.

6. See the Northern Lights: Must be a popular one, but again something I've always wanted to see. I know it's all scientific, but there's something magical about it.

7. Go skinny dipping: some where nice and not somewhere trampy obviously...! I do have some decorum.

8. Go to Lapland and go on a sledge pulled by dogs: The big kid in me has victoriously pushed this one to the list.

9. Get married

10. Spend time on a remote island with just one other person: preferably someone I get on with!

11. Learn to not worry what other people think: Probably the hardest to achieve!

What's on your bucket list?

Review: Despicable Me 2

 After adopting the three little girls who melted the super-villain's wicked heart in the predecessor, “Despicable Me 2” opens with reformed  Gru (Steve Carell) adjusting to fatherhood: his biggest worries no longer revolve around upholding his image of evil, but the likes of throwing princess themed birthday parties for his daughters, and setting up his own brand of jam with the help of sidekick Dr.Nefario (Russell Brand) and, of course, his army of Minions.

Having given up his crooked ways, Gru is reluctantly persuaded by the Anti-Villain League to team up with geeky yet glam secret agent Lucy Wilde (Kristen Wiig) to capture bad guy, El Macho (Benjamin Bratt) who has stolen a serum that can transform all living beings into indestructible purple monsters.

A notably less clear image than that of the original Despicable Me, the film has been critiqued in other reviews for its lack of “emotional core”, however the film is definitely not missing a heart. The Film touches on the troubles fatherhood can bring when Gru’s eldest, maturing adolescent (Margo) starts becoming interested in the opposite sex – much to Gru’s over protective disgust which is equally heart warming and humorous.  Meanwhile lone wolf Gru discovers his own feelings for secret agent Lucy whose cartoon chemistry and flirtation throughout is both enjoyable and laughable to watch.

It is impossible, however, to talk about Despicable Me without mentioning the expanded role of the hilariously funny Minions. The miniature yellow critters may have their own semi indecipherable language, but their humor essentially lies with the perfect blend of Looney Tunes esque over the top physical jokes combined with pantomime style slapstick absurdity that ensures gags a minute that even the most sensible of adults will titter at.

Fans of the naughty minions will rejoice as they seem to have doubled in both numbers and on screen time, whilst the film ends with the promise that a minion focused third installment will be released in 2014.

Diary of a Glastonbury Festival Oxfam Steward

Day One

Tuesday 25th June 2013

5 am. Abruptly awoken by the sound of the campervan exhaust vibrating as it bellows out thick black smoke. Dragging myself out of the comfort of my warm bed to the cold air of dawn, within the space of five minutes I'm up, teeth and hair brushed, and running out the door in the very same bright pink onesie I wore to bed the night before- surely some sort of record?

Chugging down the M5 it wasn't long before we were in Glastonbury and rolling onto site. You can sit rather smugly when you're in a camper at a festival... as you will know if you've ever attended one in the past, organizers  seem to designate car parks as far away as humanly possible from where you'll end up camping, and so thus you end up lugging a whole weekends worth of clothes (for all weather), food, tent and other optional extras that only first timers bring- people that are blissfully unaware when packing of the five mile trek ahead of them, half an hour into their walk however wishing they'd not bothered and dumping at the nearest opportunity.

Being (and not to blow my own trumpet, but) intrepid and hardened festival goer I have endured my fair share of playing donkey and carrying my own body weight across muddy fields. A family investment in the campervan however has meant this torture exists no more: I can bring as much food clothes and optional extras as I see fit, and trust me, I do.

Taking all of five minutes to set up (another perk of having a campervan) we went and registered where we received all our shifts, wristbands, ID cards, and a lovely bring orange hi-vis before talking a walk into the festival site. My tenth year of Glastonbury festival walking into somewhere which, to me, feels like a second home jam packed with 100,000 other people, it was rather eerie walking through an almost desolate area before the public arrive tomorrow. The same feeling still hit me as I walked through the gate however... I'm home.

Day Two

Wednesday 26th June

You only realize quite how lucky you are when you're thrown into a situation where you have a minimum of a five minute walk to the toilet or nearest water point. So used to it being readily available wherever you are, I feel rather ungrateful cursing on my cold walk to the toilet this morning when in comparison to so many living in third world poverty, a five minute walk to the toilet is a luxury. Our three shifts alone each raise enough money to provide a house for a family in Syria. Yeah, you're doing it mainly because 205 quid for a ticket to a music festival is extortionate and you can't afford it, but that fact is a nice little extra that makes your 8 hour shift seem that little more bearable.

As I fall back into the routine of dealing with horrendous toilet facilities I remember my unwritten rule I've always followed when at a festival... never, wherever possible, chose the toilet a man has just walked out of. Everyone knows they are, even when sober, disgusting pigs, however mix a little beer into the system and not only does their stench become 1000x more pungent, but it means their aim is a little out, meaning for a filthy toilet not fit for a lady to use after they have soiled it. I still firmly believe that without men the festival would overall be a lot cleaner.

Tonight is our first shift, 10pm until 6am... ouch. The festival doors officially opened this morning and people are pilling in making it progressively busier. As we walk to our location, a vehicle gate on the opposite side of the massive site, it's interesting to note the intuition and creativity of methods people dream up to reduce the effort needed to cart across their beer and other heavier items, such as cider and other canned alcoholic beverages in copious quantities. The best I've seen so far has to be a wheelie bin... how did it even get here?! 

Day Three

Thursday 27th June

First thing in the morning, I've just returned from the night shift. Although the shift went seemingly fast, 6am could not have come quicker, and after giving a cheery wave to our supervisor Ocean (yes, really) we strolled off ready to spend the day in bed. 

I woke up mid afternoon by the rain pounding against the window and stayed in the campervan until 9pm at night when I knew it had stopped. The problem with festivals however is that it only takes a little bit of rain before 100,000 feet walking over the already saturated ground churns it up and lanes turn into mud slides- good job I brought my wellies. 

We took a stroll into the festival once the rain had stopped trudging through the already muddy paths... it is surprising how many people come to Glastonbury- probably the one festival renown for being the muddiest and wettest- without wellies, or even anything remotely suitable for mud, opting instead for flip flops and trench foot.  

The problem with Glastonbury now is, again being the ten year snobby Glastonbury veteran that I am, that the number of punters has dramatically increased whilst the site hasn't particularly. On a Thursday when  the main arenas aren't yet open it means that swarms of people head to those that are such as the dance village and the park... I'm already fed up of walking through annoying drunk people and it's only Thursday night... 

Day Four

Friday 28th June

The festival officially started today: the main arenas are open and, best of all, the sun is back out! 

We woke up and got ready for our next shift at 2pm-10pm... thinking it would be quite this afternoon as most deliveries were made earlier in the week we were in shock at how busy we were. After a slow start the shift soon descended into a star spotting session as we learned we were positioned next to the stars gate! We let in the likes of Greg James, Sinead O'Connor, Chase and Status, Major Lazer, The Rolling Stones (their four huge tour buses at least), Professor Green, Rita Ora, and best of all, Michael Eavis himself-not a bad day all in all.

Seeing Miles Kane, a personal favorite of mine, perform for a short while on our break, for me made the afternoon quite worth while, and finishing at ten to run off and see the Arctic Monkey's even more so.

Stood at the back of the crowd absolutely knackered from a hard days work I have to say I was somewhat disappointed with the Monkeys. Once a band that were full of energy with songs such as Mardy Bum and Florescent Adolescence there seemed to be a lack of it in their set, going through the motions as it were. Although they played their classics I wasn't sure whether it was the 8 hour stint of standing up I'd just endured or the set that was sending me to sleep! 

After getting back to camp we're settling down for the night when the sound of an acoustic guitar and bad singing starts... who in their right mind brings a musical instrument to a music festival?!(optional extra right there... they must have a van).

"Hey up, we've got James Blunt over there", says Dad, shortly followed by the slightly more offensive "shut the f*** up." 

Good job we brought ear plugs. 

Day Five

Saturday 29th June

Beginning to miss my home comforts; running water, flushing toilet, electricity and my boyfriend... all in that order! Today has been our day off and with the sun shining and 20 degree temperatures it couldn't have been better. Having a lie in in the morning we walked across to the far east side of the site down to Shangri La to watch Norman Jay. Firstly I found fifty quid... morals half go out the window at the festival, feeling rather guilty about picking it up with only a quick look round first played on my mind for the next couple of hours, however there is no where to hand it in, and when it's been dropped anything goes right?! Sat on the grass at the Shangri Hell listening to the perfect collision of African vibes and classic tracks. 

Rather sun burnt we went back to camp for something to eat before heading back out to watch Major Lazer. I've never before really been a fan, introduced by my Dad however that the band had tweeted that they ideally wanted a huge basket ball net and a helicopter to drive over and dunk it in during their set, I was assured it was to be an entertaining hour. And so it was. Erratic dancing from all and bopping in the early dusk set up for a great night steering clear of the Rolling Stones. Dad insisted we walk past the Pyramid stage on which they were performing on our way round to the other stage if not only to say " I saw The Rolling Stones at Glastonbury". It turned out to be disastrous. EVERYONE had turned up to see them. The biggest crowd I have ever seen swarming back even beyond the tents. It took us half an hour to shuffle through to the other side, and feeling rather claustrophobic and uncomfortable we got as far away as possible... I feel there should be a tshirt- I saw The Rolling Stones at Glastonbury and almost got crushed to death. 

The rest of the festival site was somewhat quite! So seizing the opportunity we watch a little of Chase and Status and went up to the park before returning back to Arcadia to watch Fat Boy Slim who was amazing. Arcadia never fails to amaze me... the fire, the lights and the music is a mixture which is perfectly combined providing a fantastic atmosphere. It only takes someone as big as Fat Boy Slim to make for a massive crowd pleasing set.

At around 2am we returned to camp in the knowledge that we had to be up at 5 for our shift... 

Day Six

Sunday 30th June

8 hours later... what a killer. Turns out sleep is pretty important... another boring shift but now we're free! Absolutely knackered, but free all the same. We stumble back to the camp, give back our hi-vis' and claim our reward... a green badge. All that work for a green badge!.. and the people in Syria, of course. We went back to bed for a little while however it wasn't long before we were out again, making the most of our time left. We saw a few acts and bought a few bargains in the last knocking sales that always happen on the Sunday before feeling massively drained watching the XX, and decided to boot it home before the rest of the punters had the same idea. Six days in a field, with a seat on top of a wheelie bin for a toilet and no shower seriously takes it's toll on you, and although I massively enjoyed myself I have never been more excited to go home! 

After a panic of the van not starting and coaxing her into life we set off... saying goodbye for another year safe in the knowledge that I'll be back again next year to endure the same emotional spectrum of experiences this week has brought. 

Terrible Tanning Tale of Woe

I am cursed with the gingery pale gene which means that, like a vampire, I merely need to see the sun before burning to a red sizzley crisp.

Not only is it extremely bad for your skin to sit and allow yourself to look like you've been placed in the toaster on full blast all day, it is even more unattractive, and so thus lies my problem.

How do I navigate myself from pale English rose (questionable), to bronzed goddess? (Even more questionable...)

I've tried most sun creams with a similar effect... Too much time in the sun, with or without high SPF protection more often than not results in the above mentioned toaster effect.

I'm blaming it on the illusion of choice: summer need only poke it's head round the corner before aisles of boots are stocked full of yellow brown white and orange packaging... And by aisles I really mean a good half of the shop. Bottles with carrot extract in, or aloe Vera, extra tanning enhancer or all day water resistant, who really gives a monkeys ?!

Why is the packaging always brown or orange? Why isn't it just red to simply and plainly point out that that, whichever you chose, lobster red is undoubtably the colour you will turn instead of sailing me down the river with the false hope and promise that I'll be hideously brown as soon as my skin comes into contact with the magic liquid.

At the end of the day, if you're going to tan you'll tan without the help of carrots or enhancers, and if you're not, you'll look more like a tomato than a carrot come the end of the day, plagued with the thought of being stupid enough to think a carrot enhancer would help, just because the bottle was orange.

Every year I make the same mistake. I take solace in the fact that "this year will be different because I have a new suntan lotion", and then proceed to act surprised when I inevitably take my bikini off from my first day in the sun, only to find that the outline is imprinted onto me, with my boobs and bum both shining in the mirror back at me like beacons... I can almost hear them laughing "we told you so" back in my growing progressively crimson face.

From now on I intend to accept the pale and sun hating body that God has blessed me with and stick to my factor 50 and the sunshade... Until next year.