As children we were often under threat from non existent nasty’s like the boogeyman, “…if you don’t go to bed the bogeyman will get you”.
As we got older these frightening figures melted away. But what if you found out the boogeyman was real?

The name Akinwale Arobieke will mean very little to a lot of people. However try using his better known name of Purple Aki, in North England and it won’t be long before you’re bombarded with tales of this “boogeyman urban legend”.

But Purple Aki is no urban legend, donning his name for apparently being “so black he is purple”, Purple Aki’s legend had struck fear in the hearts of many people up North. This man, who at a burley 6″5, would approach young men asking to measure their biceps or perform squats amongst other things, was eventually arrested and jailed for six years in 2003 for 16 counts of harassment.

 For years it was unknown whether Purple Aki was even real but his conviction cemented his existence.
 Last year, after his release, a Sexual Offenses Prevention Order was imposed. This means he cannot touch, feel or measure muscles or ask people to do squat exercises in public. However, only two months later he broke the ban when he approached a 17 year old boy. He asked the boy how many bench presses he could do.

The boy told the court: “He pointed to my arms and asked if he could see.

“He then lifted his hand towards my biceps and I realised who it was. I backed away and told him I had to go.

“I felt sick and walked away as fast as I could. I went to a friend’s house and looked back but he had gone.”

Bodybuilder Arobieke was found guilty and was sentenced to 18months in prison.

This man has received more than 400,000 hits on you tube after various spoof cartoons and video clips were made.

So next time someone tells you the boogeyman isn’t real, tell them Purple Aki is.

a Purple Aki spoof on youtube…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WzVcTYoQET8 

Hi my name is Akua and I am an addict.

In a society where it is easier to be an addict than not, I am constantly inundated with various things that prevent me from doing what I am meant to be. My vice, however, is not drugs nor is it alcohol. The demon that I have been battling for quite some time is the internet. Addiction is defined as a: “Compulsive physiological and psychological need for a habit-forming substance…The condition of being habitually or compulsively occupied with or involved in something”- the perfect summary for my tumultuous relationship with the internet.

I find solace in the fact that I am not alone. Millions of us each day log onto Facebook, My Space, bebo and various other ‘social networking’ websites in effort to catch up and, to some extent, stalk our peers.

But being an internet addict doesn’t begin and end with social networking. The internet creates a hyper reality in which we can go about our daily business without leaving the comfort of our homes. Whether we’re educating ourselves, shopping or finding a husband, the internet caters for all our needs.

Does the net perpetuate laziness? Probably, but what did we actually do before it existed? I probably would have known a lot less about Britney Spears for starters.

My love hate relationship with the world wide web stems from its alluring ability to seduce me into buying something that I don’t have money for and with the ease that it manages to distract me from doing something that is required of me (on MSN at 2am instead of finishing an essay or sleeping).

The net only seems to be growing in power and influence and often not positively. Only recently was Youtube briefly shutdown after an alleged rape was posted and was only reported after it had been watched by more than 600 people. It is possible to put almost anything up on the net. Britain experienced its largest libel payout to British property executive Peter Walls 55, over online harassment by a business rival. He received an £100,000 payout.

Tales of people, usually children, going missing after meeting someone online, isn’t unheard of.

How much further can the internet be taken? For the most part the internet is an amazing illustrious tool for getting what you want, but equally in the wrong hands it can transform into something quite sinister and unsafe.Maybe the internet is contributing to the demoralization of our nation.

I’m not sure where cyberspace is taking me, friend or foe? All I know is that I am inclined to follow as I am a self confessed addict.

Famed for being prim, proper and rich, Lady’s carry a hefty burden. But this Lady is anything but.
Philipa ‘Pip’ Brown aka Ladyhawke is bringing the 80′s back.  Not to be confused with Lady GaGa (Pip does not consider a tea cup to be an accessory, and is far too grounded for that nonsense), this New Zealander native is a fresh and welcomed addition to electro- pop music scene and boy doesn’t she do it well.

This easy going Kiwi was recently nominated in the Best Solo Artist category at the NME Awards. Pitted against music heavyweights such as Jay- Z. She also recently appeared in ITV’s offbeat comedy based on a radio show, FM, in which she played herself.

Her self titled debut album infuses synth and funky electro guitar riffs melodically. Her sassy, sexy synthful beats will have you toe tapping and humming for hours.
 Although it is reminiscent of Fleetwood Mac, Ladyhawke is no copycat; she has cemented her own modern sound.

‘Paris is burning’ is a stand out track on the album, written by her about her first experience of Paris. It’s a song that chops and changes in tempo and rhythm from verse, to chorus to bridge. It’s pounding drum beat and addictive guitar riff encapsulates the excitement and urgency of Paris.

Ladyhawke wrote and played instruments on all the songs on her album. Not a hard press for someone who aged 14 taught themselves how to play the guitar, bass and synthesizer in addition to the drums which she learnt aged 11.
This album is far from run of the mill. It mixes more melancholic love songs such as track six, ‘Love Don’t Live here’, describing a slow break up. And then she changes the mood with the synth laden newest single ‘Back of the van‘, the oldest track on the album written three years ago about young love, summer and the anticipation amped up elation that ensues.
The only burden this Lady is carrying is the need to surpass the success of her current album.

Her Album is out now and next single Back of the Van, is released next month

When two second year journalism students from City university began to find their French module a little more authentic than they’d hoped, it seemed there was only one solution to save their course, and no better use of their student loan than to head to the city of lights and love; Paris.

Most people laughed at their far fetched idea to improve their language skills, some even called them stupid. But three brave young women (and fellow classmates) saw the true potential of the trip, and all five, Akua, Dilan, Hannah, Jemelyn and Rochaelle, embarked on a whirlwind tour of Paris that lasted a mammoth…3 days.

This is a small testament to our journey; where we went, what we did, where we stayed and how much it set us back. You might find it a helpful guide or merely find amusement in some of our antics.

 This mini adventure didn’t come without struggle- a day before we were meant to leave, after booking accommodation, we lost one of the team- she couldn’t find her passport. But valiantly we went on. Hannah was in Canada up until the day before our departure. And having booked a hostel instead of the hotel that she had adamantly requested we thought it wise to wait till on the train to Paris before breaking it to her. We also discovered on route that no one had brought any form of phrase book and/or dictionary both vital to a group of people whose knowledge of French went little farther than ‘voulez-vous couchez avec moi ce soir?’ We had entrusted this menial task to Jemelyn – who swore that she had downloaded some sort interpretation device and put it on her iPod, which was now MIA. We were buggered.

We departed from Kings Cross St Pancras at 06:40am and arrived at Gare du Nord at 10:40am. We caught the metro (underground), which over the next few days became our closest Parisian pal. We found our hostel easily enough. Having conjured up images of a crack den with dorms, we were pleasantly surprised (and relieved) to find our hostel was actually really nice and had been voted by The Guardian as one of the top ten in the whole world. We dumped our bags and set about on our escapades.

Day 1:
I’ll sleep when I’m dead…

Having skipped a whole nights’ sleep we thought it best not to give in, but to see how far we could push ourselves before breaking point. So we agreed to continue our day as normal and run on enthusiasm and will power. Our hostel was conveniently located a two minute walk from a shopping centre and so we did what any female student with a bit of dough in their pocket would, and went shopping. After spending what felt like  eight hours in Sephora, we returned to our hostel and got settled. We’d booked a boat tour of the Seine and it was beautiful, we could’ve happily ended our first night in Paris there. But no, we went in search of some more romanticism. Despite Hannah catching forty winks almost anywhere she could, we ventured into the Latin Quarter, known for its student atmosphere and busy bars. We foolishly went in hopes of finding a shisha place, knowing full well that Paris, like London, had become smoke free. We were told that there were no longer any shisha bars. We were all dressed up with no place to go, feeling deflated, exhausted and subsequently a little bit mad. We wondered the streets of Paris. But then a glimmer of hope came in the form of four hot and slightly drunk American guys. They too were looking for some entertainment and told us about a club on Le Champs Elysses called Queen. There’s nothing like good looking guys to rid you of your ailments, Hannah said she had been awoken by “the scent of man”, so we clamoured into a cab with no actual address of the club just the road name.
Queen was a gay bar, which we were aware of, we didn’t know, however, that it was disco night. You can only imagine what disco night in a gay bar in Paris would be like; over the top but very entertaining. The only point of frustration came when trying to decipher who was gay and who was straight. We decided to call it a night at 3am and after a day of shopping, drooling, dancing and drinking it couldn’t have come sooner. 

Day 2:
Meet me under the Eiffel tower.

Morning came far too quick; who would have known waking up could be so difficult? Not ones to turn down anything for free, we woke ourselves up in time to catch breakfast, which was served between 7am and 9am. Bleary eyed we got ready. We decided that we would use this day to shop (again) only this time on the well known Champs Elysses (a more grand version of oxford street) and Galeries Lafayette department store (like Harrods). The Metro meant getting around was fairly easy and the location of the hostel meant we were close to most of Paris’ main attractions. Galeries Lafayette was stunning, with an abundance of luxury and designer wear it wasn’t the best of shopping locations for penny pinching students but it was still astonishing to look at. After a long day of running around like rats on the streets of Paris we were knackered. But the day wasn’t over. It is a prerequisite for any tourist visiting Paris to see the Eiffel tower and being the extroverts that we are we decided- in spite of me having a very real fear of heights, to go to the very top.  So come nightfall we went. The view extended over the picturesque city and we truly understood its colloquial name of the city of lights, the Eiffel tower being its’ beacon. After experiencing the mesmerizing views of Paris we ate and then went on to a bar, and somehow managed to stay till its’ closing at 2am.

Day 3:
Credit what?!

By our final day in Paris we’d all become aware that we were haemorrhaging money- the term “credit crunch” had been erased from our vocabulary. We had also disregarded the fact that the instalment of our student loan was to last us till April. In addition to this, we were all extremely sleep deprived.
We decided to launch an assault the streets of Montmartre, home to the Moulin Rouge, Espace Dali, the Sacre ceour and much to our surprise, dozens of sex shops. It was on exiting Pigalle station in search of Espace Dali (a museum dedicated to the works of artist and visionary Salvador Dali), that we realised our grave error. We were met at street level by a barrage of seedy and overtly named sex shops. It was here that we were approached by a French man asking if we “knew of any good sex shops in the area”, to whom we said no. Moments later he returned asking in his thick Parisian accent if we would “like to come to a sex shop” with him- to which we replied, “no thank you”. He then suggested that maybe we would like to take a photo of a part of his male anatomy, at which point we ran off.
Set on a hill 130meters high, the area of Montmartre overlooks Paris and along with the Eiffel tower, held the best views of the city. Once we reached the top (after a very steep walk) we reaped the rewards of our trek and were greeted by the perfect view below us. We came to Montmartre in Search of Espace Dali and to book tickets for that nights show at the Moulin Rouge. It was in a crepery in the area that we made friends with two French men who promised to take us out after the show.

The Moulin Rouge was everything I expected and that little bit more. And by the end of the night I’d seen just about as many boobs as I could take. At the end of the show Jemelyn erupted and began to sob out loud, she said she was moved to tears by emotion but we suspected the half bottle of champagne she consumed had something to do with it.

After the show, as promised, we were joined by our Parisian compares for the night. They took us to a club just off the Champs Elysses called 6-7. Wednesday night is tourist night, which means if you’re not a French native you get in for free.

We couldn’t fault the music and the free cocktails only helped to enhance the evening. I would, however, try and take back all five of us attempting to do the ‘soulja boy’ dance routine in the middle of a fancy Parisian club. Alcohol and time keeping do not go hand in hand as we found out. We got back to our hostel at 4am and our return train left at 6:40am. After foolishly knapping for an hour and a half we awoke and began to brick it.

We were very tired, a bit drunk and as a result Jemelyn was quite sick (anywhere she could).  We bundled ourselves into a cab and prayed that we’d make our train. We arrived on the platform just as they’d announced they were about to close the doors. After leaping onto the train and barging through the carriages we found our seats. For the first time in three days there was silence.  

Granted our time in Paris may not have made that great an impact on our French. There was no denying that we’d all fallen for the city of love.

Return Eurostar ticket (booked through STA):  £52.50
Oops! Hostel Avenues des Gobelins: £22/ppn.
Metro: €5.80 for a day pass.
Moulin rouge: €90 (show and half a bottle of champagne)
Espace Dali: €6
Ticket to the top of the Eiffel tower: €12

They attract hundreds, sometimes thousands of people, in hopes of raising money and awareness for their assigned charity. It takes months of organization and often costs its participants their social lives and sanity. So why is it that so many students choose to put on charity fashion shows?

March is an eventful month, it’s the official start of spring, a time when eating chocolate (in the shape of eggs) is mandatory and when flowers bloom once again. It is also when Barts and the London school of medicine and dentistry hold their annual fund raising event Shock Fashion Show.

This eight year long tradition is a medley of dancing, pouting and prancing set up, organized and performed by students in effort to raise money for the British Lung Foundation. Having raised £58,000 since they started in 2001 it is obvious they’re doing something right. 

This year the fashion show was held at Camden’s iconic KOKO where only days prior Katy Perry graced its stage. It was Barts and the London’s eighth fund raising event. The show was put together by the students themselves with the exception of some choreography in the form of MTV choreographer Gwen Jno Baptiste. Gwen along with the students kept the audience entertained with various dance routines to current and past belters. ‘Its raining men’ by the Weather Girls was a firm favourite and highlight of the show; the male dancers ripped their trousers off!

Originally the presenter of the show was supposed to be glamour model, Jody Marsh but after a last-minute drop out she was replaced by buxom bubbly non-celeb in a burlesque inspired outfit. Despite the minor set back the show ran smoothly with a mix of dances and catwalk shows and array of clothes donated from various designers, ranging from high street brands such as Jaeger, Ben Sherman and Uniqlo. The show also gave lesser known designers and boutiques a chance to showcase their finest with Nikita Sabilier, LuLu & Lush and Traffic People also lending a helping hand. The accompanying music was just as eclectic as the designers. Songs used were from different ends of the music spectrum including Britney Spears, Hot Chip, Goldfrapp, Wiley, MGMT and The Pussycat Dolls to name but a few.

From our view in the tiers it was clear to see the show was a success. If going by numbers alone- KOKO’s 1500 capacity venue was packed and filled with an appreciative enthusiastic crowd- whooping laughing and clapping throughout. The show combined art, fashion, music and humour whilst raising thousands of pounds for charity. Judging by the number of people at the after party still on the dance floor at 2am it’s safe to say that a good time was had by all.

We caught up with this year’s president of the show, fourth year medic Abena Achampong, to find out just what goes into the makings of a fashion show.

Why did you choose to put on a Fashion show to raise the money?

Abena: It’s something for all students to get involved in, it doesn’t single out singers or actors or dancers. It’s just a bunch of students putting on a show.

How long did it take to organize?

We’ve been organizing it since May last year. But rehearsals started just before Christmas.

What was the hardest part of putting on a show like this?

Mainly finance and official processes. Making sure we had enough money to put on the show and making show there was enough money to cover all our expenses.

What was the best part of putting on the Fashion show?

Obviously the end result! Coming out to a packed audience and knowing that they’ve had a good time all in the name of charity makes all the hard work worthwhile. I also got to work closely with other people that otherwise I wouldn’t have and we had a laugh (most of the time).

Why did you choose KOKO as a venue?

It’s an iconic venue. It has a beautiful interior and really has an heir of sophistication and decadence. It made a nice change from the student union!

How many people were involved in the show?

There were sixty-nine people in the show all together. There were forty-three models twenty-six dancers eight committee and eight sub committee members.

Would you be president of the BL RAG fashion show again?

I did enjoy but I don’t think I could do it again. I love being part of the show but being president was different. It’ll be nice to give someone else a chance and it’s good to have my life back!