The Human Centipede First Sequence

I bit the bullet the other day and watched the film that everyone's been talking about. You know, the biologically accurate one with the mad scientist who stitches three people together mouth to anus. The one that makes you cringe at the thought of it being humanly possible and made you check on Wikipedia whether this statement was actually true. The one called The Human Centipede.

   It starts out in the same vein as Hostel; two cliche bubble gum headed girls in a German hotel are getting directions to a night club. They get in their car and drive through a secluded area only to get (surprise!) a flat tire. After being sexually harassed by a fat, foul mouthed pervert the two run through the woods to find safety and shelter. And what safety and shelter it is! They knock upon the door of a mad scientist who, inspired by Josef Mengele, dreams of creating a human centipede.

Warning bells should have been ringing for Lyndsay and Jenny after they asked Dr. Heiter if he had a wife. "No, I don't like people." was his curt reply. Slipping a pill in their drinks he then just had to play the waiting game. The girls wake up in a ward that the doctor has set up in his basement. This is when the film gets messy, both in surgeries and script. The problem with a one idea movie is that once the idea has been shown there is nowhere else for the movie to go.

Unlucky for C.

The doctor showing his monstrous plan on a board to his victims is genuinely disturbing but the build up to his creation is far worse than seeing it. Bandages cover the offending areas of the three victims to prevent too much gross out for the audience and also to save money. The result is slightly disappointing and the paper thin plot does little to carry the rest of the film to it's ending.

  It is an interesting idea to have a Japanese man as the head of the centipede. Dr. Heiter's intense dislike of people is probably why he has someone who can not converse with him at the front, thus allowing him to create a pet for himself. Katsuro's shouting becomes that of a bark, his weeping a whimper. With dehumanisation complete the doctor walks the human centipede around the garden and trains it to fetch his paper. He also gets the siamese trio to eat out of a bowl on the floor and keeps them in cage at night. It is out in the garden when the call of nature becomes too much that the film loses it's edge and becomes sickly humourous. Dr. Heiter is ecstatic at the sight of a Katsuro shitting into the mouth of Lyndsay and yells "Feed her!" and "Eat it bitch!" as the poor man weeps in misery and humiliation.

  The film continues with the sub human creature becoming more miserable and depressed. There is a failed attempt at escaping that ends with the trio getting a good whipping but aside from Jenny becoming extremely ill from eating twice recycled food little else happens until the police knock on the door. Yep, the film had to go somewhere and the easy and contrived answer would be for the police to come along and save the day. Except they don't. Instead their idiocy and complete lack of detective skills gets them both killed in a unresolved, bloody and messy ending that leaves everyone except Lyndsay (the middle of the centipede) alive and alone.

This is apparently the first of two films based on the same concept of a human centipede. The sequel, to blow our minds with its originality, will have more people attached together to create a larger creature. Contrary to the belief of Tom Six I don't think this is necessary. The Human Centipede First Sequence is more than enough arse to mouth action for anyone. It is definitely a film to watch, but hardly a film to enjoy.

Get Thin With Skin

After seeing Skunk Anansie at the UEA on Thursday night I had hiccups from the tremulous base, a possible heart murmur from the shuddering crescendo's of rock and slight deafness from the relentless drum bashing, screamy rock and roll blues of support band The Virgin Mary's. Was it worth it? Definitely.

   My girlfriend is a massive Skin fan, along with (from what I saw of the various cliques in the audience) other lesbians, die hard fans in their thirties and forties, students wanting a bit of a mosh before blearily belting out "Weak" and the alternative dread locked or Gothic who were caked in eye make up that they portrayed to be as dark as their soul. Me? Well, to sound like the emo and socially challenged: I didn't quite fit in.

  What I knew of Skunk Anansie was obviously that Skin, with her shaved head and fierce unconventional beauty, was the star of the band. In the 90s she demanded to be seen and heard as she belted out hits such as "Weak", "Secretly", "Twisted" and "Hedonism". Of her songs I knew the usual suspects but had never thought to buy the albums.

  Skunk Anansie disbanded for a while and it all went a bit quiet so when Alicia excitedly told me they were touring again I had the same reaction as most people: "Skunk Anansie are still around?!" The answer to everyone is yes. Yes they are and they are bloody amazing live so next time they're touring go see them!

  We arrived early so we could get front row views. Sadly we didn't notice the massive speaker that was practically snogging me it was so close to my face.  The Virgin Mary's came on, a band I had never heard of and assumed would be a group of sneering, feminist dykes with chains hanging from each of their nipples and attached to each others in a symbolic and kinky show of solidarity. How wrong I was. Three hillbilly Leedonian's strolled on to the stage and proceeded to deafen me in an unrelenting display of rock and roll noise and energy. So much noise, in fact, that I would blink / flinch with my eye lids every time the incredibly talented drummer battered the drums. Although I enjoyed the Virgin Mary's after three songs I just wanted them to get off the stage to save my ears.

  Once The Virgin Mary's left the stage a curtain fell and hid it from view. At 9pm a light display began as Skin  did a bit of DJing that got everyone dancing. She then came to the front of the stage, showing her silhouette that displayed a rather impressive feather boa and stiletto's. The curtain fell and the band jumped straight into one of their more rocky songs. I watched, open mouthed, bewildered yet astounded, as Skin raced around the stage like a woman half her age. Her energy and charisma was a sight to be seen and I doubt any other singer has drawn my attention to them as much at a gig. 

As Skin jumped, skipped, twisted, climbed and ran around the stage I couldn't help but think she should bring out a fitness DVD. It could be called "Get Thin With Skin" and the blurb could be:

"Oi, Charlie big couch potato! Weak are you are, get your Twisted body off the sofa. Secretly you want to be thin and you're going to get thin with Skin! Now you're going to aerobicise to my Glorious Pop Songs you Hedonist. Remember, just because it tastes good doesn't make it right."

I think it would be a best seller, frankly.

   When she wasn't singing Skin was so brazen and tongue in cheek with her own on stage pomposity that you couldn't help but be sucked in by her. It was a similar on stage charisma to Tiggs of Chew Lips fame; it's an indescribable ability to draw people to them and keep people hanging on to their every word. 

   The die hard fans sang along to all of Skunk Anansie's songs but it was when they sang "Weak" that the crowd went wild, jumping, moshing and screaming with joy as Skin walked on people's hands and shoulders before being crowd surfed back to the stage. Quite how her voice remained so strong and in tune as people grabbed at her was a mystery but she managed it with ease.

  After an hour and a half of mesmerising entertainment the band praised one another and did a solo of each of their instruments. It was nice to see that, after all the years they have been working together, they still enjoyed being in the band and touring. Even if you only know a couple of songs I would definitely recommend Skunk Anansie as a band to see. Skin bouncing about in a cat suit was worth the price of the ticket alone.

Kettling Reaches Boiling Point.

At around midday I was on the train to London Waterloo with my girlfriend Alicia; we were heading to Norfolk for a gig at the UEA. Ali, like a little wrinkly busybody, pointed out the window and said "Look at that. Wonder what's going on over there?" I rolled my eyes, typically bored of other people's nosiness, and nonchalantly looked out of the window to see four helicopters in the sky around the Westminster area.

My first thought, admittedly, was "Oh fuck. Terrorists." because of all the scaremongering that goes on in newspapers and on TV (e.g., the propaganda posters around town saying "A bomb didn't go on in this area because a neighbour noticed these bottles of chemicals in the bin on her street" like we all have terrorists as neighbours and should always be snouting through any dark skinned neighbours rubbish.) Ali checked Sky News and we realised it was another student demonstration going on in Whitehall. Four helicopters seemed a bit excessive but I guess the police needed to show they weren't going to put up with any of the nastiness of last time.

When I got home I checked the news again and saw more violence had erupted at student protests around the UK. A police van, allegedly costing 80 thousand pounds, was rocked back and forth as hordes of people surrounded it. The windscreen was smashed; the inside broken into and looted by opportunists / thieves. Police ended up assaulted again, one officer ended up with a broken hand (hopefully his baton holding hand for the little shit that broke it).

It bewilders me how these young people, possibly our future doctors and nurses but more likely our future shop assistants and journalists, can be so stupid as to pick a fight with the police. Did the police promise to lower tuition fees only to then triple the cost? No, they did not. Did the police promise us a new Britain with opportunities for young people only to then take away college students £30 a week EMA? No. That is why it is obvious that anarchists and antagonists, wanting to stick it to the man, are taking advantage of this mass of people fighting for a good cause.

I'm sure some students out there did get carried away, but overall I imagine they probably just put a load of effort into their placards and rhyming chants in the hours they weren't asleep, playing Call of Duty, working part time or drinking cheap alcohol.

The police attempted a new tactic called "kettling" to calm the crowd. I rather imagined kettling to mean they all had a nice cup of Tetley and had a chat about it all in a nice, relaxed fashion; but no. It actually means keeping a pack of people in one place for hours on end, then letting them trickle out a few at a time. "Cattling" would be a better word, really.

I doubt this will be the last we will hear of this battle between students, aggressive trouble makers and the government. The students should have the right to shout, to be heard, to demand to be heard when we, as a country, are expected to remain silent and submissive. We should also have the right to do this in a peaceful and non violent manner. The police will soon get sick of this aggression towards them and will start to fight back in a way that the public won't win; remember the G20 protests? As a graduate with a debt of nearly £30,000 I genuinely hope the students do beat the system; just hopefully not at the price of a tragedy.

Hex Factor.

Witching hour on the X Factor and the bonfire is raging for Wagner. The fix factor has the press poring out salacious and over the top stories such as Wagner threatening to head butt Harry from One Direction and Wagner walking into naked Mary's room and refusing to leave. Even the story of Matt squaring up to Wagner over the exit of Aiden has been twisted into Wagner being the bad guy. Maybe Matt's hat is on a bit too tight for him to be getting oxygen to his brain cells but the whole point of X Factor is that it is a popularity competition. Wagner got more votes than Aiden and Katie. Aiden had the least votes. Aiden left. As that little meerkat says: "Simples."

Bye Quiff Head.

On the show last night it was all about Cheryl VS Wagner. A news story came out that Wagner had ranted about how "lucky" Cheryl was to be where she was after coming from a "council estate" and Cheryl, knowing how honest journalists are decided to get mortally offended by this slur on her character. Erm.. what? Cheryl IS from a council estate and she IS lucky to be where she is. She's no Madonna, Sarah Mclachlan, Tori Amos or anyone with a remotely good voice. She did get lucky because there are thousands and thousands of attractive singers with good voices who can't get their break. Does she think she is owed what she has got out of her amazing life? That it is her unbelievable talent that got her to where she is? Is it fuck. She went on X Factor, joined a girl band, got some bad press, married a footballer, was cheated on and rejoined the X Factor as a judge which somehow made her the nation's darling.

"I'm reet angree on the X Factah me."

Cheryl could have been the bigger person. She could have nodded and accepted that Wagner (if he really was angry) was probably feeling hurt, alone and left out of the wolf pack of other contestants and judges that are against him. She could have put herself in his position. Instead she picked a fight with him on live television and tried to make him feel two centimetres tall. It backfired and made her look unprofessional and catty. Wagner meanwhile came out of the row looking a gentleman, repeating the words she once said on Piers Morgan's Life Stories: "Don't believe everything you read in the papers."

Epic Stair Fail.

The results are in and Paije and Cher are in the sing off. Crazy that Cher is considering her massive Twitter following; maybe Simon really was right about those stairs Both have sang and Paije is going home. The judges say he doesn't deserve to be going home, but what are the other options? Simon Cowell sets up a home for singers where they are all winners and get to sing every day to their hearts content? One person wins so that means sooner or later all but one have to get off the show.

Paije isn't all the rage.

Knowing how angry Cheryl is that her little prodige was in the bottom two I'm hoping Wagner doesn't walk into Cheryl in an empty toilet any time soon. We all know how that could work out for him. Here's to another week of exaggerated stories, bitching and back stabbing. As Stone Gods sang "We're Gonna Burn the Witch!"

TV Highlight of the week.

This weeks TV highlight was on ITV News at midday. The news reporter informed the public "29 miners are trapped after an explosion in New Zealand. So far only two have come up from the pitt and have been taken to hospital with minor injuries."

I know, I know, a weak pun... but very funny.

Shoot from the Lips.

And lo, bereft are we after the finale of Lip Service; a series with the worst bagpipe solo theme music in history. This series has allowed us to voyeuristically peek into the lives of a group of lesbians living in Glasgay as they love, fuck, argue, make up and break up... much like The L word before it.

It is a classic guilty pleasure. Frankie / Elanor / Shane from the L word played by Ruta Gedmintas only has to bat her predatory eyelashes to seemingly straight women and they're whipping their knickers off for her; completely forgetting they are attracted to men and have never behaved in such a sluttish way at the office / in a morgue / on the street before.

Shockingly Frankie is a photographer. A cliche lesbian job that allows her to photograph attractive women who suddenly pounce on her at any given chance. So strong is her sapphic, mesmerising charisma that I'm surprised she ever leaves the house through fear of a stampede of women racing down the streets after her. When Frankie isn't sleeping with whatever randomer is in her radius she is hanging out with her friends in various cafes and bars in Glasgow or harassing her ex girlfriend Cat.

Cat is an architect who needs to create a blueprint to to construct volume in her incredibly flat hair. In fact this show is shamelessly stereotypical in having lesbians with slick hair and butch jobs. There's Cat the Flat, Sam the police officer and the un-memorably named electrician... who my girlfriend claims has "rapists hair". The only women with any volume are the ditzy yet loveable Tess and her TV presenting bi-sexual, short lived lover Lou.

While this group of women were suspicious of one another, cheating on one another and getting their hearts ripped out by one another there was also the bewildering side story of Frankie's past. Apparently her Uncle's her Dad and her Mum was involved in a stabbing or glassing which got her covered in blood and then some other family members died including the original Frankie who was taken over by Elanor who was given the name Frankie. Confused? So is everyone else! Not only is it confusing but also a big waste of time, giving nothing to the TV series.

Another element of confusion was how Frankie and Cat ever got together in the first place. I know they met at school and were best mates but they're just so incredibly different it makes you wonder what they ever had in common. In the final episode Cat and Frankie finally get it on (didn't see that coming from 100 miles away) and the series ends with Cat torn between her best friend and the new woman in her life. Cat is definitely more suited to dull, reliable Sam but I must admit given the choice between the two I would pick the sultry, floppy fringed Frankie any day. 

Lip Service is undoubtably filled with faults. It is brimming with predictability, cliche's and unrealistic storylines. It also tries too hard to be gritty and cool for the masses with it's drug story lines and explicit sex scenes but all the same it is one of the few TV series made for lesbian women and it is no worse than the mighty L Word before it. Roll on series 2!

X Factor / Fix Factor?

The weekend before last I spat out my cereal in mirth while watching X Factor. Yeah I eat cereal in the evenings as a nutritious treat sometimes, so what?

What caused this tittering was the sight of Cheryl Cole's face tightening up like a clown's purse when Wagner (pronounced "Vagner") was put through for another week by the public. For those who don't know yet are increasingly intrigued by this tale of Cheryl Cole's frustration- Wagner is a middle aged, long haired, eccentric Brazilian who can not sing, let alone sing in time. He is voted in weekly by members of the public who are increasingly frustrated with this money making machine that demands to take our money in a voting system that allows an attractive yet not incredibly talented singer to become famous and make an album that will be nice yet bland, devoid of any raw talent or creativity. The main song on the album that will be any good is then brought out to be Xmas number one. 

Worst CD cover ever?

Britain is so fed up of filling Simon Cowell's pockets that they are boycotting his show. Last year Simon complained when Rage Against The Machine were number 1 after people made a campaign on Facebook, saying it was "stupid" and "dismissive" of contestants. So what if it is stupid? And isn't it up to us who we dismiss? It is better than having another bland album out with another bland cover with bland photo's and songs that go "Baby I miss you, I love you hold my hand la la" or something equally shit.

What I don't like about this series is the obvious need to keep Katie Waissel in the show. I didn't quite understand it until I read that Katie had links to Sony and Cowell before the show. Usually on X Factor if someone is in the bottom two more than twice the judges will decide that this singer has no connection with the public and therefore should go. Not so with Katie. The producers changed the rules to suit themselves when Kay-Tee was up against Trey- Cee, refusing to go to deadlock because they knew Katie had the least votes. The next week they knew Aiden had less votes and it went to deadlock so he left. Seriously, how many chances does one girl get?

I wouldn't mind if she wasn't so smug and desperate all at the same time. Whenever she gets praised after singing she acts like she's done something amazing like cured AIDs when really she has just done what she is on the effing show to do in the first place. Annoying. I would just like to clarify that although it is irritating knowing someone is being favouritised on a show I do think it's quite disgusting that Katie is getting death threats. Come on, you should have kept it quiet. She'll see you coming now.

Rebecca to win!

Although I am anti X Factor for their sneaky ways and yearnings for weak pop albums to sell to the tween masses... I do watch weekly. The main reason for this is Rebecca Ferguson. Her smoky, soulful voice, reminiscent of Nina Simone and her beautifully modest smile after singing makes her an obvious winner. 

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

This is a melodramatic journal entry I wrote on my computer while I was left alone in the house over night:

I am on my computer at 3.33 for the simple fact that I am alone in my house and there are weird noises upstairs. Not weird as in pleasantly quirky or obnoxiously zany. No. I mean weird like.... paranormal weird / gravity defying burglar weird / aliens that can jump really high, get on my roof and climb through the attic window weird.

I hate being on my own. More so after Alicia came home two days ago with a raging temperature and about three pints of snot escaping her cute little comma shaped nostrils every hour. She was all "Hold me please, I feel cold. Kiss my forehead and make me feel better." which was just unbelievably selfish. There's me, average body temperature, spooning the human embodiment of a boiled lobster until the lobster turns to breathe in my face, snorting and coughing and wishing for affection and kisses. There was no chance for little me. None at all. I hope she realised that as she went off to Leeds this weekend, leaving me in a pool of my own nasal body fluids.

Fucks sake. I should never have watched Paranormal Activity. My mind is now working over time, making my already battered immune system even more strained as my heart races at the thought of some hooved demon in my bedroom looking at some non existing photo of me as a troubled and stalked psychic child. What if it comes down, drags me off the sofa and bites me really hard? What the hell would you do in that sort of situation? It never came up at school did it?

I am frightened. 

Hurry daylight, my only friend.

Strange News This Week

It's been a weird week for news hasn't it?

First thing I noticed was Dick Van Dyke being saved by porpoises. Mr. Van Dyke claims to have fallen asleep on a surf board at some point between the day he was born and the present day, only to wake up and realise he was far from land. He then states that some porpoises helped him return to land, thus saving his life. At the bottom of the Telegraph's article they helpfully remind the youths of today just who this man with the rather gay and lesbian friendly name is; a "btw he's the guy from Mary Poppins, lol." if you will.

The next snippet of news that seemed a smidgen on the side of the bizarre was: Mother from Florida attempted to sell her child. Yep, in this new age of materialism, media, and celebrity worshipping a woman thought buying a car was more important than seeing the child she held in her womb for nine months grow up. What is worse is that the baby's Grandmother was the person that brokered the deal, probably putting an ad on ebay or gumtree before realising a relative was barren / normal and wanted this child to have a safe upbringing. It is just horribly, horribly depressing. This isn't ancient Egypt where people are sold at markets. If you want a car go out and fucking work for one like everyone else!

This was an article that made me laugh: Tetris reduces symptoms of PTSD. Apparently playing a game with colourful falling bricks can prevent Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. That is, of course, unless you are suffering PTSD from a load of bricks falling on your head. Then, I am afraid, you are fucked.

The most interesting bit of strange news this week comes from Sky News. An elusive Amazonian tribe have been captured on video. That's not captured as in "You're nicked, put some effing clothes on." but captured as in seen on video for the first time. It is amazing that these people live a life of purity and day to day survival. They do not understand the self absorption of blogging, Twitter or Facebook or the West's obsession with the X Factor and Cheryl Cole. It's not important. I do think though, that somehow, against all odds, they managed to learn fashion from the wild beast that is Jodie Marsh. Weird!

My Super Spoilt Sixteenth.

I was watching this episode of "My Super Sweet 16" on MTV UK and there was this 15 ("going on 16, going on 17" or however the song goes) year old boy in a limo who was on his way to some swanky music studio. He was saying how hot Rihanna is right now so she would be perfect for him to ask to be his "princess".

I was thinking to myself "This 15 year old boy ("going on 16, going on 17" or however the song may go) can't possibly mean THE Rihanna? Not thigh shimmying, booty shaking, rude boy riding under an umbrella, ella, ella Rihanna? But it was that Rihanna! The very same!

So this youth goes into a room and there sits Rihanna, acting surprised that cameras and a minor have walked into a room to see her. The boy sits next to her, all faux doe eyed innocence when the reality is that Rihanna probably has two goons with guns at her head just out of the camera shot. He asks Rihanna, a grown woman, to be his date (or "princess") to his party. She pauses.... then graciously accepts his invitation along with his gift to her: a £7,000 watch. If that's not worth his first blowee as the clock strikes midnight I don't know what is.

It disappointed me, how easily these people who seem unapproachable can be brought. I wondered to myself what would happen if Stewie Griffin rang Rihanna up in some skit on Family Guy:

Stewie: "Heyyyy Ri-Ri, It's Stew-ie on line 3 how you doin'? Great, great. So I was just chillin' at my pad thinkin' how my super sweet 2nd birthday is coming up and I was wondering if you'd be my princess to my shindig on Saturday night? *pause* You would?! Hey baby, I brought you a present too. It's a watch I brought from a market in England. It has a delightful little monkey on it dressed as a pirate and says 'Paul Franc' on the back. Apparently he's big over there, although I heard they don't like the French. Anyway I'm waffling. See you on Saturday sexy. Wear that nice outfit from the 'Rude Boy' video; it really gets Rupert going. He's a bit of a rude boy. I think you would like him." *cuts the call and licks the phone* "Yeah, that's the stuff."

I wish Rihanna had come to my 16th party. :-(

A* for Anarchy.

What can I say about today except that it is pissing it down, is bloody miserable and I am full of cold. This is (obviously) the start of a new blog to help me write daily (or as often as I can be arsed... but I will try) and help keep me sane while I am on the dole.

Christ. It's like a monsoon outside. The rain is going sideways and everything like on the Truman show. It looks like a weakly budgeted 70's film set on a ship, except without a ship because it is the view outside my window... which is outside my house. So no sea or ship or set is involved whatsoever; thus the word "like" was incredibly relevant. There is also a tree outside my window. Trees aren't out at sea. Although if they were it would be very helpful to sailors thrown overboard. "Help, help I are drownin'! O' look thar be a tree." *CLING*.

So I'm watching the news and tens of thousands of students and anarchists are smashing windows and kicking in windows and starting fires and kicking in fires. Strike the last one from the record. I'm surprised the police weren't kicking everyone in but the yellow coated people with helmets to scruffy little shit people ratio was massively unfair on the police's side.

                                                       Mmm, pie.

When at first I saw the throngs of people heaving through the streets I thought to myself "I would like to be part of that. Sticking it to the man and so on. Bit of history to tell the Grand kid's I was there." but sadly I don't even have a pound to buy a poppy let alone a fiver to get a train ticket. Got all out of hand anyway. I'd have been the unlucky one getting a fire extinguisher to the head.

Personally I'm quite bewildered about it all. I mean, I went to University from 2006 - 2009 and I left with a fee of twenty eight grand. Needed a nice, big vodka and coke after seeing that I tell you! Back then it was 3 grand a year. So if the fee goes up to £9,000 and the working class youths go, then that is £27,000 before you even put in the £8,000 a year maintenance loan. I keep hearing that graduates will leave with a fee of around 30 grand. That is an out and out lie. It will be more like 50. Yep, £50,000 to go to uni. Thanks Dave and Nick; you massive twats.

                            Students Held Hostage by Debt Shocker!

I think it is a huge, huge shame. People who never went to university, for whatever reason, always seem to frown upon this life changing opportunity that other people choose to do. They say "They just get pissed all the time!" or "They do Mickey Mouse courses!" etc. etc. What these people don't understand is that MOST people go to university to be able to enhance their skills and knowledge of their PASSIONS. And what? Now that there is less money in Britain people from less wealthy families can't have the opportunity to embrace their dreams? It's stupid!

                 Embrace Mickey Mouse! Walt Disney did and made a mint!

Fair enough. Students in their first year do get drunk. They do waste all their money on idiotic, wasteful things and they do make mistakes. But that is life. That is growing up. The first year at university is a practice year. It is in the 2nd and 3rd year that things get tough and students must knuckle down, and if you don't you must suffer the shame of repeating a year while all of your friends move on and graduate without you. It happened to friends of mine. Some even quit. University isn't for everyone but for the people who want to be there to improve their opportunities and grow in maturity and independence they should be allowed to go! If David Cameron can pay for a stylist to keep his wife looking glam for 60k a year in these hard and dark times then he can bloody well keep university fees down to £3,000.