Thursday, December 23, 2010
Cock & Bull 2009 Semillon Sauvignon Blanc
This is very easy to drink (and reasonably cheap too)...very well balanced. A very sound wine to drink by the bucket-load.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
A Little Known History of Brisbane Village
It is a grim and unsavoury tale that I have to tell, yet if the reader perseveres, he or she may discover some strange truths about Brisbane, and perhaps be amused; even unto death.
Brisbane! A town of possibilities and potential. Brisbane! A town with a history steeped in bestiality and corrupt politicians. Brisbane! What a town.
Most people forget that before our wonderful city became the sprawling metropolis that it is now, it was once just paddocks littered with small shacks, oddly built houses and the occasional hovel. Come to think of it, it hasn’t changed that much.
It was a different way of life back then, a simpler way of life that old people often refer to in their rambling diatribes as `the good old days’ whilst staring wistfully into space and smelling slightly eggy. Even today when people speak of such icons such as The Shingle Inn; teahouse of the rich & famous, their eyes glaze over with a nostalgic mist and they gush on sentimentally about the ‘original and best Tea Shoppe around’. These young whippersnappers (who are often as old as me) have no knowledge of the first, and original Brisbane cake shop, and that was Mr Poopah’s Cake Shop-A-Go-Go.
Over one hundred years ago, on the exact same spot where The Shingle Inn now stands, there was a bakery like no other, and there has been no other bakery like it since. We can thank our chosen Gods for that. Indeed, in obscure churches across Brisbane, small congregations still offer thanks, praise, incense, and dead animals to a wide variety of deities for refusing another monstrosity such as Mr Poopah’s establishment to exist.
Just over a century ago to this very day, there was a massive out-break of insanity at Mr Poopah’s Cake Shop-A-Go-Go, during his annual promotion; craftily entitled ”Mr Poopah’s Crafty Promotion”. Every day, from 1890 through to 1905, at exactly five past three in the afternoon, Mr Poopah’s would open the doors to his bakery and yell “Anyone want a free cake? Well just fuck off ‘cos you’re not ‘avin one.”. He would then return to his hot and sweaty bake house, laughing his merry (and slightly odd shaped) head off. This queer ritual has been played out with little to no variation for many years and it was only by an odd quirk of fate that there was a dramatic turn of events that changed the history of Brisbane.
It all began innocently enough with Madam Pimpdaddy answering Mr Poopah with her usual reply of “Get fucked wormy, I don’t want yer stinkin’ cakes.” This rather colourful exchange had been the mainstay of their conversation since they had become neighbours in 1898. In fact, it was the only dialogue that Mr PooPah and Madam Pimpdaddy indulged in. They saw it as a slow, brooding form of sexual tension, and although they would stare at each other in a most horrid fashion, with looks full of evil and malice, they both felt the same strange erotic twangs.
Madam Pimpdaddy had just given her normal response when there was a loud Poot-like noise and a rather nasty smell. Mr PooPah had just farted! “You sick little monkey, I’m going to vomit…” squealed Madam P. And with that, she did.
It went everywhere. It gushed from her mouth like a fireman’s hose on full power. It has since been said that it was worse than that scene from Monty Python because Madam Pimpdaddy was a real person, whereas Mr Creosote was just a character from a movie. However as The Meaning of Life would not be made for at least another seventy years, the residents of Brisbane had nothing to compare it with. It was simply the worst thing they had ever witnessed in their life.
The vomit dripped from the eves of nearby houses and rushed down the gutters of the street like a vast psychedelic river. Trees were festooned in long strands of half digested cats’ entrails (a major food group for Madam.P), and if one had been sniffing gas, one might surely have thought that the town had decided to celebrate Christmas early by decorating the streets with a strange mixture of muck and spew, and a bit more muck.
It was of little surprise that shortly after this stench ridden episode that the pair became lovers, indulging in bizarre sexual practices that frightened the town’s folk and soured the milk of the cattle. No-one had ever witnessed the sexy rompings but it was a guarantee that when Mr and Mrs (for they had been wed in a satanic midnight ritual within hours of the vomit incident) PooPah decided to play hide the sausage, strange and terrifying noises could be heard from within the bakery. Of course, the occasional voyeur had attempted to penetrate the steamy windows of the shop but had always been thwarted by the bizarre condensation that clung constantly to the grime covered panes. Only one man had successfully seen inside the bakery and that was Mad Michael McMad, and the sight had obviously sent him completely mental (as opposed to his previous state of being only slightly mental) because he was found shortly afterwards gouging his eyes out with a stick and ranting about poo coloured imps brandishing whips and the like.
The only clue to the mystery was the strange cacophony of whoops, snorts, hisses and, oddly enough, mewling, that inevitably accompanied their allegedly frenzied love-making. All speculation on the erotic madness of the two was exactly that; speculation, and nothing more.
Due to poor record keeping of the time, it has never been noted that there was mayor of Brisbane way back then, a great lard-arse of a man, called Johnny Twinkle. It was he who decided to call a meeting with the most influential and well to do villagers. The gathering had been planned and executed with the utmost care and secrecy, as it was clearly understood by all concerned that if Mr and Mrs PooPah had even the slightest inkling of what was going on, they would surely unleash a furious and foul smelling rage upon Brisbane Village.
The select few who had received an invitation slowly filtered into the public toilets on the edge of the cricket field. This location is now known as the Chelmer Cricket Grounds, and whilst the toilets are still absolutely filthy, the actual pitch is now quite well maintained. It stank inside the cubicle, and of God knows what; I was there and even now, almost one hundred years on, my mind refuses to allow me any kind of recollection regarding the heinous whiff. But then again, due to my advanced senility, my mind rarely allows me any recollection of yesterday let alone events that occurred almost a century ago. The only connection I have between my conscious thought and the smell of that place is a combination of old man’s trouser and sloppy, wet dog plop joined in some hideous scent-based union of evil. We all crowded inside the toilet, which was no mean feat considering there were sixteen of us in total, all squashed up against one another in the dank and fetid box, jostling and pushing for any extra space we could snatch. All except Dairyman Dave, who seemed to be reveling in the claustrophobic conditions. I swear I could feel his little boner jabbing in my ribs as he balanced on the toilet seat, juggling with a half of one buttock that belonged to Johnny Twinkle in his left hand, and eating a cream bun (which ironically he had purchased from the Cake Shop A-Go-Go)in the other. Soon enough everyone had arrived and taken up a position in the human pyramid that was the meeting. Johnny spoke in his deep yet quavering voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen of Brisbane Village, we are gathered here today to witness the marriage…oh no! That’s not it.” He coughed and spat a lump of chocolate coloured phlegm over the cubicle wall before starting again. “Ladies and gentlemen, Brisbane Village is in crisis. Mr and Mrs PooPah have been increasing their sexual antics every week now for the past two months, and I’m sure we all understand the ramifications of such regular rumping.” From the blank looks and silence, it was obvious that nobody did understand so Johnny continued. “Milk production is at an all time low and we must do something about it. It has reached crisis point and I have been reduced to pouring water coloured with old white and crumbly dogs eggs over my corn flakes…it’s just not the same as good old fashioned milk, from a cow, fed on grass, in a field, with a…”. At this point he was cut off by Mrs Pinkyster, who pointed out that the committee saw the point, and we didn’t need to hear about the fence and the farm, or the farmer, or the farmer’s wife, and could he just get to the point?. Dairyman Dave was most upset by these events as he loved any conversation about milk but he did point out that Johnny Twinkle had been using dogs’ eggs on his cornflakes even before the Poopahs started banging like a dunny door in a hurricane. Anyhow, Johnny got to the point, and we were all horrified. And aroused.
So after we had laid each other, we laid our plans, and as we filtered out of that stinking hovel, we could not look each other in the eye; I’m not sure if it was anything to do with the orgy in the lav, or because of our dastardly plan, but anyway….
The following week was rather uneventful. I found a stone that looked a bit like a stone, and my good chum Billy Mildew fell off the world whilst trying to convert a patch of grass into sports coat. Had he succeeded with his crazy plan, we would have cornered the pasture based sportswear industry, became unfeasibly rich and never of had to commit the atrocious acts that I still deny committing, even to this day. So as Billy went sailing off into space, I pondered the ghastly plan that had been formulated in that stinking chamber.
It involved rats, big black furry rodents, with nasty little beady eyes. Red eyes, at that…yes, all manner of scrabbling claws and pointy teeth. I get all shuddery just thinking of them. They give me the willies, and aside from my photography (ahem) business I also happened to moonlight as the town rat catcher. However, in Brisbane Village the position carried the rather grand title of `King Furry Whacker, Whacker of All Things Furry’ which led to numerous misunderstandings throughout my time as `King Furry Etc’. But anyway, I digress….Oh yes, I was reflecting on the terrible plague of rats that we intended to unleash in some kind of biblical tidal wave of revenge upon the Poopah’s. That was the general idea that had been agreed upon after our erotic discourse in the lavs. It seemed reasonable enough, after all, who wouldn’t have come to the conclusion that sending in a swarm of rats to stop the village freaks from having a bang was the only possible solution? You’d be mad to think otherwise.
So there I was, reflecting on the solution to our problems when it struck me that in all my years as rat catcher for Brisbane, I had never caught a rat in my life. In fact, I had never been called upon to do so, because as everyone knew, the population of Brisbane in the late eighteenth century was just over sixty persons, and the rat population was zero.
It said so in our catchy tourist slogan of the time “Brisbane has no rats, come see for yourself!” The slogan obviously didn’t work as the total number of tourists visiting for that year was a whopping great two. That’s actually an exaggeration, the truth is the only tourist was a pregnant lady from Gatton who had come to see the only doctor in Queensland, who just happened to live and practice in dear, sweet Brisbane Village. But we had to count the unborn fetus as a tourist just to bolster the numbers for the annual report that Johnny Twinkle demanded each year.
No rats meant there was no foul plan, and no foul plan meant no getting rid of the Poopahs, which in turn meant no real milk, which in turn meant being forced to have poo milk on our breakfast cereal of choice. I could have gone on for hours listing the effects of no rats but I grew weary and decided to go and have a beer with Blind Michael.
Now the youth of today take Brisbane’s’ many pubs and clubs for granted, for this fair city now has an acceptable number of them, but when I was a lad there was only one. Nowadays there are your up market, swish and swanky venues, chock full of rich dicks paying thirty dollars for a glass of wine, as well as those establishments that are little more than tiled holes serving beer to old men in itchy pants and stained vests (such as myself). These vastly differing styles of pubs and clubs serve a very important purpose in so far as the rich can slum it at the lower end of the market and be totally outraged at the complete lack of octopus salad, and the not so rich, who would never dream of frequenting the more up market bars, can be amazed at the sheer gullibility of the foolish toffs throwing away vast sums of cash on Thai Infusion Tofu Burgers and cheeky chardonnays.
As a nice little link between the pubs of Brisbane and my meeting with Blind Michael, I shall share a little known fact with you, regarding Brisbane’s heritage.
The Shamrock Hotel is an icon of our wonderful town, and having consulted my lawyers, I have been advised to say only good things about it. Practically every resident of Brizzy is aware of “The Shammy”, as it sometimes affectionately known. It offers everything that a good pub should offer; that is beer and other alcohol based beverages. It also offers an extensive menu of fine meals, as well as exotic dancers for those seeking a more adult form of entertainment. Personally, I have never ventured upstairs to witness first hand the ‘dancers’, however I have it on very good authority that there is dancing and it is performed naked to semi-naked. Good Lord! What kind of a town is this?! Canberra?!
Anyhow, Dirty Molly used to frequent The Shammy on a regular basis until she was banned for life following her lewd (and some say obscene) behaviour in the upstairs section of the pub at some point in the mid-seventies. It would have been OK if Molly had been a part of the show but for her to have leapt up on stage and performed with a German Shepherd in front of the clientele without first obtaining a) a dancing permit and b) the managers permission, well, it was just too much for the Nudie Police, and they had her arrested and imposed the life time ban as part of the sentence for her heinous crime.
Where was I? Oh yes, right here, I haven’t moved from my chair today. Damn legs don’t work quite as well as they used to. Yes! That was it. I was divulging little known tit-bits about our beloved city. So way back, when I was a young man, I was meeting Blind Michael for a beer on the exact same spot where the Shamrock now stands, of course back then it was simply a shed which had been built next to the eighteenth wonder of the world, the wonder that was Ham Rock.
Now this miraculous rock was like no other, and only the terminally stupid readers would not have realized that this is where the Shamrock Hotel took its name. Ham Rock was a magical place where even the poor could get a free feed because despite being a large piece of stone, it actually tasted of the finest smoked ham. Those who had no real food could simply break off a piece of Ham Rock, take it home and chuck it in a pan of boiling water and hey presto! A tasty and nutritious soup was born! I admit that it wasn’t actually that tasty or nutritious but if you closed your eyes when eating it, you could almost imagine that you were eating a delicious bowl of ham soup. Ham Rock; another interesting fact about Brisbane that most people are unaware of.
When I entered the shed that was propped up next to Ham Rock, Blind Michael (or the Artist formerly known as Mad Michael) was in the process of chatting up a large pot plant. I put this down to his blindness but after telling him that he was hitting on a fern, he was continued to do so for quite some time afterwards. Obviously despite being Blind Michael instead of Mad Michael, he still clung to traits of the former (or was that the latter? I can never remember which is which.). I ordered two beers, steered Mike to an empty table, and sat down with him.
“Michael, Michael, Michael, I have a proposition for you.” He responded with a positive sounding “Gargh!” He was obviously in pirate mode, which was a good sign.
“I know you have a penchant for dressing up, and I know you have a preference for schoolgirls’ uniforms but I’ve got this rather natty costume that I thought you would like. It’s a giant rat suit.” I let these details sink into the swirling soup that was his mind. “Gargh?” There was an inquisitive tone to his buccaneer-esque noises.
“Yes Michael, it does have whiskers and a tail. I can tell that you have a discerning mind when it comes to costumes.”
There was a grating noise and I realized it was Michael’s personality shifting gears. “Well, in that case, I’d be absolutely delighted to take it off your hands. Super, old chap.” He’d slipped into English gentleman mode. “Just swing by my house tonight and you can try it on.” I finished my beer and got up to leave. “Toodle-pip, old boy.”
“Yes, see you later, Michael.” There was another loud grating noise and Michael had reverted back to his Yellowbeard impersonations again. I left the bar to the sounds of Michael dancing a hornpipe, hugely relieved that I would not have to put up with the Poopahs, or Michael, for much longer.
I was very busy for the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening, stitching and sewing, in order to make the necessary adjustments to Michael’s costume. Luckily, I still had the possum suit that I’d worn to last years Brisbane Wildlife Festival, which was another pissweak tourist attraction that Johnny Twinkle had come up with. However, most of the village had turned out for it and it was rated a huge success. If you’re interested in the number of tourists for that year, it was a staggering six. Some people had decided to wear their costumes for some time after the actual event which meant that for weeks after the Festival, I was served by a wombat at the butchers and a koala at the bakery. I never visited the Candlestick Maker during this time but apparently that particular shop had always been staffed by cane toads so there was no change there.
By eight o’clock, I had finished playing at seamstress and sat back puffing on my pipe, admiring my handiwork and pondering the possibility that The Plan might actually work. Michael turned up shortly afterwards, and I immediately drugged him up to the eyeballs with a particularly strong cheese from Dairyman Dave. This brand of cheese was stored in a locked safe at the back of Dave’s dairy, as it had been fermented with wild mushrooms and was known to produce the most horrific hallucinations in the poor unfortunate who happened to consume it. It also tasted a bit like dirt too. It was rather easy to feed the cheese to Michael as he was renowned for being fond of dirt sandwiches and the occasional slice of mud cake so I simply put the cheese in his hand and told him it was a large sod of the finest turf in Brisbane. Being blind and mental, he wolfed it down like a greedy schoolboy and within three minutes had began to froth at the mouth and ramble incessantly about monkeys with hammers attacking his brain. There was actually very little change in his demeanour except now I guess you could call him Mad, Mad, Blind Michael. After an hour of very intense theological discussions that revolved around how many angels could fit in a schooner glass, Michael slipped into a cheese induced coma. Relax, dear reader, t’was only temporary. This was the moment I had been waiting for.
I stuck a large piece of rag in Michael’s mouth, and after much struggling, I got his dead weight into the suit. It was very strange to see a six foot rat slumped in my armchair and for a moment I thought that perhaps I had accidentally ingested some cheese and was under the influence. Time was now of the essence, so I brought my wheel barrow into the parlour and got Mr Rat into it. In truth, I nearly gave myself a hernia as I strained and strained to fling Michael into the barrow but I managed it and carted him off through the back door and across the paddocks that my house backed onto. I dodged the dark silhouettes of cow pats, old and new, that littered the fields, occasionally slipping on one and upturning the barrow. Each time this happened I would lift Mike back into his chariot and continue on my way. I still have the vaguest of recollections from that night and they are not pleasant. The moon had come out and hung in the night sky, all fat and yellow. A planetary witness to my evil scheme. It was dark now and a number of fruit bats attempted to crap on me as I wheeled the cart through the woods that stood opposite the main drag of Brisbane Village.
The bats continued in their efforts to drench me in hot runny shit but I managed to avoid their filthy poo bombs. Michael was not so lucky and by the time we got to the courtyard at the rear of the Poopah’s bakery, he was covered in a mixture of cow pat and bat droppings. I won’t mince words; he stank, and it took all of my strength to stop myself from puking all over him. To be honest, that probably would have improved the smell of him but I felt bad enough about what I was about to do so I didn’t. I contented myself with the odd dry retch here and there, and braced myself for the worst part of The Plan. Originally, we villagers had decided to unleash a swarm of rats into the bakery but as there were no rats in Brisbane, I figured one gigantic rat would do just as well. Now the time had come to unleash the beast that was Michael, King Rat, Bringer of Justice and Vengeance. I looked down at Mike, all cosy in his rat shaped pyjama like costume. For a moment, I was almost overcome with remorse but that was immediately smothered by the prospect of having poo milk for the rest of my life. Mike was beginning to wake up and make muffled shrieking noises. Quick as a flash I pulled off the rat head, whipped out the remaining cheese and jammed it into his mouth. I re-secured the gag and waited.
Ten minutes later Michael was making the appropriate mewling and squeaking noises of a rat, and as he was hallucinating quite severely, I simply told him that I was the Devil and commanded him to crawl into the bake house through a delivery hatch that led into the bowels of the Poopah’s abode. Essentially, The Plan was to scare the living Hell out of the Poopah’s thus ensuring their immediate departure from the Village, restoring delicious creamy cows’ milk to the residents of Brisbane. There was little else I could do so I went back to the Shamrock Pub and got quite drunk on XXX beer (Way back then, the brewery could not afford the extra X that has since been added to the name).
The following day, I woke up half undressed, lying in the bath, swearing that someone had put a dead rat in my mouth. I checked in the mirror and to my horror, I was right. Someone had put a dead rat in my mouth. I pulled it out and examined it. It was not simply a dead rat; it was wearing a Blind Michael costume. I rushed around the village, calling on every one who had been in the toilet cubicle when The Plan had been hatched. Within the hour, we were all crammed into the very same toilet, holding an Emergency Meeting.
I explained what had happened to Michael, and then how I had woken up with a dead rat in my mouth that morning. There was total silence in the lav. Then it exploded. Not literally, however that probably would have been a good thing as the whole place was wholly revolting and annihilation would have saved us all a great deal of trouble. Everyone at the meeting tried to speak at the same time and we were reduced to shouting and jostling, much like the first meeting we’d had. Through the cacophony, I was able to make out that every last person at the meeting had woken up to find a dead rat placed either on their person or in close proximity to them. Dairyman Dave had gone to milk his cows only to find their udders plugged with deceased rodents. Johnny Twinkle had awoken to find his milk jug chock full of dogs eggs and rat. Even poor old Buddy the Buggerer had fallen foul of rats. His ass was stuffed full of them, and he was unable to even violate himself (which was essentially a morning ritual for Buddy).
“This can only be the work of the Poopahs.” I said over the noise. “We must immediately go forth to the bakery and destroy them”. I had to yell this several times before I was heard. But once my idea sank in, everybody was filled with a horrific bloodlust and we stormed forth from the toilets, determined to have vengeance and fresh milk. We arrived at the Poopahs’ shortly after ten o’clock, and it struck us all as being too quiet. Usually around this time of the day, there were frenzied noises of passion and baking coming from the kitchens of the Bake house but today it was still. Tumbleweeds blew across the street, and a church bell rang, slow and baleful, somewhere in the distance. I didn’t like it. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. I strode up to the door and as I got closer, I noticed that it was slightly ajar, which was unheard of. The Poopahs always kept the door locked so their filthy acts could go on unwitnessed. Everyone in Brisbane knew that….so why was the door swinging gently on the morning breeze? I looked back at the Committee and saw that they had all taken refuge behind trees, waste bins, and other objects that could offer shelter from what ever lay behind the door. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The entire kitchen had been stripped bare; the outline of pots and pans could be seen, stark white against the filthy brownish yellow grime that had become fixed to the walls over the years. Obviously Mr Poopah had never heard of Health and Safety Directives such `Clean your premises every once in a while’ or `Don’t leave decomposing fruit on the shelf for more than one week’. The whole place was just disgusting beyond description; and to think that this was where everyone in Brisbane purchased their bread, cakes and other bakery based products. I even noticed piles of old Hessian sack, rotting and stinking in the corner, mildewed potatoes spilling from within. Yet it was still fascinating, as if I were an archeologist entering a pyramid for the first time, viewing strange objects of queer ritual, piecing the mystery together. I was probably the first person, other than the Poopahs, to step foot inside the bakery for over twenty years. It was still and silent in there, rogue dust motes caught the sunlight that streamed through a single broken window pane. I hardly dared to breathe for fear of disturbing the silence. Then the door crashed open and the entire Committee came spilling in, landing in a huge tangled pile at my feet. They were all equally gob smacked, staring wide eyed at the strange and new surroundings. It was just at that moment that I saw the note on the bench.
It was written on a piece of yellowing paper but the penmanship was truly beautiful, the loops and swirls of each letter were works of art, and certain characters were skillfully decorated with a variety of birds, animals and flowers.
I read it aloud.
“Dear Fuckholes,
You are all ungrateful bastards who have never appreciated my cakes, bread and other savoury delights. Me and the missus are off to set up a traveling pie house such as never been seen before. We will be famous and will always slag Brisbane Village off to everyone we ever meet. No more tourists for you, Johnny Twinkle.”
At this point, Johnny screamed like a girl and swooned onto the floor, his flabby hand draped across his forehead as if he were in some Victorian melodrama. I continued on, unperturbed.
“As a parting gift, we have left one pie in the oven for you to taste. It is the most delicious pie in all of Australia and it is the first and last one that you will ever taste because, if by some unlucky event, any one of you retarded villagers happens to come across our magnificent traveling pie house, you will be refused service.
We hate Brisbane and all who live in it.
Lots of love
Mr & Mrs Poopah.
P.S – Yes, it was I who put dead rats in your houses/faces/cows/etc.”
Just as I finished reading the letter, we became aware of the most fantastic smell emanating from the oven. A delicious spicy meat pie kind of aroma, it seemed to verily tickle the tastebuds, and caress ones saliva glands into immediate overdrive. We were all drooling as we were hypnotically drawn towards the oven. Johnny Twinkle (who had obviously been reinvigorated by the smell of the pie) grabbed an old grimy tea towel and wrapped it around his hand. He slowly opened the huge oven door, and there was the most magnificent pie that any one of us had ever seen. It was golden brown and decorated with small pastry flowers, the biggest pie in the history of Brisbane. Tendrils of steam rose from the pie, carrying the delightful smell of meat and vegetables, tender and cooked to perfection, like a wondrous perfume to our noses. Johnny pulled the pie out of the oven with a reverence usually reserved for holy objects such as the Holy Grail (which Johnny had somehow managed to borrow for a week last summer for his `Visit Brisbane, Home of the Holy Grail’ tourist drive). He set it down on the bench and went off to find a knife. Everyone just stared at the pie. It was truly wondrous and I was sucked into some strange daydream where I slaughtered everybody in the bake house and eloped with the pie, getting married to it in a hasty ceremony and settling down to have a family of strange half man half pie children. I was shaken form my reverie by the return of Twinkle with a huge knife. For a moment I thought that he had a similar plan for he looked as if he were possessed. But then he swiftly cut the pie into equal portions and distributed it among us.
Dairyman Dave and several others began cramming the pie into their mouths, frantic and wild, sighing ecstatically as it slithered down their throats. People were crying with delight as they tasted the pie. There were shouts of “Incredible!” and “Beautiful!” and other praises were bandied about. I held back, something was wrong. I looked around at the pie induced hysteria and then it struck me that someone was missing. Michael. I had seen no trace of him since entering the kitchen and I looked around to see if he was around. It was then that I saw the tail of a very large rat poking out from beneath the sacks in the corner. Michael! I ran to him, throwing back the covers. What an evil man I had been! Putting poor Michael, whose only crime was to have been quite insane, through such a traumatic series of events. Luckily for me, Michael was fine. Apart from missing his legs and genitals, he was fine.
He looked up at me, gazing though hollow eye sockets. “Ahoy me hearties.” Was all he said. I don’t think he was even aware that the lower half of his body was missing. Bless him. I rapidly deduced that it was the flesh of a madman that had given the pie its character and that I really shouldn’t eat my piece of it. But I did and it was fucking delicious. The Committee even gave Michael the rest of the pie for his part in The Plan, which considering the level of its deliciousness, was very generous of them.
So the Poopahs were gone and milk was restored to Brisbane Village. Everything worked out quite well in the end so that was nice. But even now, I still can’t look at a pie without thinking of how tasty human flesh is, and of everything that we villagers did to rid ourselves of the blight that was Cake Shop-A-Go-Go. So dear reader, you now have an insight into Brisbane that very few people are aware of, and if perchance you are traveling through the outback of this great, red land and you happen to come across a traveling pie house, be sure to doff your cap to the owners for they will surely be direct descendants of Mr & Mrs Poopah.
Just don’t mention Brisbane.
Even though it really is a truly great place to live. Allegedly.
Brisbane! A town of possibilities and potential. Brisbane! A town with a history steeped in bestiality and corrupt politicians. Brisbane! What a town.
Most people forget that before our wonderful city became the sprawling metropolis that it is now, it was once just paddocks littered with small shacks, oddly built houses and the occasional hovel. Come to think of it, it hasn’t changed that much.
It was a different way of life back then, a simpler way of life that old people often refer to in their rambling diatribes as `the good old days’ whilst staring wistfully into space and smelling slightly eggy. Even today when people speak of such icons such as The Shingle Inn; teahouse of the rich & famous, their eyes glaze over with a nostalgic mist and they gush on sentimentally about the ‘original and best Tea Shoppe around’. These young whippersnappers (who are often as old as me) have no knowledge of the first, and original Brisbane cake shop, and that was Mr Poopah’s Cake Shop-A-Go-Go.
Over one hundred years ago, on the exact same spot where The Shingle Inn now stands, there was a bakery like no other, and there has been no other bakery like it since. We can thank our chosen Gods for that. Indeed, in obscure churches across Brisbane, small congregations still offer thanks, praise, incense, and dead animals to a wide variety of deities for refusing another monstrosity such as Mr Poopah’s establishment to exist.
Just over a century ago to this very day, there was a massive out-break of insanity at Mr Poopah’s Cake Shop-A-Go-Go, during his annual promotion; craftily entitled ”Mr Poopah’s Crafty Promotion”. Every day, from 1890 through to 1905, at exactly five past three in the afternoon, Mr Poopah’s would open the doors to his bakery and yell “Anyone want a free cake? Well just fuck off ‘cos you’re not ‘avin one.”. He would then return to his hot and sweaty bake house, laughing his merry (and slightly odd shaped) head off. This queer ritual has been played out with little to no variation for many years and it was only by an odd quirk of fate that there was a dramatic turn of events that changed the history of Brisbane.
It all began innocently enough with Madam Pimpdaddy answering Mr Poopah with her usual reply of “Get fucked wormy, I don’t want yer stinkin’ cakes.” This rather colourful exchange had been the mainstay of their conversation since they had become neighbours in 1898. In fact, it was the only dialogue that Mr PooPah and Madam Pimpdaddy indulged in. They saw it as a slow, brooding form of sexual tension, and although they would stare at each other in a most horrid fashion, with looks full of evil and malice, they both felt the same strange erotic twangs.
Madam Pimpdaddy had just given her normal response when there was a loud Poot-like noise and a rather nasty smell. Mr PooPah had just farted! “You sick little monkey, I’m going to vomit…” squealed Madam P. And with that, she did.
It went everywhere. It gushed from her mouth like a fireman’s hose on full power. It has since been said that it was worse than that scene from Monty Python because Madam Pimpdaddy was a real person, whereas Mr Creosote was just a character from a movie. However as The Meaning of Life would not be made for at least another seventy years, the residents of Brisbane had nothing to compare it with. It was simply the worst thing they had ever witnessed in their life.
The vomit dripped from the eves of nearby houses and rushed down the gutters of the street like a vast psychedelic river. Trees were festooned in long strands of half digested cats’ entrails (a major food group for Madam.P), and if one had been sniffing gas, one might surely have thought that the town had decided to celebrate Christmas early by decorating the streets with a strange mixture of muck and spew, and a bit more muck.
It was of little surprise that shortly after this stench ridden episode that the pair became lovers, indulging in bizarre sexual practices that frightened the town’s folk and soured the milk of the cattle. No-one had ever witnessed the sexy rompings but it was a guarantee that when Mr and Mrs (for they had been wed in a satanic midnight ritual within hours of the vomit incident) PooPah decided to play hide the sausage, strange and terrifying noises could be heard from within the bakery. Of course, the occasional voyeur had attempted to penetrate the steamy windows of the shop but had always been thwarted by the bizarre condensation that clung constantly to the grime covered panes. Only one man had successfully seen inside the bakery and that was Mad Michael McMad, and the sight had obviously sent him completely mental (as opposed to his previous state of being only slightly mental) because he was found shortly afterwards gouging his eyes out with a stick and ranting about poo coloured imps brandishing whips and the like.
The only clue to the mystery was the strange cacophony of whoops, snorts, hisses and, oddly enough, mewling, that inevitably accompanied their allegedly frenzied love-making. All speculation on the erotic madness of the two was exactly that; speculation, and nothing more.
Due to poor record keeping of the time, it has never been noted that there was mayor of Brisbane way back then, a great lard-arse of a man, called Johnny Twinkle. It was he who decided to call a meeting with the most influential and well to do villagers. The gathering had been planned and executed with the utmost care and secrecy, as it was clearly understood by all concerned that if Mr and Mrs PooPah had even the slightest inkling of what was going on, they would surely unleash a furious and foul smelling rage upon Brisbane Village.
The select few who had received an invitation slowly filtered into the public toilets on the edge of the cricket field. This location is now known as the Chelmer Cricket Grounds, and whilst the toilets are still absolutely filthy, the actual pitch is now quite well maintained. It stank inside the cubicle, and of God knows what; I was there and even now, almost one hundred years on, my mind refuses to allow me any kind of recollection regarding the heinous whiff. But then again, due to my advanced senility, my mind rarely allows me any recollection of yesterday let alone events that occurred almost a century ago. The only connection I have between my conscious thought and the smell of that place is a combination of old man’s trouser and sloppy, wet dog plop joined in some hideous scent-based union of evil. We all crowded inside the toilet, which was no mean feat considering there were sixteen of us in total, all squashed up against one another in the dank and fetid box, jostling and pushing for any extra space we could snatch. All except Dairyman Dave, who seemed to be reveling in the claustrophobic conditions. I swear I could feel his little boner jabbing in my ribs as he balanced on the toilet seat, juggling with a half of one buttock that belonged to Johnny Twinkle in his left hand, and eating a cream bun (which ironically he had purchased from the Cake Shop A-Go-Go)in the other. Soon enough everyone had arrived and taken up a position in the human pyramid that was the meeting. Johnny spoke in his deep yet quavering voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen of Brisbane Village, we are gathered here today to witness the marriage…oh no! That’s not it.” He coughed and spat a lump of chocolate coloured phlegm over the cubicle wall before starting again. “Ladies and gentlemen, Brisbane Village is in crisis. Mr and Mrs PooPah have been increasing their sexual antics every week now for the past two months, and I’m sure we all understand the ramifications of such regular rumping.” From the blank looks and silence, it was obvious that nobody did understand so Johnny continued. “Milk production is at an all time low and we must do something about it. It has reached crisis point and I have been reduced to pouring water coloured with old white and crumbly dogs eggs over my corn flakes…it’s just not the same as good old fashioned milk, from a cow, fed on grass, in a field, with a…”. At this point he was cut off by Mrs Pinkyster, who pointed out that the committee saw the point, and we didn’t need to hear about the fence and the farm, or the farmer, or the farmer’s wife, and could he just get to the point?. Dairyman Dave was most upset by these events as he loved any conversation about milk but he did point out that Johnny Twinkle had been using dogs’ eggs on his cornflakes even before the Poopahs started banging like a dunny door in a hurricane. Anyhow, Johnny got to the point, and we were all horrified. And aroused.
So after we had laid each other, we laid our plans, and as we filtered out of that stinking hovel, we could not look each other in the eye; I’m not sure if it was anything to do with the orgy in the lav, or because of our dastardly plan, but anyway….
The following week was rather uneventful. I found a stone that looked a bit like a stone, and my good chum Billy Mildew fell off the world whilst trying to convert a patch of grass into sports coat. Had he succeeded with his crazy plan, we would have cornered the pasture based sportswear industry, became unfeasibly rich and never of had to commit the atrocious acts that I still deny committing, even to this day. So as Billy went sailing off into space, I pondered the ghastly plan that had been formulated in that stinking chamber.
It involved rats, big black furry rodents, with nasty little beady eyes. Red eyes, at that…yes, all manner of scrabbling claws and pointy teeth. I get all shuddery just thinking of them. They give me the willies, and aside from my photography (ahem) business I also happened to moonlight as the town rat catcher. However, in Brisbane Village the position carried the rather grand title of `King Furry Whacker, Whacker of All Things Furry’ which led to numerous misunderstandings throughout my time as `King Furry Etc’. But anyway, I digress….Oh yes, I was reflecting on the terrible plague of rats that we intended to unleash in some kind of biblical tidal wave of revenge upon the Poopah’s. That was the general idea that had been agreed upon after our erotic discourse in the lavs. It seemed reasonable enough, after all, who wouldn’t have come to the conclusion that sending in a swarm of rats to stop the village freaks from having a bang was the only possible solution? You’d be mad to think otherwise.
So there I was, reflecting on the solution to our problems when it struck me that in all my years as rat catcher for Brisbane, I had never caught a rat in my life. In fact, I had never been called upon to do so, because as everyone knew, the population of Brisbane in the late eighteenth century was just over sixty persons, and the rat population was zero.
It said so in our catchy tourist slogan of the time “Brisbane has no rats, come see for yourself!” The slogan obviously didn’t work as the total number of tourists visiting for that year was a whopping great two. That’s actually an exaggeration, the truth is the only tourist was a pregnant lady from Gatton who had come to see the only doctor in Queensland, who just happened to live and practice in dear, sweet Brisbane Village. But we had to count the unborn fetus as a tourist just to bolster the numbers for the annual report that Johnny Twinkle demanded each year.
No rats meant there was no foul plan, and no foul plan meant no getting rid of the Poopahs, which in turn meant no real milk, which in turn meant being forced to have poo milk on our breakfast cereal of choice. I could have gone on for hours listing the effects of no rats but I grew weary and decided to go and have a beer with Blind Michael.
Now the youth of today take Brisbane’s’ many pubs and clubs for granted, for this fair city now has an acceptable number of them, but when I was a lad there was only one. Nowadays there are your up market, swish and swanky venues, chock full of rich dicks paying thirty dollars for a glass of wine, as well as those establishments that are little more than tiled holes serving beer to old men in itchy pants and stained vests (such as myself). These vastly differing styles of pubs and clubs serve a very important purpose in so far as the rich can slum it at the lower end of the market and be totally outraged at the complete lack of octopus salad, and the not so rich, who would never dream of frequenting the more up market bars, can be amazed at the sheer gullibility of the foolish toffs throwing away vast sums of cash on Thai Infusion Tofu Burgers and cheeky chardonnays.
As a nice little link between the pubs of Brisbane and my meeting with Blind Michael, I shall share a little known fact with you, regarding Brisbane’s heritage.
The Shamrock Hotel is an icon of our wonderful town, and having consulted my lawyers, I have been advised to say only good things about it. Practically every resident of Brizzy is aware of “The Shammy”, as it sometimes affectionately known. It offers everything that a good pub should offer; that is beer and other alcohol based beverages. It also offers an extensive menu of fine meals, as well as exotic dancers for those seeking a more adult form of entertainment. Personally, I have never ventured upstairs to witness first hand the ‘dancers’, however I have it on very good authority that there is dancing and it is performed naked to semi-naked. Good Lord! What kind of a town is this?! Canberra?!
Anyhow, Dirty Molly used to frequent The Shammy on a regular basis until she was banned for life following her lewd (and some say obscene) behaviour in the upstairs section of the pub at some point in the mid-seventies. It would have been OK if Molly had been a part of the show but for her to have leapt up on stage and performed with a German Shepherd in front of the clientele without first obtaining a) a dancing permit and b) the managers permission, well, it was just too much for the Nudie Police, and they had her arrested and imposed the life time ban as part of the sentence for her heinous crime.
Where was I? Oh yes, right here, I haven’t moved from my chair today. Damn legs don’t work quite as well as they used to. Yes! That was it. I was divulging little known tit-bits about our beloved city. So way back, when I was a young man, I was meeting Blind Michael for a beer on the exact same spot where the Shamrock now stands, of course back then it was simply a shed which had been built next to the eighteenth wonder of the world, the wonder that was Ham Rock.
Now this miraculous rock was like no other, and only the terminally stupid readers would not have realized that this is where the Shamrock Hotel took its name. Ham Rock was a magical place where even the poor could get a free feed because despite being a large piece of stone, it actually tasted of the finest smoked ham. Those who had no real food could simply break off a piece of Ham Rock, take it home and chuck it in a pan of boiling water and hey presto! A tasty and nutritious soup was born! I admit that it wasn’t actually that tasty or nutritious but if you closed your eyes when eating it, you could almost imagine that you were eating a delicious bowl of ham soup. Ham Rock; another interesting fact about Brisbane that most people are unaware of.
When I entered the shed that was propped up next to Ham Rock, Blind Michael (or the Artist formerly known as Mad Michael) was in the process of chatting up a large pot plant. I put this down to his blindness but after telling him that he was hitting on a fern, he was continued to do so for quite some time afterwards. Obviously despite being Blind Michael instead of Mad Michael, he still clung to traits of the former (or was that the latter? I can never remember which is which.). I ordered two beers, steered Mike to an empty table, and sat down with him.
“Michael, Michael, Michael, I have a proposition for you.” He responded with a positive sounding “Gargh!” He was obviously in pirate mode, which was a good sign.
“I know you have a penchant for dressing up, and I know you have a preference for schoolgirls’ uniforms but I’ve got this rather natty costume that I thought you would like. It’s a giant rat suit.” I let these details sink into the swirling soup that was his mind. “Gargh?” There was an inquisitive tone to his buccaneer-esque noises.
“Yes Michael, it does have whiskers and a tail. I can tell that you have a discerning mind when it comes to costumes.”
There was a grating noise and I realized it was Michael’s personality shifting gears. “Well, in that case, I’d be absolutely delighted to take it off your hands. Super, old chap.” He’d slipped into English gentleman mode. “Just swing by my house tonight and you can try it on.” I finished my beer and got up to leave. “Toodle-pip, old boy.”
“Yes, see you later, Michael.” There was another loud grating noise and Michael had reverted back to his Yellowbeard impersonations again. I left the bar to the sounds of Michael dancing a hornpipe, hugely relieved that I would not have to put up with the Poopahs, or Michael, for much longer.
I was very busy for the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening, stitching and sewing, in order to make the necessary adjustments to Michael’s costume. Luckily, I still had the possum suit that I’d worn to last years Brisbane Wildlife Festival, which was another pissweak tourist attraction that Johnny Twinkle had come up with. However, most of the village had turned out for it and it was rated a huge success. If you’re interested in the number of tourists for that year, it was a staggering six. Some people had decided to wear their costumes for some time after the actual event which meant that for weeks after the Festival, I was served by a wombat at the butchers and a koala at the bakery. I never visited the Candlestick Maker during this time but apparently that particular shop had always been staffed by cane toads so there was no change there.
By eight o’clock, I had finished playing at seamstress and sat back puffing on my pipe, admiring my handiwork and pondering the possibility that The Plan might actually work. Michael turned up shortly afterwards, and I immediately drugged him up to the eyeballs with a particularly strong cheese from Dairyman Dave. This brand of cheese was stored in a locked safe at the back of Dave’s dairy, as it had been fermented with wild mushrooms and was known to produce the most horrific hallucinations in the poor unfortunate who happened to consume it. It also tasted a bit like dirt too. It was rather easy to feed the cheese to Michael as he was renowned for being fond of dirt sandwiches and the occasional slice of mud cake so I simply put the cheese in his hand and told him it was a large sod of the finest turf in Brisbane. Being blind and mental, he wolfed it down like a greedy schoolboy and within three minutes had began to froth at the mouth and ramble incessantly about monkeys with hammers attacking his brain. There was actually very little change in his demeanour except now I guess you could call him Mad, Mad, Blind Michael. After an hour of very intense theological discussions that revolved around how many angels could fit in a schooner glass, Michael slipped into a cheese induced coma. Relax, dear reader, t’was only temporary. This was the moment I had been waiting for.
I stuck a large piece of rag in Michael’s mouth, and after much struggling, I got his dead weight into the suit. It was very strange to see a six foot rat slumped in my armchair and for a moment I thought that perhaps I had accidentally ingested some cheese and was under the influence. Time was now of the essence, so I brought my wheel barrow into the parlour and got Mr Rat into it. In truth, I nearly gave myself a hernia as I strained and strained to fling Michael into the barrow but I managed it and carted him off through the back door and across the paddocks that my house backed onto. I dodged the dark silhouettes of cow pats, old and new, that littered the fields, occasionally slipping on one and upturning the barrow. Each time this happened I would lift Mike back into his chariot and continue on my way. I still have the vaguest of recollections from that night and they are not pleasant. The moon had come out and hung in the night sky, all fat and yellow. A planetary witness to my evil scheme. It was dark now and a number of fruit bats attempted to crap on me as I wheeled the cart through the woods that stood opposite the main drag of Brisbane Village.
The bats continued in their efforts to drench me in hot runny shit but I managed to avoid their filthy poo bombs. Michael was not so lucky and by the time we got to the courtyard at the rear of the Poopah’s bakery, he was covered in a mixture of cow pat and bat droppings. I won’t mince words; he stank, and it took all of my strength to stop myself from puking all over him. To be honest, that probably would have improved the smell of him but I felt bad enough about what I was about to do so I didn’t. I contented myself with the odd dry retch here and there, and braced myself for the worst part of The Plan. Originally, we villagers had decided to unleash a swarm of rats into the bakery but as there were no rats in Brisbane, I figured one gigantic rat would do just as well. Now the time had come to unleash the beast that was Michael, King Rat, Bringer of Justice and Vengeance. I looked down at Mike, all cosy in his rat shaped pyjama like costume. For a moment, I was almost overcome with remorse but that was immediately smothered by the prospect of having poo milk for the rest of my life. Mike was beginning to wake up and make muffled shrieking noises. Quick as a flash I pulled off the rat head, whipped out the remaining cheese and jammed it into his mouth. I re-secured the gag and waited.
Ten minutes later Michael was making the appropriate mewling and squeaking noises of a rat, and as he was hallucinating quite severely, I simply told him that I was the Devil and commanded him to crawl into the bake house through a delivery hatch that led into the bowels of the Poopah’s abode. Essentially, The Plan was to scare the living Hell out of the Poopah’s thus ensuring their immediate departure from the Village, restoring delicious creamy cows’ milk to the residents of Brisbane. There was little else I could do so I went back to the Shamrock Pub and got quite drunk on XXX beer (Way back then, the brewery could not afford the extra X that has since been added to the name).
The following day, I woke up half undressed, lying in the bath, swearing that someone had put a dead rat in my mouth. I checked in the mirror and to my horror, I was right. Someone had put a dead rat in my mouth. I pulled it out and examined it. It was not simply a dead rat; it was wearing a Blind Michael costume. I rushed around the village, calling on every one who had been in the toilet cubicle when The Plan had been hatched. Within the hour, we were all crammed into the very same toilet, holding an Emergency Meeting.
I explained what had happened to Michael, and then how I had woken up with a dead rat in my mouth that morning. There was total silence in the lav. Then it exploded. Not literally, however that probably would have been a good thing as the whole place was wholly revolting and annihilation would have saved us all a great deal of trouble. Everyone at the meeting tried to speak at the same time and we were reduced to shouting and jostling, much like the first meeting we’d had. Through the cacophony, I was able to make out that every last person at the meeting had woken up to find a dead rat placed either on their person or in close proximity to them. Dairyman Dave had gone to milk his cows only to find their udders plugged with deceased rodents. Johnny Twinkle had awoken to find his milk jug chock full of dogs eggs and rat. Even poor old Buddy the Buggerer had fallen foul of rats. His ass was stuffed full of them, and he was unable to even violate himself (which was essentially a morning ritual for Buddy).
“This can only be the work of the Poopahs.” I said over the noise. “We must immediately go forth to the bakery and destroy them”. I had to yell this several times before I was heard. But once my idea sank in, everybody was filled with a horrific bloodlust and we stormed forth from the toilets, determined to have vengeance and fresh milk. We arrived at the Poopahs’ shortly after ten o’clock, and it struck us all as being too quiet. Usually around this time of the day, there were frenzied noises of passion and baking coming from the kitchens of the Bake house but today it was still. Tumbleweeds blew across the street, and a church bell rang, slow and baleful, somewhere in the distance. I didn’t like it. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. I strode up to the door and as I got closer, I noticed that it was slightly ajar, which was unheard of. The Poopahs always kept the door locked so their filthy acts could go on unwitnessed. Everyone in Brisbane knew that….so why was the door swinging gently on the morning breeze? I looked back at the Committee and saw that they had all taken refuge behind trees, waste bins, and other objects that could offer shelter from what ever lay behind the door. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The entire kitchen had been stripped bare; the outline of pots and pans could be seen, stark white against the filthy brownish yellow grime that had become fixed to the walls over the years. Obviously Mr Poopah had never heard of Health and Safety Directives such `Clean your premises every once in a while’ or `Don’t leave decomposing fruit on the shelf for more than one week’. The whole place was just disgusting beyond description; and to think that this was where everyone in Brisbane purchased their bread, cakes and other bakery based products. I even noticed piles of old Hessian sack, rotting and stinking in the corner, mildewed potatoes spilling from within. Yet it was still fascinating, as if I were an archeologist entering a pyramid for the first time, viewing strange objects of queer ritual, piecing the mystery together. I was probably the first person, other than the Poopahs, to step foot inside the bakery for over twenty years. It was still and silent in there, rogue dust motes caught the sunlight that streamed through a single broken window pane. I hardly dared to breathe for fear of disturbing the silence. Then the door crashed open and the entire Committee came spilling in, landing in a huge tangled pile at my feet. They were all equally gob smacked, staring wide eyed at the strange and new surroundings. It was just at that moment that I saw the note on the bench.
It was written on a piece of yellowing paper but the penmanship was truly beautiful, the loops and swirls of each letter were works of art, and certain characters were skillfully decorated with a variety of birds, animals and flowers.
I read it aloud.
“Dear Fuckholes,
You are all ungrateful bastards who have never appreciated my cakes, bread and other savoury delights. Me and the missus are off to set up a traveling pie house such as never been seen before. We will be famous and will always slag Brisbane Village off to everyone we ever meet. No more tourists for you, Johnny Twinkle.”
At this point, Johnny screamed like a girl and swooned onto the floor, his flabby hand draped across his forehead as if he were in some Victorian melodrama. I continued on, unperturbed.
“As a parting gift, we have left one pie in the oven for you to taste. It is the most delicious pie in all of Australia and it is the first and last one that you will ever taste because, if by some unlucky event, any one of you retarded villagers happens to come across our magnificent traveling pie house, you will be refused service.
We hate Brisbane and all who live in it.
Lots of love
Mr & Mrs Poopah.
P.S – Yes, it was I who put dead rats in your houses/faces/cows/etc.”
Just as I finished reading the letter, we became aware of the most fantastic smell emanating from the oven. A delicious spicy meat pie kind of aroma, it seemed to verily tickle the tastebuds, and caress ones saliva glands into immediate overdrive. We were all drooling as we were hypnotically drawn towards the oven. Johnny Twinkle (who had obviously been reinvigorated by the smell of the pie) grabbed an old grimy tea towel and wrapped it around his hand. He slowly opened the huge oven door, and there was the most magnificent pie that any one of us had ever seen. It was golden brown and decorated with small pastry flowers, the biggest pie in the history of Brisbane. Tendrils of steam rose from the pie, carrying the delightful smell of meat and vegetables, tender and cooked to perfection, like a wondrous perfume to our noses. Johnny pulled the pie out of the oven with a reverence usually reserved for holy objects such as the Holy Grail (which Johnny had somehow managed to borrow for a week last summer for his `Visit Brisbane, Home of the Holy Grail’ tourist drive). He set it down on the bench and went off to find a knife. Everyone just stared at the pie. It was truly wondrous and I was sucked into some strange daydream where I slaughtered everybody in the bake house and eloped with the pie, getting married to it in a hasty ceremony and settling down to have a family of strange half man half pie children. I was shaken form my reverie by the return of Twinkle with a huge knife. For a moment I thought that he had a similar plan for he looked as if he were possessed. But then he swiftly cut the pie into equal portions and distributed it among us.
Dairyman Dave and several others began cramming the pie into their mouths, frantic and wild, sighing ecstatically as it slithered down their throats. People were crying with delight as they tasted the pie. There were shouts of “Incredible!” and “Beautiful!” and other praises were bandied about. I held back, something was wrong. I looked around at the pie induced hysteria and then it struck me that someone was missing. Michael. I had seen no trace of him since entering the kitchen and I looked around to see if he was around. It was then that I saw the tail of a very large rat poking out from beneath the sacks in the corner. Michael! I ran to him, throwing back the covers. What an evil man I had been! Putting poor Michael, whose only crime was to have been quite insane, through such a traumatic series of events. Luckily for me, Michael was fine. Apart from missing his legs and genitals, he was fine.
He looked up at me, gazing though hollow eye sockets. “Ahoy me hearties.” Was all he said. I don’t think he was even aware that the lower half of his body was missing. Bless him. I rapidly deduced that it was the flesh of a madman that had given the pie its character and that I really shouldn’t eat my piece of it. But I did and it was fucking delicious. The Committee even gave Michael the rest of the pie for his part in The Plan, which considering the level of its deliciousness, was very generous of them.
So the Poopahs were gone and milk was restored to Brisbane Village. Everything worked out quite well in the end so that was nice. But even now, I still can’t look at a pie without thinking of how tasty human flesh is, and of everything that we villagers did to rid ourselves of the blight that was Cake Shop-A-Go-Go. So dear reader, you now have an insight into Brisbane that very few people are aware of, and if perchance you are traveling through the outback of this great, red land and you happen to come across a traveling pie house, be sure to doff your cap to the owners for they will surely be direct descendants of Mr & Mrs Poopah.
Just don’t mention Brisbane.
Even though it really is a truly great place to live. Allegedly.
Muddy Water 2007 Dry Riesling
My Word! This is a fantastic drop, evocative of wet river stones, and all manner of fruity goodness. A real thirst quencher coupled with deliciousness. Very dangerous! Could easily knock off a couple of bottles on a sunny afternoon. Top marks!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
But is it art?
Mark Inglefield of Blain/Southern sent me the following statement in regard to the EU decision to label Dan Flavin's work as (merely?) electrical fittings:
"We were grateful for the clarification given in the British courts two years ago on the treatment of these types of artworks coming into the UK. The new EU ruling is clearly at odds with this and merits further enquiry. We will be seeking the advice of the various trade bodies to see what can be done."
It does beg the question; what qualifications do the EU inspectors hold that validates their opinion as to what is/isn't art? To take this one step further, what gives the art critic this right also?
"We were grateful for the clarification given in the British courts two years ago on the treatment of these types of artworks coming into the UK. The new EU ruling is clearly at odds with this and merits further enquiry. We will be seeking the advice of the various trade bodies to see what can be done."
It does beg the question; what qualifications do the EU inspectors hold that validates their opinion as to what is/isn't art? To take this one step further, what gives the art critic this right also?
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Pop Smellers and the Spine of the Earth - Part 3
Pop Smellers and the Spine of the Earth
Part 3
A rather harassed looking man stepped out of the lift, and after glancing around the lobby, headed over to where I was sitting. He wore a white shirt with thin blue lines running vertically up (and strangely enough; down) the front, yet the sleeves and back of the garment were punctuated with horizontal stripes. The collar was a darker blue, and the buttons were red. He wore a tie of yellow; it was tied with a fat knot, and was several shades lighter than his trousers, which, by the way, were perfectly ironed. I reckoned that one could quite easily cut oneself on the creases. Red socks peeped out from dark burgundy shoes; perhaps leather; perhaps not. I could not be sure from where I sat. Having assessed his fashion sense, I awaited his arrival; I noted that apart from being a walking colour explosion, he was probably gay for he walked with a grace that the average heterosexual male was incapable of. He half-minced, half-floated down the steps to the seating area where I was still reading the latest news on meat prices and restaurant reviews. I pretended that I hadn’t noticed him but I suspected he was aware of this. He now stood in front of me and was clearing his throat, preparing to speak. I beat him to it. “Do you like meat?” His eyes lit up and for a split second lust registered in his eyes. I was correct about his gay-ness. His gaze dropped to the magazine and he realised I was referring to animal flesh, not man-sex. He was disappointed and he tried to hide it, replying in a quavering voice that he didn’t eat meat and was strictly a soy-bean sausage kind of a guy. “But meat is good; all soft and juicy. Bacon. Chops. Come on! Surely you must like some kind of meat?” Innuendo is good.
“No. I’m a vegetarian.” Looking at him, this was easy to believe. He was thin and pasty looking; his appearance bordered on that of a terminally ill cancer patient. Even if I was gay, I don’t think I’d have banged this fellow.
“Why? Moral, religious, or health?”
“I beg your pardon?” He was confused. Confusion is good.
“Are you a vegetarian for moral, religious or health reasons?”
“Oh, I see. None. I just don’t like the taste.”
“What?!” I exclaimed. This made him even more uncomfortable, and I took a perverse pleasure in this because I could tell what was coming next. “How can you not like the flesh of the beasts? Pig. Cow. Deer. Chicken. What about chicken?”
“What do you mean; chicken? I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat meat. Full stop. That’s it. No meat. Do you get it?!” He was upset now. Upset is good. Confused and upset are good. His face was pink and sweaty. For the final assault I stood up, and we were face to face, even though he was a good few inches shorter than myself. “But some vegetarians eat chicken. They don’t eat red meat but they love a bit of chicken. Some even eat fish…can you believe that?”
He visibly buckled with a quiet “Oh…”
“So you do eat fish then?”
“Yes.” His reply was but a whisper.
I pushed home my advantage and asked “Since when have fish been considered vegetables?”
“I suppose they haven’t.”, and as an after thought he added “Ever.”.
“Well, some Buddhists consider fish to be sea vegetables, and I’ve even heard of some Buddhists calling different meats by the names of vegetables, just so they can appear pious and eat the poor little meat-beasts. You might want to think about calling ‘beef’ something else; how about ‘eggplant’? You can go into a steak house and order a steak but call it an aubergine. Or maybe order a piece of cod but call it a sea vegetable? You can use that excuse next time someone gets your goat about the whole fish/vegetarian issue.” He looked at me with gratitude.
“Thank you.” he whispered. “Can I suck your cock?”
“No.”
He looked as if he’d just run a marathon and was all shaky and trembling.
“Sit down. Give me my letter. Get yourself together and then go back upstairs and have a nice herbal tea. I’d recommend Lavender & Cactus Fat.”
He sunk into the chair I’d previously occupied and was about to give me the letter he’d been carrying; he was staring off into space when his gaze returned to me. As he passed me the envelope, he asked limply “You are Pop Smellers?”
I took the letter and replied “Of course.”
Then I walked out. It would have been a very stylish exit but then I returned to collect my coat. Then I walked out again; into the cold, hard rain.
It was nice.
I headed for the last bastion of reason and civility; the nearest pub.
The glass panelled doors swung open with a crash, heavy wood on wood, wall on door, and door on wall. It was quiet in the bar and there were few drinkers left at this time of day. One of the reasons that I love to frequent drinking establishments at this particular hour of the day is that half past two is a mysterious time. It’s generally too late for your average lunch-time crowd but too early for the after work boozers, so it’s only the serious drinker, or flexi-time fellow, that lurks over his, or her, alcoholic refreshment. I cast a quick eye around the place, on the off chance of some-one that I knew being there, but as luck may, or may not have it, I recognised no-one. Stepping inside the joint, I gave myself a brisk dog-like shake to remove excess moisture and flung my coat over a chair at a vacant table, and then I headed to the bar for a stiff drink.
The bar, much like the pub itself, was a long, solid affair of wood and steel; it reminded me of the sad fact that many of our traditional imbibing emporiums have become victim to the insane designs of fashionable interiors that, and I quote “…cater to the younger market yet reflect that indescribable atmosphere of the traditional pub.”. I had been involved with several pub ventures over the years, and I always found that the words ‘conceptual’ and ‘pub’ went together as well as ‘fart’ and ‘packed dinner table with royalty’. Having had experience with both, I long ago decided to withdraw from the whole thing; both farting within whiffing distance of the Queen (or is that The Queen?) and being involved, in a business sense, with pubs. In almost all my involvement with pubs, and indeed life itself, I have found that being served is better than serving. There’s lesson in there, but I’m buggered if I can be bothered to find it.
“Hello” I said to the barman. He was agog. Obviously he was not used to being greeted prior to having an order placed within his capable hands.
“Hello” he replied, and then he followed up with “What can I get you?” entwined in a rather false smile. Recalling my last encounter with the poof, and how mean I had been, I decided not to abuse my position. Ooer! Double entendres; how I love them. I managed to order a pint of Witchspotter Ale without being sarcastic and then I retreated to my table and the mysterious letter. Actually, it was not that mysterious because; firstly I knew that Mr Zagley’s letter would say very little that I could understand, and secondly; I knew he would not meet me today because he’d previously sent me letters via a slinking poofter when he’d been unable to meet me. In fact, he’d done this five times before but he always paid me, regardless of whether I met with him or not. I liked that. Thirdly, and finally, I am often subject to terrible fits of outrageous madness that leave me questioning, and thus confirming my lack of, sanity. Perhaps this is due to the excesses of drug taking in my youth. I don’t know.
But anyway…
The letter, like its brothers & sisters, was in a sealed yellow envelope, with my name typed exactly in the centre. No mailing address, no interesting details for me to use my detective skills on. Nothing. I knew it would state the same business as all the previous ones;
Dear Mr Smellers,
Can’t meet today but must talk to you about a very interesting job. Will call soon. Yours Mr Zagley.
And that would be it. However, upon opening the letter, I discovered that I was wrong…very wrong…very, very wrong.
The pages inside had obviously been torn from a journal of some sort, and the writing was erratic, as if written in a hurry:
Part 3
A rather harassed looking man stepped out of the lift, and after glancing around the lobby, headed over to where I was sitting. He wore a white shirt with thin blue lines running vertically up (and strangely enough; down) the front, yet the sleeves and back of the garment were punctuated with horizontal stripes. The collar was a darker blue, and the buttons were red. He wore a tie of yellow; it was tied with a fat knot, and was several shades lighter than his trousers, which, by the way, were perfectly ironed. I reckoned that one could quite easily cut oneself on the creases. Red socks peeped out from dark burgundy shoes; perhaps leather; perhaps not. I could not be sure from where I sat. Having assessed his fashion sense, I awaited his arrival; I noted that apart from being a walking colour explosion, he was probably gay for he walked with a grace that the average heterosexual male was incapable of. He half-minced, half-floated down the steps to the seating area where I was still reading the latest news on meat prices and restaurant reviews. I pretended that I hadn’t noticed him but I suspected he was aware of this. He now stood in front of me and was clearing his throat, preparing to speak. I beat him to it. “Do you like meat?” His eyes lit up and for a split second lust registered in his eyes. I was correct about his gay-ness. His gaze dropped to the magazine and he realised I was referring to animal flesh, not man-sex. He was disappointed and he tried to hide it, replying in a quavering voice that he didn’t eat meat and was strictly a soy-bean sausage kind of a guy. “But meat is good; all soft and juicy. Bacon. Chops. Come on! Surely you must like some kind of meat?” Innuendo is good.
“No. I’m a vegetarian.” Looking at him, this was easy to believe. He was thin and pasty looking; his appearance bordered on that of a terminally ill cancer patient. Even if I was gay, I don’t think I’d have banged this fellow.
“Why? Moral, religious, or health?”
“I beg your pardon?” He was confused. Confusion is good.
“Are you a vegetarian for moral, religious or health reasons?”
“Oh, I see. None. I just don’t like the taste.”
“What?!” I exclaimed. This made him even more uncomfortable, and I took a perverse pleasure in this because I could tell what was coming next. “How can you not like the flesh of the beasts? Pig. Cow. Deer. Chicken. What about chicken?”
“What do you mean; chicken? I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat meat. Full stop. That’s it. No meat. Do you get it?!” He was upset now. Upset is good. Confused and upset are good. His face was pink and sweaty. For the final assault I stood up, and we were face to face, even though he was a good few inches shorter than myself. “But some vegetarians eat chicken. They don’t eat red meat but they love a bit of chicken. Some even eat fish…can you believe that?”
He visibly buckled with a quiet “Oh…”
“So you do eat fish then?”
“Yes.” His reply was but a whisper.
I pushed home my advantage and asked “Since when have fish been considered vegetables?”
“I suppose they haven’t.”, and as an after thought he added “Ever.”.
“Well, some Buddhists consider fish to be sea vegetables, and I’ve even heard of some Buddhists calling different meats by the names of vegetables, just so they can appear pious and eat the poor little meat-beasts. You might want to think about calling ‘beef’ something else; how about ‘eggplant’? You can go into a steak house and order a steak but call it an aubergine. Or maybe order a piece of cod but call it a sea vegetable? You can use that excuse next time someone gets your goat about the whole fish/vegetarian issue.” He looked at me with gratitude.
“Thank you.” he whispered. “Can I suck your cock?”
“No.”
He looked as if he’d just run a marathon and was all shaky and trembling.
“Sit down. Give me my letter. Get yourself together and then go back upstairs and have a nice herbal tea. I’d recommend Lavender & Cactus Fat.”
He sunk into the chair I’d previously occupied and was about to give me the letter he’d been carrying; he was staring off into space when his gaze returned to me. As he passed me the envelope, he asked limply “You are Pop Smellers?”
I took the letter and replied “Of course.”
Then I walked out. It would have been a very stylish exit but then I returned to collect my coat. Then I walked out again; into the cold, hard rain.
It was nice.
I headed for the last bastion of reason and civility; the nearest pub.
The glass panelled doors swung open with a crash, heavy wood on wood, wall on door, and door on wall. It was quiet in the bar and there were few drinkers left at this time of day. One of the reasons that I love to frequent drinking establishments at this particular hour of the day is that half past two is a mysterious time. It’s generally too late for your average lunch-time crowd but too early for the after work boozers, so it’s only the serious drinker, or flexi-time fellow, that lurks over his, or her, alcoholic refreshment. I cast a quick eye around the place, on the off chance of some-one that I knew being there, but as luck may, or may not have it, I recognised no-one. Stepping inside the joint, I gave myself a brisk dog-like shake to remove excess moisture and flung my coat over a chair at a vacant table, and then I headed to the bar for a stiff drink.
The bar, much like the pub itself, was a long, solid affair of wood and steel; it reminded me of the sad fact that many of our traditional imbibing emporiums have become victim to the insane designs of fashionable interiors that, and I quote “…cater to the younger market yet reflect that indescribable atmosphere of the traditional pub.”. I had been involved with several pub ventures over the years, and I always found that the words ‘conceptual’ and ‘pub’ went together as well as ‘fart’ and ‘packed dinner table with royalty’. Having had experience with both, I long ago decided to withdraw from the whole thing; both farting within whiffing distance of the Queen (or is that The Queen?) and being involved, in a business sense, with pubs. In almost all my involvement with pubs, and indeed life itself, I have found that being served is better than serving. There’s lesson in there, but I’m buggered if I can be bothered to find it.
“Hello” I said to the barman. He was agog. Obviously he was not used to being greeted prior to having an order placed within his capable hands.
“Hello” he replied, and then he followed up with “What can I get you?” entwined in a rather false smile. Recalling my last encounter with the poof, and how mean I had been, I decided not to abuse my position. Ooer! Double entendres; how I love them. I managed to order a pint of Witchspotter Ale without being sarcastic and then I retreated to my table and the mysterious letter. Actually, it was not that mysterious because; firstly I knew that Mr Zagley’s letter would say very little that I could understand, and secondly; I knew he would not meet me today because he’d previously sent me letters via a slinking poofter when he’d been unable to meet me. In fact, he’d done this five times before but he always paid me, regardless of whether I met with him or not. I liked that. Thirdly, and finally, I am often subject to terrible fits of outrageous madness that leave me questioning, and thus confirming my lack of, sanity. Perhaps this is due to the excesses of drug taking in my youth. I don’t know.
But anyway…
The letter, like its brothers & sisters, was in a sealed yellow envelope, with my name typed exactly in the centre. No mailing address, no interesting details for me to use my detective skills on. Nothing. I knew it would state the same business as all the previous ones;
Dear Mr Smellers,
Can’t meet today but must talk to you about a very interesting job. Will call soon. Yours Mr Zagley.
And that would be it. However, upon opening the letter, I discovered that I was wrong…very wrong…very, very wrong.
The pages inside had obviously been torn from a journal of some sort, and the writing was erratic, as if written in a hurry:
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Schoenberg at Fat Louies, Brisbane
I dragged myself out of my sick bed to see Schoenberg's first live gig, and I think that those present saw something pretty special on Saturday night; aside from the string breakage in the first two minutes of the opening track, they were tight as a nun's vagina, reproducing some very technical riff work and drums. Everyone appeared relaxed and played together well; vocalist Colin Cadell paced the floor, screaming his heart out, and they even chucked in a one minute drum solo for Nelson (which he undertook with great skill, dexterity & energy...more, please) I reckon these fellas could go a long way, providing they keep their shit together. A top gig only ruined by my relapse into sickness as a result of not staying in bed...
Anyways, here's an interview that I did with Colin on Friday, the day before the gig:
Anyways, here's an interview that I did with Colin on Friday, the day before the gig:
Interview with Colin Cadell, vocalist with the Schoenberg Automaton
A.P: OK, we’ll start with the basics; give us a bit of background on bands you guys have previously played in.
C.C: I played in a lot of jazz ensembles, playing clarinet (laughs) but metal bands; there’s been three; the current one is Schoenberg Automaton, then prior to that was Cross the Lips of Grace, and prior to that was Apex Null, which is sort of a sentient band at the moment; we just write & record but we’re not going to play live very often. Zimi Shabanay (bass) was in Cross the Lips of Grace, Shayne Johnson (guitar) played in Empyrean, Damien Boorman (guitar) from Lytic Cycle, and Nelson Barnes (drums) was in Function Cease.
A.P: What are the influences that you and the other band members have taken into this project? C.C: Shayne (guitar) & Nelson (drums) sort of started the project, with a lot of the influences coming from the modern side of death metal from bands such as The Faceless, Necrophagist, and Cephalic Carnage – the more chaotic stuff. Then on the other side, you have the whole ‘Djent’ influence from bands such as Mesuggah, Periphery, Ion Dissonance...Ion Dissonance is probably the biggest influence on Schoenberg.
A.P: As much as I hate the use of genres; which one does Schoenberg fall into?
C.C: A lot of people are throwing us into the Djent movement, but as a band we say we’re a technical death metal outfit; the only reason we say this is because we’re using a lot of death metal standards such as blast sections into slams, but none of the sections are constant and solid; it’s very rare to have a part that’s the same for more than 15 seconds. We try to change it up a lot more, which is another reason why we get put into the Djent category because we’re a lot more chaotic. We also get referred to as noise core by some...
A.P: So Schoenberg’s playing their first gig tomorrow (Fat Louies, Albert St, Brisbane) – you pooing your pants?
C.C: No, I’m looking forward to it, not so much nervous about performing but just working with new people. It’s that whole thing of playing with people that you haven’t played with before, people you haven’t worked with before; it’s a very different kind of structure. Once you’ve played with the same people for a year, you know exactly what they’re going to do on stage; where they’ll speed up, what parts might get stuffed up.
A.P: Have you seen any of the other guys playing with their previous bands?
C.C: Yeah, I’ve seen everyone’s previous bands; I have a good understanding of what their performances are like; the worst you’ll see is Daimo (Damien Boorman) in footy shorts. He has a habit of wearing stubbies when playing live...
A.P: Nice...a little bit of nut action...
C.C: Yeah, he likes the rugger shorts...
A.P: The music is pretty technical so do you think there’ll be any issues reproducing it live?
C.C: To be honest; no, all the stuff we’ve been jamming has come out 100% perfect; nothing has come out ‘odd’ if that makes sense...it’s all falling together really well – which is why there’s the slight trepidation of how it’s going to go live because in the jam room it’s worked out really well. We’ve had to approach learning the songs a lot more progressively than some bands would because eight seconds of a song may have six rhythm changes...it’s quite chaotic. We work section by section and then try and piece it together as a whole, and when we have the whole piece we can start to see where the weak areas are, and then we enhance those. We just keep moulding it until we’re happy with the final piece. But one of the advantages we have is that all of it’s done digitally prior to the actual gig; Shayne tracks all the guitars to a click, those are sent to Nelson who digitally programs the drums so he can learn them on both his electronic and ‘real’ kit. Before we even hit the jam room, most members have already been playing the songs so that’s an advantage; everyone already has an idea of how the song sounds. I just come in once the vocals need to be applied. It’s a bit different to how I’ve approached it previously, as with my old bands I’d normally had more input with the song writing side of things but it’s really cool – the Schoenberg guys are good enough song writers on their own.
A.P: What was it like recording the demo?
C.C: With Schoenberg, the recording side is so meticulous and we want it to have the attack; we approached the vocal recordings in syllables as opposed to words or complete phrases, which means that every syllable has attack on it, and gives us the advantage that we can perfectly multi-track every syllable. Some of the sections on the demo are multi-tracked eight times so there are four vocal layers with two in each layer. It was definitely a lot more intense and laborious than I was used to; it was lot more full on.
A.P: How many songs are on the demo, and who produced it?
C.C: Three songs; produced by Darren Cruickshank, a bloke from Aberdeen, Scotland. He has a solo project called Bleeding Skies, which is where he honed his production skills. The version of Pineapples which is up on our MySpace page is the mix that Darren did a while back.
A.P: When will the demo be available?
C.C: We’re hoping mid December; I’m finalising the artwork at the moment, so once that’s done...
C.C: I played in a lot of jazz ensembles, playing clarinet (laughs) but metal bands; there’s been three; the current one is Schoenberg Automaton, then prior to that was Cross the Lips of Grace, and prior to that was Apex Null, which is sort of a sentient band at the moment; we just write & record but we’re not going to play live very often. Zimi Shabanay (bass) was in Cross the Lips of Grace, Shayne Johnson (guitar) played in Empyrean, Damien Boorman (guitar) from Lytic Cycle, and Nelson Barnes (drums) was in Function Cease.
A.P: What are the influences that you and the other band members have taken into this project? C.C: Shayne (guitar) & Nelson (drums) sort of started the project, with a lot of the influences coming from the modern side of death metal from bands such as The Faceless, Necrophagist, and Cephalic Carnage – the more chaotic stuff. Then on the other side, you have the whole ‘Djent’ influence from bands such as Mesuggah, Periphery, Ion Dissonance...Ion Dissonance is probably the biggest influence on Schoenberg.
A.P: As much as I hate the use of genres; which one does Schoenberg fall into?
C.C: A lot of people are throwing us into the Djent movement, but as a band we say we’re a technical death metal outfit; the only reason we say this is because we’re using a lot of death metal standards such as blast sections into slams, but none of the sections are constant and solid; it’s very rare to have a part that’s the same for more than 15 seconds. We try to change it up a lot more, which is another reason why we get put into the Djent category because we’re a lot more chaotic. We also get referred to as noise core by some...
A.P: So Schoenberg’s playing their first gig tomorrow (Fat Louies, Albert St, Brisbane) – you pooing your pants?
C.C: No, I’m looking forward to it, not so much nervous about performing but just working with new people. It’s that whole thing of playing with people that you haven’t played with before, people you haven’t worked with before; it’s a very different kind of structure. Once you’ve played with the same people for a year, you know exactly what they’re going to do on stage; where they’ll speed up, what parts might get stuffed up.
A.P: Have you seen any of the other guys playing with their previous bands?
C.C: Yeah, I’ve seen everyone’s previous bands; I have a good understanding of what their performances are like; the worst you’ll see is Daimo (Damien Boorman) in footy shorts. He has a habit of wearing stubbies when playing live...
A.P: Nice...a little bit of nut action...
C.C: Yeah, he likes the rugger shorts...
A.P: The music is pretty technical so do you think there’ll be any issues reproducing it live?
C.C: To be honest; no, all the stuff we’ve been jamming has come out 100% perfect; nothing has come out ‘odd’ if that makes sense...it’s all falling together really well – which is why there’s the slight trepidation of how it’s going to go live because in the jam room it’s worked out really well. We’ve had to approach learning the songs a lot more progressively than some bands would because eight seconds of a song may have six rhythm changes...it’s quite chaotic. We work section by section and then try and piece it together as a whole, and when we have the whole piece we can start to see where the weak areas are, and then we enhance those. We just keep moulding it until we’re happy with the final piece. But one of the advantages we have is that all of it’s done digitally prior to the actual gig; Shayne tracks all the guitars to a click, those are sent to Nelson who digitally programs the drums so he can learn them on both his electronic and ‘real’ kit. Before we even hit the jam room, most members have already been playing the songs so that’s an advantage; everyone already has an idea of how the song sounds. I just come in once the vocals need to be applied. It’s a bit different to how I’ve approached it previously, as with my old bands I’d normally had more input with the song writing side of things but it’s really cool – the Schoenberg guys are good enough song writers on their own.
A.P: What was it like recording the demo?
C.C: With Schoenberg, the recording side is so meticulous and we want it to have the attack; we approached the vocal recordings in syllables as opposed to words or complete phrases, which means that every syllable has attack on it, and gives us the advantage that we can perfectly multi-track every syllable. Some of the sections on the demo are multi-tracked eight times so there are four vocal layers with two in each layer. It was definitely a lot more intense and laborious than I was used to; it was lot more full on.
A.P: How many songs are on the demo, and who produced it?
C.C: Three songs; produced by Darren Cruickshank, a bloke from Aberdeen, Scotland. He has a solo project called Bleeding Skies, which is where he honed his production skills. The version of Pineapples which is up on our MySpace page is the mix that Darren did a while back.
A.P: When will the demo be available?
C.C: We’re hoping mid December; I’m finalising the artwork at the moment, so once that’s done...
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Pop Smellers and the Spine of the Earth - Part 2
Pop Smellers and the Spine of the Earth
Part 2
I caught the train into town and got off near Flotsam Port Road; I’d often worked around here before I’d gotten into the ‘dick’ business, so I headed down a piss soaked back alley to avoid the crowds and tourists in their retarded, yet expensive, plastic macs. It had stated to rain whilst I was on the train but now it was pissing down. I pulled my collar up and hunched my shoulders against the downward driven rain. It really was quite ineffective but it put me in my detective frame of mind so that was good. Split rubbish bags spewed forth a medley of old food packets, vegetable peelings and rags across my path, and I danced nimbly between week old puddles of vomit. My nose was assailed by a multitude of foul stenches and when I looked up, I could see dirty rain water pouring from the overflows of the buildings on either side of me. These facades were the rear entrances to the clubs and restaurants on the main drag, they were used mainly for deliveries and for smuggling in B Grade celebrities who felt violated by the crowds. Like people, these buildings were all neon and glitter on the public side but the rear told a different story. It is for this exact reason that I took up the fine art of ‘Ass-Studies’ – a practice not dissimilar to phrenology but it substitutes asses for skulls. There’s no scientific basis in it, but it is another way to get my jollies. Having worked in a number of restaurants, I can tell you that what you see up front is nothing like what is going on out back. Anyway, I digress. The alley abruptly ended, and I emerged from the gloom onto a quiet side street, ducking across the road and dodging traffic, until I entered through the glass doors, and found myself in the reception area of Zagley & Chepstowe, Quality Purveyors Inc.
I shook myself off, leaving pools of water on the salmon pink marble floor, and I removed my dripping overcoat whilst casting my eye around the offices. Soft lighting accentuated the small palms and potted plants that were strategically placed around the foyer. Huge leather chairs were geometrically positioned around a squat glass table, which had several general interest magazines and catalogues upon it. It seemed as if the decorator had used a global positioning system on everything, for nothing was out of place. A deep red carpet led up a small flight of wide steps leading to the lift area. It was all so typical, like every other office block in the surrounding streets. Looking back through the plate glass windows I could see that the weather had continued its downward spiral and now it was really pissing it down. The sky had turned a furious black colour and passing cars had switched their headlights on. Actually, this was not strictly true; the drivers of the said cars had done this, not the vehicles themselves but you can see what I’m getting at.
Rain slicked the pavement and if I hadn’t known that it was only two o’clock, I would have sworn that it was coming on for at least five. My appointment with Mr Zagley wasn’t for another fifteen minutes so I took a seat and picked up a selection of reading material; Steak Lovers Monthly caught my eye and I began to peruse a very interesting article on the pros and cons of grain feeding versus cattle spine and brain compound ground up and fed back to other cows. Amazing. Apparently grain is better for cows than cows all minced up and fed back to other cows. Who would have believed it?! I happened to glance up at a clock near the elevators just as one arrived at the ground. Its doors hissed open in near silence; apart from the slightest squeak of rubber and a subdued ‘ping’ from a bell hidden somewhere. It was just before ten past two.
Part 2
I caught the train into town and got off near Flotsam Port Road; I’d often worked around here before I’d gotten into the ‘dick’ business, so I headed down a piss soaked back alley to avoid the crowds and tourists in their retarded, yet expensive, plastic macs. It had stated to rain whilst I was on the train but now it was pissing down. I pulled my collar up and hunched my shoulders against the downward driven rain. It really was quite ineffective but it put me in my detective frame of mind so that was good. Split rubbish bags spewed forth a medley of old food packets, vegetable peelings and rags across my path, and I danced nimbly between week old puddles of vomit. My nose was assailed by a multitude of foul stenches and when I looked up, I could see dirty rain water pouring from the overflows of the buildings on either side of me. These facades were the rear entrances to the clubs and restaurants on the main drag, they were used mainly for deliveries and for smuggling in B Grade celebrities who felt violated by the crowds. Like people, these buildings were all neon and glitter on the public side but the rear told a different story. It is for this exact reason that I took up the fine art of ‘Ass-Studies’ – a practice not dissimilar to phrenology but it substitutes asses for skulls. There’s no scientific basis in it, but it is another way to get my jollies. Having worked in a number of restaurants, I can tell you that what you see up front is nothing like what is going on out back. Anyway, I digress. The alley abruptly ended, and I emerged from the gloom onto a quiet side street, ducking across the road and dodging traffic, until I entered through the glass doors, and found myself in the reception area of Zagley & Chepstowe, Quality Purveyors Inc.
I shook myself off, leaving pools of water on the salmon pink marble floor, and I removed my dripping overcoat whilst casting my eye around the offices. Soft lighting accentuated the small palms and potted plants that were strategically placed around the foyer. Huge leather chairs were geometrically positioned around a squat glass table, which had several general interest magazines and catalogues upon it. It seemed as if the decorator had used a global positioning system on everything, for nothing was out of place. A deep red carpet led up a small flight of wide steps leading to the lift area. It was all so typical, like every other office block in the surrounding streets. Looking back through the plate glass windows I could see that the weather had continued its downward spiral and now it was really pissing it down. The sky had turned a furious black colour and passing cars had switched their headlights on. Actually, this was not strictly true; the drivers of the said cars had done this, not the vehicles themselves but you can see what I’m getting at.
Rain slicked the pavement and if I hadn’t known that it was only two o’clock, I would have sworn that it was coming on for at least five. My appointment with Mr Zagley wasn’t for another fifteen minutes so I took a seat and picked up a selection of reading material; Steak Lovers Monthly caught my eye and I began to peruse a very interesting article on the pros and cons of grain feeding versus cattle spine and brain compound ground up and fed back to other cows. Amazing. Apparently grain is better for cows than cows all minced up and fed back to other cows. Who would have believed it?! I happened to glance up at a clock near the elevators just as one arrived at the ground. Its doors hissed open in near silence; apart from the slightest squeak of rubber and a subdued ‘ping’ from a bell hidden somewhere. It was just before ten past two.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Pop Smellers and the Spine of the Earth - Part 1
Part 1
The name’s Smellers. Pop Smellers. And I’m here to tell you how it is. Actually, I’m here to tell you how it isn’t, because due to the very nature of things, telling you how it is would be impossible and downright dangerous. I’m a private dick but my wife would say otherwise, however, Audrey is prone to fits of violence and insanity so you can’t always take her word on things. As I write this, she is sitting across from me, lounging on a battered floral patterned armchair, and I must say that she looks ravishing: curves in all the right places; energetic; and long dark hair (which I’m sure will be a different colour tomorrow) framing her beautiful, beautiful face. I must stop describing her now, or I shall become far too aroused, and that would be a fruitless endeavour, for in less than five minutes I must leave the house to meet my latest client: the elusive Mr Spag Zagley.
I use the word ‘elusive’ but Zagley is only so when it suits him. He always shows up for ‘client liaisons’ but only if he has arranged them; if I attempt to contact him then I must leave a message after the tone, and may the Gods forgive me if I ever turned up at his offices without first calling his secretary and making an appointment. Mr Zagley is of Eastern European descent, and there is an almost grey pallor to his oily skin. He dresses impeccably in traditional three-piece suits, which he combines with hand stitched silk shirts. The overall effect of the well-dressed gentleman is ruined by his compulsion for cheap and garish ties, which I presume he purchases from discount stores. This is the only explanation I can come up with because at our last ‘client liaison’ (God! I hate that wanky term) he arrived in a dark blue pin striped suit, white shirt, and hideous glittery green tie. Why he chooses these revolting accessories; I do not know. In comparison, his choice of shoe is flawless, and I would estimate that he spends at least a couple of hundred dollars on each pair. I think that anyone who spends that much on footwear must have something wrong with their brain. This belief has caused many an argument between Audrey and I.
I was stirred from my shoe ponderings by my darling wife’s enquiries as to whether or not I would be partaking in a pipe of fine hashish before my meeting with Mr Zagley.
I really shouldn’t.
But I did, and very nice it was too.
I left the house in a haze of cotton wool comfort that one can only achieve through the use of the highest quality opiates, or through prolonged and profound meditations on ancient universal truths. Sadly, I rarely have the time for extended periods of yoga so nowadays a quick pipe and a think must often suffice. I usually find new and interesting perspectives on problems after engaging in intense drug use, but alas; my consumption of illicit substances has declined recently due to the lack of quality goods and pleasant service providers. The problem with most drug
dealers is that they are usually complete and utter fuckwits. They start out all groovy and civilised but over time they devolve into dodgy, money hungry creatures of the night. Many moons ago, when I was, as the young folk say “on the scene”, I dealt in a wide variety of substances including dope, coke, pills, and powdered tiger claw, and I like to believe that I was a fair and honest trader, both kind and flexible with my customers. This line of work brought me into contact with some of the more nefarious characters that populate the drug world, and I often found these people to have an attitude of extreme greed coupled with an intense desire to rip off any one who they came into contact with. Not the best attitude to have when one is, in
essence, a businessman, albeit a merchant of narcotics. I always considered myself most fortunate that I was rarely ripped off, and the quality of my wares was generally of a very high standard. However, my days of mass consumption have eased off of late, and may or may not be resumed. It’s impossible to tell but I must admit that I do get the urge for a really good session every now and then. As I left the house, I noticed that it was rather cool outside so I wrapped my overcoat around my broad chest; I felt rather soft and lax after the dope, and my attention was drawn briefly to my physical body. I am neither overweight nor undernourished; to quote Goldilocks “Pop’s just right.” I like my size and carry just a couple of extra pounds because one never knows when one is going to have to go without food, or for how long. To be whippet-like is to invite disaster. This attitude stems from my days as a poor student and dole bludger; I would often find myself in the difficult position of only having enough money to purchase food or alcohol.
Alcohol always won. In those days, I would often take large quantities of amphetamine so that I could save money by not buying food, however, this nice idea never worked simply because the money I saved from not buying food always ended up being used (I say used for it was never wasted) on cigarettes and fizzy pop lager. Fags and booze are brother and sister to speed. How I love to drink and smoke when I’m speeding off my nut. I would compare these joys to the fine piece of cheese that may accompany an excellent bottle of wine, or the delicious chocolate
that compliments fine pot. Ah! The dreamy recollections of youth! I did some crazy stuff back then in the mists of time. Sadly there are large portions of my past that are black holes to me; my memory is really quite shot to fuck – possibly as a result of my drug use but possibly not. I’m not one to cast aspersions...especially on myself.
The name’s Smellers. Pop Smellers. And I’m here to tell you how it is. Actually, I’m here to tell you how it isn’t, because due to the very nature of things, telling you how it is would be impossible and downright dangerous. I’m a private dick but my wife would say otherwise, however, Audrey is prone to fits of violence and insanity so you can’t always take her word on things. As I write this, she is sitting across from me, lounging on a battered floral patterned armchair, and I must say that she looks ravishing: curves in all the right places; energetic; and long dark hair (which I’m sure will be a different colour tomorrow) framing her beautiful, beautiful face. I must stop describing her now, or I shall become far too aroused, and that would be a fruitless endeavour, for in less than five minutes I must leave the house to meet my latest client: the elusive Mr Spag Zagley.
I use the word ‘elusive’ but Zagley is only so when it suits him. He always shows up for ‘client liaisons’ but only if he has arranged them; if I attempt to contact him then I must leave a message after the tone, and may the Gods forgive me if I ever turned up at his offices without first calling his secretary and making an appointment. Mr Zagley is of Eastern European descent, and there is an almost grey pallor to his oily skin. He dresses impeccably in traditional three-piece suits, which he combines with hand stitched silk shirts. The overall effect of the well-dressed gentleman is ruined by his compulsion for cheap and garish ties, which I presume he purchases from discount stores. This is the only explanation I can come up with because at our last ‘client liaison’ (God! I hate that wanky term) he arrived in a dark blue pin striped suit, white shirt, and hideous glittery green tie. Why he chooses these revolting accessories; I do not know. In comparison, his choice of shoe is flawless, and I would estimate that he spends at least a couple of hundred dollars on each pair. I think that anyone who spends that much on footwear must have something wrong with their brain. This belief has caused many an argument between Audrey and I.
I was stirred from my shoe ponderings by my darling wife’s enquiries as to whether or not I would be partaking in a pipe of fine hashish before my meeting with Mr Zagley.
I really shouldn’t.
But I did, and very nice it was too.
I left the house in a haze of cotton wool comfort that one can only achieve through the use of the highest quality opiates, or through prolonged and profound meditations on ancient universal truths. Sadly, I rarely have the time for extended periods of yoga so nowadays a quick pipe and a think must often suffice. I usually find new and interesting perspectives on problems after engaging in intense drug use, but alas; my consumption of illicit substances has declined recently due to the lack of quality goods and pleasant service providers. The problem with most drug
dealers is that they are usually complete and utter fuckwits. They start out all groovy and civilised but over time they devolve into dodgy, money hungry creatures of the night. Many moons ago, when I was, as the young folk say “on the scene”, I dealt in a wide variety of substances including dope, coke, pills, and powdered tiger claw, and I like to believe that I was a fair and honest trader, both kind and flexible with my customers. This line of work brought me into contact with some of the more nefarious characters that populate the drug world, and I often found these people to have an attitude of extreme greed coupled with an intense desire to rip off any one who they came into contact with. Not the best attitude to have when one is, in
essence, a businessman, albeit a merchant of narcotics. I always considered myself most fortunate that I was rarely ripped off, and the quality of my wares was generally of a very high standard. However, my days of mass consumption have eased off of late, and may or may not be resumed. It’s impossible to tell but I must admit that I do get the urge for a really good session every now and then. As I left the house, I noticed that it was rather cool outside so I wrapped my overcoat around my broad chest; I felt rather soft and lax after the dope, and my attention was drawn briefly to my physical body. I am neither overweight nor undernourished; to quote Goldilocks “Pop’s just right.” I like my size and carry just a couple of extra pounds because one never knows when one is going to have to go without food, or for how long. To be whippet-like is to invite disaster. This attitude stems from my days as a poor student and dole bludger; I would often find myself in the difficult position of only having enough money to purchase food or alcohol.
Alcohol always won. In those days, I would often take large quantities of amphetamine so that I could save money by not buying food, however, this nice idea never worked simply because the money I saved from not buying food always ended up being used (I say used for it was never wasted) on cigarettes and fizzy pop lager. Fags and booze are brother and sister to speed. How I love to drink and smoke when I’m speeding off my nut. I would compare these joys to the fine piece of cheese that may accompany an excellent bottle of wine, or the delicious chocolate
that compliments fine pot. Ah! The dreamy recollections of youth! I did some crazy stuff back then in the mists of time. Sadly there are large portions of my past that are black holes to me; my memory is really quite shot to fuck – possibly as a result of my drug use but possibly not. I’m not one to cast aspersions...especially on myself.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Queensland Parliament=children in riot mode
I am depressed and disappointed; I have just returned from reporting on a Qld parliament assignment, and it was like watching kindergarten.
Is it any wonder that the people of Queensland (and Australia as a whole) are unhappy with our politicians when the said pollies carry on like a bunch of undisciplined peanuts?
Why not ask a question and then shout like a drunken sailor whilst your opposition tries to answer?
What is the point?!
Why not have members from your own side ask ass-licking questions which enable you to spout on about all the good things that your party is doing (and thereby waste valuable minutes of Question Time)? Stool pigeons? More like Comfy Recliner Peacocks.
The primary school children in the public gallery were more well behaved than the idiots on the floor.
Now I'm looking at a whole new angle for my piece; whether the image of opposition that our politicians portray has any basis in reality....do the opposing parties hang out and have sausage/beer sessions when no-one is looking? So very saddened...
Is it any wonder that the people of Queensland (and Australia as a whole) are unhappy with our politicians when the said pollies carry on like a bunch of undisciplined peanuts?
Why not ask a question and then shout like a drunken sailor whilst your opposition tries to answer?
What is the point?!
Why not have members from your own side ask ass-licking questions which enable you to spout on about all the good things that your party is doing (and thereby waste valuable minutes of Question Time)? Stool pigeons? More like Comfy Recliner Peacocks.
The primary school children in the public gallery were more well behaved than the idiots on the floor.
Now I'm looking at a whole new angle for my piece; whether the image of opposition that our politicians portray has any basis in reality....do the opposing parties hang out and have sausage/beer sessions when no-one is looking? So very saddened...
Friday, July 9, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Wyndham Estate Bin 999 Merlot 2009
Very berry! And do I detect a whiff of chocolate? Warning! Do not drink red wine & Drambuie; it may seem like a good idea at the time but the next day is quite rough...
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Wolf Blass South Australian Merlot 2009
A little bit rough but still a fairly civilised drop. Most quaffable :P
What a wine-ponce I am....
What a wine-ponce I am....
Evans & Tate, Margaret River, Cabernet Merlot 2007
Fantastic! Good solid flavours. An excellent wine for curling up by the fire during those chilly winter nights...Lovely!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Jamiesons Run - Limestone Coast Merlot 2008
A good solid Merlot. Delicious and stabilising. Oak & earthy flavours. Quite delightful.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Participation in sex work: students’ views
Ron Robertsa*, Teela Sandersb, Ellie Myersa and Debbie Smithc
aDepartment of Arts and Social Sciences, Kingston University, Penrhyn Road, Kingston, UK;
bSchool of Sociology and Social Policy, University of Leeds, Leeds, UK; cDepartment of
Epidemiology and Public Health, Torrington Place, London, UK
Increasing evidence points to student involvement in the sex industry. The current
study comprised a cross-sectional sample of 315 undergraduates at a London
university. Using a semi-structured questionnaire, data were gathered on students’
financial and employment circumstances and their views on participation in sex work.
Results suggested awareness of student sex work was widespread, and considered
understandable by the majority. Students principally attributed participation in the sex
industry to their financial situation. A relatively high proportion (16.5%) indicated that
they would be willing to engage in sex work to pay for their education, with 11%
indicating they would work as escorts. A model of willingness to undertake sex work
was able to explain over one-quarter of the variance. These findings are explained in
relation to the mainstreaming of sexual consumption, the supply routes of sexual labour
from privileged socio-economic positions and the effects of student debt.
Introduction
There have been significant changes in the economic, social and cultural acceptance of
sexual consumption in the urban economies of western countries during late capitalism.
The organization and marketing of the sex industry is such that ‘sex’ as a product is now
sold alongside mainstream industries (Hawkes 2004). Through a process of ‘upscaling’
(Brents and Hausbeck 2007), corporate styles of marketing and business presentation that
mimic traditional industries have been adopted by sex businesses. Sexual consumption has
been normalized not only through the ‘striptease culture’ (McNair 2002) or because of a
desire to be part of a ‘pleasure saturated culture’ (Illouz 1997), but also because of
economic adaptation and acceptance that has produced the ‘mainstreaming’ of sexual
consumption (Attwood 2006). The presence of lap dancing clubs alongside ‘ordinary’
leisure venues has become part of corporate entertainment and mass consumption, whilst
less ‘desirable’ aspects of the sex industry (e.g. street prostitution) have been designed out
of urban centres, criminalized and considered ‘uncivil’ (Scoular et al. 2007). This process
of ‘upscaling’, in the ‘respectability’ of sexual commerce (Bernstein 2007), suggests
major changes have occurred in the commodification of sexuality and the purchase of
sexual commerce.
The tolerance of sexual consumption and mainstreaming of sexual labour, most
evident in the form of lap dancing, suggests significant changes are taking place in terms of
the acceptability of sexuality as a legitimate labour option for some women and men, and
perhaps a mainstream option for some groups such as migrants, those on welfare benefits,
single mothers and students. The reasons for ‘choosing’ to engage in sexual, physical and
emotional labour in the form of either direct (genital contact) or indirect (non-contact) sex
work is largely because of the profit margins. Exotic dancing, for example, allows women
to work for fewer hours and higher rates of pay, parading their bodies, and performing
‘emotional consumption’ (Egan 2005), as they dance to fulfil men’s fantasies.
There is evidence that despite financial vulnerability being the central reason for
entering sex work, it is not only women from lower social classes that enter the sex
industry. Bott (2006) found that both working-class and middle-class women enter exotic
dancing, and that this form of work is becoming a ‘career’ option for younger women.
Following the ideas presented by Bernstein (2007) regarding the ‘new respectability’ of
the sex industries, which allows new types of worker and customer to enter sexual
commerce, the research presented in this paper investigates attitudinal changes amongst
students regarding working in the sex industry. As such, this research contributes to
knowledge about the routes into sex work and the general attitudinal climate within which
students make decisions about entering sex work. The current paucity of knowledge
in part stems from alarmist panics about ‘trafficking’, which means that questions about
the pathways into diverse sex markets have been ignored by policy-makers who have
over-emphasized the ‘demand’ side of sexual consumption – something that is evident in
the UK Home Office (2008) review Tackling the Demand for Prostitution, a part of the
Coordinated Prostitution Strategy’s aim to disrupt the sex markets.
Students and sex work
In recent years, anecdotal reports of students selling sex (Barrett 1997) have been followed
by numerous media stories of students participating in different types of sex work,
including lap dancing (BBC 2008), escorting and prostitution (Chapman 2001; Whitaker
2001; Brinkworth 2007; Dolman 2008). The phenomenon appears to be international,
having been documented in the United Kingdom, the United States (Weitzer 2000),
Australia (Lantz 2004; Sedgeman 2004), and France (Duvall Smith 2006), where it has
been estimated that approximately 2% of students fund their studies through sex work.
On the basis of earlier research (Roberts et al. 2000), UK estimates of 3–4% are close to
the French figures. However, methodological difficulties present in this type of research
(Roberts, Bergstro¨m, and La Rooy 2007a) make it difficult to arrive at precise figures, not
the least of which is that ‘student status’ is considered an attractive characteristic by clients
of sex workers and so could be used in descriptions of sex workers in an attempt to
increase their business irrespective of whether they are students.
The major argument for explaining student participation in sex work implicates
economic necessity – as is the case for non-student sex workers (O’Neill 1997). Abolition
of the maintenance grant and the introduction of tuition fees have increased the average
debt amongst UK students – current estimates suggest that those who began their courses
in 2007 will graduate with over £21,000 of debts (BBC News Online 2007). By contrast,
sex work is established as a relatively well-paid occupation (Moffat and Peters 2004),
which would permit students to have more money and time for studies than the poorly paid
jobs usually available.
In addition to anecdotal evidence and journalistic interviews with student sex workers
who attest to the role of debt in beginning sex work (for example, Brinkworth 2007),
research has linked indebtedness to knowledge of student participation in sex work
(Roberts et al. 2000; Roberts, Bergstro¨m, and La Rooy 2007b). Undoubtedly other factors
are also important, including the increasing commodification and commercialization of
sex, the changing moral climate in western societies as well as personal vulnerability
(146 R. Roberts et al.) factors such as drug and alcohol abuse or a history of sexual abuse. Jenkins (2006) has also suggested a range of preventative factors other than finances that mitigate against entry into the sex industry – including family support, boyfriends, body image, self-confidence, and a lack of knowledge of (how to enter) the sex industry. Jenkins’ work highlights the importance of gathering the views of students themselves in order for a more complete understanding of their role(s) in various types of sex work. The current study therefore seeks to obtain evidence on the perceived acceptability of different types of sex work
(including lap dancing, pole dancing, stripping, escorting, pornography), how easy students find it to understand student participation in sex work, how aware they are of student sex workers, why they think students participate in sex work, what the consequences of such participation are considered to be, and how likely they would be themselves to consider different types of sex work to pay for their education. This study includes both a qualitative approach to allow more in-depth analysis of responses and quantitative analyses to examine the relationships between different variables.
Method
Participants and design
An opportunity sample of 315 full-time and part-time undergraduate students was recruited from a university in the south of England. Recruitment occurred through a social science departmental participation pool and by approaching students in a variety of different social areas, including the Student’s Union building, the library and a specific social room situated in one of the university buildings. Females comprised 67.3% of the sample (n ¼ 212, mean age ¼ 21.03 years, standard deviation [SD] ¼ 2.92) and males 32.2% (n ¼ 101, mean age ¼ 21.30 years, SD ¼ 3.14). Participants completed a brief semi-structured questionnaire (see below) providing demographic details, information on financial and employment circumstances and views on a range of issues pertaining to student participation in various types of sex work.
Questionnaire items
The questionnaire contained items on demographic characteristics (age, gender, self-reported social class, year of study), financial status (whether in debt, amount in debt), employment status (whether in part–time work, number of hours worked), and hours of study in a typical week. A section asked questions on respondents’ awareness, understanding (measured on a four-point scale), acceptability (measured on a five-point scale) and knowledge of student participation in the sex industry, together with self-reported likelihood (measured on a five-point scale) to engage in a range of different types of sex work (stripping, lap dancing, pole dancing, escorting/prostitution, Internet-based and non-Internet-based pornography) to pay for their education. Participants completed the questionnaire anonymously, and had the right to withdraw from the study. Ethical approval was granted by the departmental ethics committee.
Analysis
Quantitative analysis
All analyses were conducted in SPSS version 14. General linear models were constructed to assess the contribution of gender and self-reported class to number of hours studied in a typical week, hours spent in part-time work, degree of understanding of student Sex Education 147
participation in the sex industry, and amount of debt. Chi-square tests of association were
conducted between gender and self-reported social class against categorical estimates of the proportion of students engaged in sex work (,5%, 5–10%, 11–20%, .20%), how understandable (very difficult, difficult, easy, very easy) and how acceptable (very acceptable, acceptable, neither acceptable/unacceptable, acceptable, very acceptable) student participation in the sex industry was. Correlations were computed between knowledge of specific student participation in the sex industry and social class, gender, age, acceptability and understandability of student participation and amount of debt. Likelihood to undertake sex work to pay for education (definitely not, very unlikely,unlikely, likely, very likely) was also correlated with these same variables. Multiple logistic and linear regression models were used to predict (respectively) knowledge of student participation in any type of sex work and expressed likelihood to participate in any type of sex work in order to pay for one’s education. Predictor variables used were dependent on the results of prior correlational analyses.
Qualitative analysis
Thematic analyses (Banister et al. 1994) were undertaken of open-ended responses to several questions. These referred to what participants thought of student participation in the sex industry, why they thought students participated in the sex industry, how participation in the sex industry was thought to affect students and what the National Union of Students (NUS) and universities could do to support students working in the sex industry.
Results
Demographic, study and work characteristics
Respondents were predominantly drawn from the first three years of the full-time undergraduate population (n ¼ 277, 87.9%).1 Over one-third of respondents (n ¼ 117, 37.1%) described themselves as working class, over one-half as middle class (n ¼ 181, 57.5%) and a small minority as upper class (n ¼ 10, 3.2%). A majority (n ¼ 183, 58.1%) were currently working part-time in addition to studying and spent on average 13.40 (SD ¼ 7.20) hours per week at work and an average of 14.38 hours per week studying.
Financial status
Over three-quarters (n ¼ 246, 78.1%) of respondents described themselves as currently in debt. These owed on average £10,588. For the overall sample, average debt was £7922.
Awareness of student participation in the sex industry
A majority (n ¼ 184, 58.45%) professed to being aware that some students worked within the sex industry. When asked to estimate what proportion of students worked in the industry, there was considerable variability in the estimates given. The modal response was that under 5% did (n ¼ 130, 41.3%), whilst over one-half the sample (n ¼ 176, 55.9%) put the figure at over 5%.
Thematic analysis of participants’ responses (n ¼ 134) revealed that some (n ¼ 36) viewed participation in sex work as a personal choice, deemed reasonable by most as long as they do not have to do it and it is safe (e.g. ‘fair enough to them, I would never do 148 R. Roberts et al.
anything like that’, ‘it’s up to them, as long as they are happy and not being forced’).
Others, however, viewed it negatively (n ¼ 41). Three main reasons underlay the negative
views: that the sex industry is bad (e.g. ‘I oppose the sex industry I think it’s a tragedy
anyone works in it’, ‘It disgusts me to think of it’ and ‘Immoral’), that those who choose to
work in it have personal issues (e.g. ‘ . . . don’t care about their bodies’ and ‘ . . . are lazy
and greedy’), and that situational factors – money or lack of support – push people into it
(e.g. ‘Being in desperate need of money, thinking that it’s an “easy” way of making
money’, ‘It’s wrong to need to do this to fund studies’, ‘international students find it hard
to get a good job’). Interestingly, danger or lack of safety was alluded to by only three
respondents, while one comment differentiated between activities in the sex industry –
with prostitution equated with ‘lower standards’, whereas ‘dancing’ was seen as ‘ok’ so
long as the person doing it was ‘confident’.
Attitudes to student participation in the sex industry
When asked how difficult student participation in the sex industry was to understand, a
majority (n ¼ 158, 50.1%) reported finding it easy or very easy, whilst under one-third
(n ¼ 102, 32.4%) reported finding it difficult or very difficult. Amongst those who
reported finding it very easy to understand, 77.1% (n ¼ 27) were aware of student sex
work; whereas amongst those reporting it as very difficult, awareness was much lower
(48.1%, n ¼ 13). Females reported lower levels of understanding than males (51.2% vs.
84%, p , 0.0005).
Although these figures suggest relatively high awareness and understanding of student
participation in the sex industry, it was considered unacceptable or very unacceptable by
over one-half the sample (n ¼ 161, 51.1%). A much smaller fraction indicated it was
acceptable or very acceptable (n ¼ 38, 12.0%) with over one–third undecided (n ¼ 114,
36.2%). Females were more likely than males (56.6% vs. 40.4%, p , 0.0005) to find
student participation in the sex industry unacceptable or very unacceptable.
Participation in sex work: reasons
Many participants (n ¼ 246) stated why they thought students participated in sex work.
Four main themes emerged: money, sexuality, despair and personal situation. Money was
overwhelmingly given (n ¼ 228; 93%) as the main reason – debt, bills, and student fees
were mentioned by many (n ¼ 40), as was working in the sex industry as a way to
make easy/quick money (n ¼ 41) (e.g. ‘because loans only cover rent if lucky’,
‘everything is so expensive and sex is easy/very good money’). Sixteen participants
expressed the view that some students work in the sex industry because they ‘enjoy sex’
or because of their ‘overt sexuality’. Desperation and the lack of an alternative was
mentioned by 15 and was related to the issue of money earned in sex work – ‘because
they tried selling sex in a time of desperation and like the idea of earning x amount per
hour’. Students’ personal situations (n ¼ 20) were seen as influencing engagement in the
sex industry and included ‘low self esteem’, ‘family problems’, ‘peer pressure’ and
‘unfortunate circumstances, lack of guidance’.
Institutional support
National Union of Students
Over one-half of the respondents (n ¼ 177, 56.2%) thought the NUS could do more to
support students participating in sex work. The majority of these (n ¼ 160) made specific
Sex Education 149
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
suggestions. Five clear types of support were reported: prevention, health promotion,
financial support, career support and research. The role of education in these was
consistently expressed, notably in enhancing awareness of possible risks as a deterrence to
taking up sex work (n ¼ 17). Some respondents (n ¼ 51) highlighted a possible role for
the NUS in health promotion – providing safety and risk information, counselling and
support groups. The issue of safety was cited by many: ‘make the issue more widely
acknowledged so health and security measures are widely available’, ‘more tests for
diseases, more emotional support, more people to talk to’, ‘help them get out of (the)
vicious circle of easy money, drugs’. Not surprisingly, many saw a role in providing
financial support, such as increasing the availability of loans, providing debt counselling,
financial advice and help with cheaper accommodation. A number (n ¼ 35) thought that
the NUS could be proactive in offering career support – in order to help students find
‘respectable jobs’ and ‘give people more ideas on how to easily make money’. Finally,
participants reported that the NUS should offer support to students by conducting research
to ascertain the extent of the phenomenon: ‘study the numbers so people know the real
numbers’ and ‘find out the source of the problem’.
Universities
Many of the above themes were repeated when participants were asked what their own
university could do to support students in the sex industry. Almost one-half responded to
this item (n ¼ 155, 49.2%) and, as before, cited prevention, health promotion, financial
support, career support and research. Whereas students emphasized the value of
educational support when contemplating what the NUS could do, here they were more
inclined to consider emotional (n ¼ 51) and financial support (n ¼ 41) when considering
what universities could offer. A smaller number (n ¼ 22) saw a role for counselling – to
be provided through ‘one to one support from personal tutor or phone line support’ as well
as advice on getting ‘health checks’ and information on where to get further support:
‘point them where to go and how to break the link’. Over one-half of those calling for
greater financial support referred to scrapping the ‘ridiculous high fees, which leaves
students, especially international (ones) with no choice’ and ‘more scholarships’.
Childcare, cheaper accommodation and food also featured in participants’ answers as well
as calls for ‘greater flexibility in paying fees’ and ‘teaching financial management skills’.
Closely associated with financial support was the call for universities to do more to help
students find other part-time jobs (n ¼ 31).
Knowledge of student participation in the sex industry
Table 1 presents the numbers of respondents who knew of other students participating in
particular markets of the sex industry in order to pay for their education. The frequency
with which different categories of sex work were chosen ranged from 5.4% for
non-Internet-based pornography to 18.1% (n ¼ 57) for pole/lap dancing. In all, over
one-quarter of respondents (25.7%) indicated they knew of students involved in some type
of sex work.
Knowledge of other students’ participation was significantly related to gender
( p ¼ 0.036; proportionally more males knew of someone than females: n ¼ 37, 36.6% vs.
n ¼ 53, 25.1%), and social class ( p ¼ 0.018): middle/upper-class respondents were more
likely to know than working-class respondents (33% vs. 20.5%). Cross-tabulating
knowledge of participation in specific types of sex work with the item concerning
150 R. Roberts et al.
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
awareness of student participation in the sex industry is instructive. Of 184 individuals
responding in the affirmative to the question concerning awareness of student participation
in sex work, 35.3% (n ¼ 65) indicated that they actually knew of students in at least one
market of the industry. Furthermore, of those who indicated they knew students working
in at least one market, 80.2% (n ¼ 81) had endorsed the earlier item relating to their
knowledge of student participation in sex work. These two variables were associated
(Cramer’s V ¼ 0.27, p , 0.0005), suggesting that respondents’ knowledge of student
participation must come from at least two sources – one of which is their specific personal
knowledge (of their own or another’s participation). Knowledge of specific student
participation was correlated with social class (r ¼ 0.12, n ¼ 308, p ¼ 0.04), as well as
how acceptable (r ¼ 20.20, n ¼ 312, p , 0.0005) and understandable it was considered
for students to work in the sex industry (r ¼ 0.20, n ¼ 260, p ¼ 0.001).
A logistic regression model was constructed to predict knowledge of student
participation in any type of sex work. This comprised: age, gender, social class, amount of
debt owed, part-time job status, estimated percentage of students working in the sex
industry, how understandable, and how acceptable participation in sex work is. This was
highly significant (22 log likelihood ¼ 75.34, p , 0.0005) and fitted the data well
(Hosmer and Lemeshow test x2(8) ¼ 8.04, p ¼ 0.43). Overall, 83.5% of cases were
correctly classified (50% positive predictive capacity and 90.2% negative predictive
capacity). Pseudo R2 measures suggested a model of moderate predictive capacity, ranging
from 22.7% (Menard’s R2) to 33.3% (Nagelkerke’s R2). Several variables emerged as
significant predictors: greater acceptability of student participation (Wald x2(1) ¼ 5.23,
p ¼ 0.02), higher social class (Wald x2(1) ¼ 2.87, p ¼ 0.09), and higher estimates of the
percentage of students working in the sex industry (Wald x2(1) ¼ 12.57, p , 0.0005)
each predicted knowledge of student participation.
Likelihood of participation in the sex industry
Table 2 presents the numbers of respondents who indicated that they would be likely or
very likely to participate in particular markets of the sex industry to pay for their
education. The frequency with which different categories of sex work were chosen varied
from 3.5% (n ¼ 11) for Internet pornography to 11.1% (n ¼ 35) for escorting/prostitution.
In all, 16.5% (n ¼ 52) of students indicated that they would be likely or very likely to
participate in some kind of sex work.
We found that expressed likelihood to participate in the sex industry could be scaled.
Scoring allows for a range of values – from seven (very unlikely for all types of sex work)
to 35 (very likely for all types). This yielded a Cronbach’s alpha of 0.91. Mean score on
the scale was 12.23 (SD ¼ 6.25). This scale was significantly correlated with gender
Table 1. Knowledge of students participating in sex work to pay for education (by type of
sex work).
n Percentage
Pole/lap dancing 57 18.1
Stripping 38 12.1
Escorting/prostitution 31 9.8
Internet pornography 23 7.3
Non-Internet pornography 17 5.4
Any type of sex work 81 25.7
Sex Education 151
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
(r ¼ 20.38, n ¼ 312, p , 0.0005; proportionally more males than females endorsed these
items: n ¼ 41, 40.6% vs. n ¼ 27, 12.7%), age (r ¼ 0.11, n ¼ 307, p ¼ 0.059), how
acceptable (r ¼ 20.24, n ¼ 312, p , 0.0005) and how understandable it was (r ¼ 0.25,
n ¼ 259, p , 0.0005), and with the level of debt (r ¼ 0.13, n ¼ 273, p ¼ 0.03).
We constructed a general linear model to examine the predictability of expressed
likelihood to engage in sex work. This comprised age, gender, amount of debt owed, and
whether participation in the sex industry was understandable and was acceptable. Scatter
plots suggested the possibility of a non-linear relationship of age with the dependent
variable. On the basis of this, age was recategorized into three levels: below 21 years
(n ¼ 221), 22 years (n ¼ 31) and 23 years and above (n ¼ 56). The subsequent model was
highly significant and accounted for 24.7% of the variance (F6,217 ¼ 13.19, p , 0.0005).
All predictors were significant: understanding participation ( p ¼ 0.041), accepting
participation ( p , 0.0005), amount of debt ( p ¼ 0.017), age group ( p ¼ 0.045) and
gender ( p , 0.0005).
Discussion
The current study points to a widespread awareness, understanding and, to a lesser extent,
acceptance amongst the student population of sex work as a facet of contemporary student
life that exists alongside high levels of debt and long working hours outside study.
Students themselves attributed participation in the sex industry to several factors – chief
of which, by some way, was their financial situation. Household bills and student fees
loomed large and were counterbalanced by the logic of the presumed financial
opportunities to make quick money from sex work. Other (mostly situational) factors –
such as self-esteem, family problems, peer pressure and lack of guidance – were
considered motivations by a smaller number. Students’ own perspectives therefore are
consistent with previous work that has highlighted financial circumstances as a driving
force behind student involvement in sex work (Roberts et al. 2000; Roberts, Bergstro¨m,
and La Rooy 2007b), whilst also lending some support to Jenkins’s (2006) claim that other
factors – such as family support, self confidence and the climate of personal morality in
which contemporary undergraduate life unfolds – are also important.
Knowledge of participation in some type of sex work to pay for education was high
(26%) and suggests a substantial increase on previously reported Figures (10%). This
could signal increasing student activity in sex work – but could also be a response to
growing media coverage, both in the local student press (for example, Day 2007) and
nationally (for example, Milne 2006; Dolman 2008). The local student press has, for
example, carried reports of male student sex workers (for example, Moon 2006) and both
Table 2. Reported likelihood (likely or very likely) of students participating in sex work to pay for
education (by type of sex work).
n Percentage
Escorting/prostitution 35 11.1
Pole/lap dancing 23 7.3
Stripping 19 6.0
Lap dancing 19 6.0
Non-Internet pornography 15 4.8
Internet pornography 11 3.5
Any type of sex work 52 16.5
152 R. Roberts et al.
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
knowledge and professed acceptability of student participation in the sex industry was
greater amongst males. Such coverage might reflect and/or contribute to a less censorious
moral environment in which students may be more open with one another about what they
do to pay for their education.
The present work suggests almost one in seven students would be willing to engage in
sex work and that many of these would be willing to be involved in escorting/prostitution –
reported by over 11% of the sample. Almost one-quarter of the variance in expressed
willingness to undertake sex work was explained by a model incorporating age, gender,
amount of debt, understanding and acceptability of student participation. Applied solely
to escorting, the same model explained over 18% of the variance. With more males
reportedly willing to work in the sex industry, it would be a simple matter to interpret this
as wishful thinking in accord with male socialization, which proclaims participation in any
kind of sexual activity is a good thing. Whilst this probably plays some part, it should be
remembered that a view expressed by many who completed this survey (both males and
females) was that participation carried a range of negative effects. It is also possible that
specific local effects are operating within the institution where the research was
undertaken. In a revised model that included the interactions of these variables with
gender, it was only the gender x acceptability term that was significant ( p , 0.005; this
added 5% to the explained variance) and entailed gender was no longer a significant main
effect. This suggests that it is the greater acceptability of sex work which leads males to
position themselves as more likely to participate. However, this is not to disregard the
evidence of the growth of male sex-work markets in the United Kingdom, particularly in
London. Gaffney and Beverley (2001) note that the contemporary male sex work markets
where men sell sex to other men through informal and formal sex work networks,
increasingly through the Internet, is attractive to men who identify as gay, bisexual or
heterosexual. In addition, whilst little is known beyond anecdotal evidence about the
informal economies where men sell sex to women (usually as escorts), this is a market that
could also be attractive to young male students who seek out high-paying jobs for low
hours.
How do we understand this rise in both the increased acceptability of sex work
amongst the student population and the potential participation of students in various sex
markets? Bernstein’s (2007) paper ‘Sex Work for the Middle Classes’ provides some
insightful explanations as to why men and women from privileged classes find themselves
involved in sex work. Attributable to new technologies and modern methods of Internet
communication, working in the sex industry is part of a much wider economic
restructuring. In addition, there are new meanings and experiences connected to
buying and selling sex: ‘emotional consumption’ (Egan 2005), ‘emotional connectedness
through “mutual” satisfaction, romance and friendship’ (Sanders 2008a) and
‘bounded authenticity’ (Bernstein 2007) enable ‘the girlfriend experience’ to be marketed
(Sanders 2005) and consumed (Sanders 2008b). These enhanced meanings purchased
through commercial sex contribute to new forms of sexual and emotional labour, which
provide both viable economic earning power for women and a desired commodity for men
who seek to buy fantasies and bounded, contractual emotional and sexual experiences.
The findings from this student survey need to be considered within the broader context of
‘new and historically specific conditions of possibility’ (Bernstein 2007, 485) that enable
the sex industry to grow and become mainstreamed as a reaction to poorly paid jobs
(even for graduates), unaffordable costs of urban living, high levels of mass consumption,
and, now in the United Kingdom, rising student debt as normalized conditions.
Sex Education 153
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
At present there is simply no way to obtain an unbiased estimate of the extent of
student participation in the sex industry until ethical clearance is obtained to ask the
appropriate questions. We hope this will soon be possible. The present study, in
highlighting the widespread acceptance of sex work and the expressed willingness of
students to participate in it, provides, we believe, important arguments as to why research
to answer this question is now urgently required. Despite the obvious caveats we attach to
the present findings, we would argue that the data here point unequivocally to a new
culture whereby students view engaging in sex work as a rationale response to their
situation of financial hardship. The findings here provide the first steps toward
constructing a psychosocial model of student sex work. The data, both qualitative and
quantitative, suggest an important role for several social-cognitive variables – selfconfidence,
positive outcome expectations, normative (community) beliefs, situational
and social constraints (e.g. finances) – in the decision to engage in sex work.
We acknowledge that the model developed in this paper would benefit from the
incorporation of variables which existing work has suggested may predict different types
of sex work – for example, mental health or drinking problems or prior sexual abuse
(Roberts, Bergstro¨m, and La Rooy 2007b). Although we concur with previous critiques
regarding the limitations of social cognitive models – notably their neglect of subjective
experience – and the role of affective influences in regulating behaviour (Conner and
Sparks 2005) – for example, the role of pleasure (Ingham 2005), or the habitual nature of
problem behaviours (Stroebe and Stroebe 1995; Ajzen 2001), not to mention the role of
power relations in maintaining certain behaviours (Roberts, Towell, and Golding 2001) –
we posit that such models can be useful provided a framework is present for understanding
behaviour within its wider social and cultural context, although it is likely that the models
have more heuristic than precise explanatory value. What can be said with more certainty,
given that sexual behaviour is often resistant to change (Donovan and Ross 2000), is that
the threefold ‘pull’ factors potentially present in student sex work – the experience of
personal satisfaction, the accrual of financial rewards, and the ensuing financial and social
survival that these permit (Agustin 2006) – mean that even were the economics of student
life to change for the better, selling sexual labour in the sex markets may become a
mainstream rather than alternative informal economy. Future research will hopefully
address in some detail the career trajectories that students take both into and out of sex
work (see Sanders 2007).
Findings from this study have implications for policy. Future education policy
regarding student finances and quality of life issues should take seriously the relationship
between student debt and supply routes into the sex industry. There is clearly a relationship
developing between sex work, student financial survival strategies and debt. Appropriate
responses are required from organizations that represent either students (e.g., the NUS)
or those that have a duty of care and benefit from their presence (the universities).
Respondents identified several avenues of support which they thought could be
provided by these institutions for potential or actual student sex workers. For action to take
place, both the NUS and universities must be prepared to acknowledge the issue to a
much greater extent than they have to date by adopting a more open and accepting attitude
both toward sex work and toward students who feel this is a necessary course of action
for them.
Acknowledgements
The authors would like to thank all respondents who participated in the study.
154 R. Roberts et al.
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
Note
1. A further 29 individuals (9.2%) failed to provide data in answer to this item.
References
Agustin, L.M. 2006. Sex at the margins: Migration, labour markets and the rescue industry. London:
Zeb Books.
Ajzen, I. 2001. Nature and operation of attitudes. Annual Review of Psychology 52: 27–58.
Attwood, F. 2006. Sexed up: Theorizing the sexualization of culture. Sexualities 9, no. 1: 7–94.
Banister, P., E. Burman, I. Parker, M. Taylor, M. Taylor, and C. Tindall. 1994. Qualitative methods
in psychology: A research guide. Buckingham: Open University Press.
Barrett, D. 1997. Students on the game. The Times Higher Education Supplement, July 18.
BBC. 2008. Amy: My body for bucks. BBC 3, Sunday April 20. http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/
b00b0x35.
BBC News Online. 2007. Fees ‘pushing up student debts’. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/education/
6945975.stm (accessed August 14, 2007).
Bernstein, E. 2007. Sex work for the middle classes. Sexualities 10, no. 4: 473–88.
Bott, E. 2006. Pole position: Migrant British women producing ‘selves’ through lap dancing work.
Feminist Review 83, no. 1: 23–41.
Brents, B., and K. Hausbeck. 2007. Marketing sex: U.S legal brothels and late capitalist
consumption. Sexualities 10, no. 4: 425–39.
Brinkworth, L. 2007. Students who sell sex. Cosmopolitan, July, 60–2.
Chapman, M. 2001. Red light finds its way onto campus. Times Higher Educational Supplement,
November 5 (1486).
Conner, M., and P. Sparks. 2005. The theory of planned behaviour and health behaviour.
In Predicting health behaviour: research and practice with social cognition models, ed.
M. Connor and P. Norman. 2nd ed., 170–222. Maidenhead: Open University Press.
Day, E. 2007. Escorting: Is it all it is cracked up to be? The River 17: 18–19.
Dolman, K. 2008. Selling sex to study. http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/education/
student/article3396280.ece (accessed February 19, 2008).
Donovan, B.D., and M.W. Ross. 2000. Preventing HIV: Determinants of sexual behaviour.
The Lancet 355, no. 9218: 1897–901.
Duvall Smith, A. 2006. Thousands of students ‘join sex trade to fund degrees’. http://www.
independent.co.uk/news/europe/thousands-of-students-join-sex-trade-to-fund-degrees-422287.
html (accessed October 31, 2006).
Egan, D. 2005. Emotional consumption: Mapping love and masochism in an exotic dance club.
Body and Society 11, no. 4: 87–108.
Gaffney, J., and K. Beverley. 2001. Contextualising the construction and social organisation of
the commercial male sex industry in London at the beginning of the twenty-first century.
Feminist Review 67, spring: 133–41.
Hawkes, G. 2004. Sex and pleasure in western culture. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Home Office. 2008. Tackling the demand for prostitution: A review. http://www.homeoffice.gov.uk/
documents/tackling-demand?view¼Binary (accessed February 20, 2009).
Illouz, E. 1997. Consuming the romantic utopia. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Ingham, R. 2005. Teenage pregnancy policy on England, sexuality research and social policy.
Journal of National Sexuality Resource Centre 2, no. 3: 56–67.
Jenkins, S. 2006. Students and the sex industry: Is financial hardship turning students into sex
workers? Unpublished diss., Keele University.
Lantz, S. 2004. Sex work and study: The new demands facing young people and their implications
for health and well being. Traffic 3: 31–50.
McNair, B. 2002. Striptease culture: Sex, media and the democratization of desire. London:
Routledge.
Milne, J. 2006. Female students turn to prostitution to pay fees. The Sunday Times. http://www.
timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/education/student/news/article665019.ece (accessed
October 8, 2006).
Moffat, P.G., and S.A. Peters. 2004. Pricing personal services: An empirical study of earnings in the
UK prostitution industry. Scottish Journal of Political Economy 51: 675–90.
Moon, A. 2006. I became a rent boy: The dark side of education. The River 10: 17.
Sex Education 155
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
O’Neill, M. 1997. Prostitute women now. In Rethinking prostitution: Purchasing sex in the 1990’s,
ed. G. Scambler and A. Scambler, 3–28. London: Routledge.
Roberts, R., S. Bergstro¨m, and D. La Rooy. 2007a. Commentary: UK students and sex work:
Current knowledge and research issues. Journal of Community and Applied Social Psychology
17: 141–6.
Roberts, R., S. Bergstro¨m, and D. La Rooy. 2007b. Sex work and students: An exploratory study.
Journal of Further and Higher Education 31, no. 4: 323–34.
Roberts, R., J. Golding, T. Towell, S. Reid, S. Woodford, A. Vetere, and I. Weinreb. 2000. Mental
and physical health in students: The role of economic circumstances. British Journal of Health
Psychology 5, no. 3: 289–97.
Roberts, R., A. Towell, and J. Golding. 2001. Foundations of health psychology. Houndmills:
Palgrave.
Sanders, T. 2005. Sex work: A risky business. Uffculme, Devon: Willan Publishing.
Sanders, T. 2007. Becoming an ex-sex worker: Making transitions out of a deviant career.
Feminist Criminology 2, no. 1: 74–95.
Sanders, T. 2008a. Male sexual scripts: Intimacy, sexuality and pleasure in the purchase of
commercial sex. Sociology 42, no. 3: 400–17.
Sanders, T. 2008b. Paying for pleasure: Men who buy sex. Cullompton, Devon: Willan.
Scoular, J., J. Pitcher, R. Campbell, P. Hubbard, and M. O’Neill. 2007. What’s anti-social about
sex work? The changing representation of prostitution’s incivility. Community Safety Journal
6, no. 1: 11–17.
Sedgman, J. 2004. Sex work more attractive option for students. The World Today, April 2.
Stroebe, W., and M.S. Stroebe. 1995. Social psychology and health. Buckingham: Open University
Press.
Weitzer, R., ed. 2000. Sex for sale: Prostitution, pornography and the sex industry. London:
Routledge.
Whitaker, M. 2001. Actuality at school. BBC Radio 4, June 24.
156 R. Roberts et al.
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
Thematic analysis of participants’ responses (n ¼ 134) revealed that some (n ¼ 36) viewed participation in sex work as a personal choice, deemed reasonable by most as long as they do not have to do it and it is safe (e.g. ‘fair enough to them, I would never do 148 R. Roberts et al.
anything like that’, ‘it’s up to them, as long as they are happy and not being forced’).
Others, however, viewed it negatively (n ¼ 41). Three main reasons underlay the negative
views: that the sex industry is bad (e.g. ‘I oppose the sex industry I think it’s a tragedy
anyone works in it’, ‘It disgusts me to think of it’ and ‘Immoral’), that those who choose to
work in it have personal issues (e.g. ‘ . . . don’t care about their bodies’ and ‘ . . . are lazy
and greedy’), and that situational factors – money or lack of support – push people into it
(e.g. ‘Being in desperate need of money, thinking that it’s an “easy” way of making
money’, ‘It’s wrong to need to do this to fund studies’, ‘international students find it hard
to get a good job’). Interestingly, danger or lack of safety was alluded to by only three
respondents, while one comment differentiated between activities in the sex industry –
with prostitution equated with ‘lower standards’, whereas ‘dancing’ was seen as ‘ok’ so
long as the person doing it was ‘confident’.
Attitudes to student participation in the sex industry
When asked how difficult student participation in the sex industry was to understand, a
majority (n ¼ 158, 50.1%) reported finding it easy or very easy, whilst under one-third
(n ¼ 102, 32.4%) reported finding it difficult or very difficult. Amongst those who
reported finding it very easy to understand, 77.1% (n ¼ 27) were aware of student sex
work; whereas amongst those reporting it as very difficult, awareness was much lower
(48.1%, n ¼ 13). Females reported lower levels of understanding than males (51.2% vs.
84%, p , 0.0005).
Although these figures suggest relatively high awareness and understanding of student
participation in the sex industry, it was considered unacceptable or very unacceptable by
over one-half the sample (n ¼ 161, 51.1%). A much smaller fraction indicated it was
acceptable or very acceptable (n ¼ 38, 12.0%) with over one–third undecided (n ¼ 114,
36.2%). Females were more likely than males (56.6% vs. 40.4%, p , 0.0005) to find
student participation in the sex industry unacceptable or very unacceptable.
Participation in sex work: reasons
Many participants (n ¼ 246) stated why they thought students participated in sex work.
Four main themes emerged: money, sexuality, despair and personal situation. Money was
overwhelmingly given (n ¼ 228; 93%) as the main reason – debt, bills, and student fees
were mentioned by many (n ¼ 40), as was working in the sex industry as a way to
make easy/quick money (n ¼ 41) (e.g. ‘because loans only cover rent if lucky’,
‘everything is so expensive and sex is easy/very good money’). Sixteen participants
expressed the view that some students work in the sex industry because they ‘enjoy sex’
or because of their ‘overt sexuality’. Desperation and the lack of an alternative was
mentioned by 15 and was related to the issue of money earned in sex work – ‘because
they tried selling sex in a time of desperation and like the idea of earning x amount per
hour’. Students’ personal situations (n ¼ 20) were seen as influencing engagement in the
sex industry and included ‘low self esteem’, ‘family problems’, ‘peer pressure’ and
‘unfortunate circumstances, lack of guidance’.
Institutional support
National Union of Students
Over one-half of the respondents (n ¼ 177, 56.2%) thought the NUS could do more to
support students participating in sex work. The majority of these (n ¼ 160) made specific
Sex Education 149
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
suggestions. Five clear types of support were reported: prevention, health promotion,
financial support, career support and research. The role of education in these was
consistently expressed, notably in enhancing awareness of possible risks as a deterrence to
taking up sex work (n ¼ 17). Some respondents (n ¼ 51) highlighted a possible role for
the NUS in health promotion – providing safety and risk information, counselling and
support groups. The issue of safety was cited by many: ‘make the issue more widely
acknowledged so health and security measures are widely available’, ‘more tests for
diseases, more emotional support, more people to talk to’, ‘help them get out of (the)
vicious circle of easy money, drugs’. Not surprisingly, many saw a role in providing
financial support, such as increasing the availability of loans, providing debt counselling,
financial advice and help with cheaper accommodation. A number (n ¼ 35) thought that
the NUS could be proactive in offering career support – in order to help students find
‘respectable jobs’ and ‘give people more ideas on how to easily make money’. Finally,
participants reported that the NUS should offer support to students by conducting research
to ascertain the extent of the phenomenon: ‘study the numbers so people know the real
numbers’ and ‘find out the source of the problem’.
Universities
Many of the above themes were repeated when participants were asked what their own
university could do to support students in the sex industry. Almost one-half responded to
this item (n ¼ 155, 49.2%) and, as before, cited prevention, health promotion, financial
support, career support and research. Whereas students emphasized the value of
educational support when contemplating what the NUS could do, here they were more
inclined to consider emotional (n ¼ 51) and financial support (n ¼ 41) when considering
what universities could offer. A smaller number (n ¼ 22) saw a role for counselling – to
be provided through ‘one to one support from personal tutor or phone line support’ as well
as advice on getting ‘health checks’ and information on where to get further support:
‘point them where to go and how to break the link’. Over one-half of those calling for
greater financial support referred to scrapping the ‘ridiculous high fees, which leaves
students, especially international (ones) with no choice’ and ‘more scholarships’.
Childcare, cheaper accommodation and food also featured in participants’ answers as well
as calls for ‘greater flexibility in paying fees’ and ‘teaching financial management skills’.
Closely associated with financial support was the call for universities to do more to help
students find other part-time jobs (n ¼ 31).
Knowledge of student participation in the sex industry
Table 1 presents the numbers of respondents who knew of other students participating in
particular markets of the sex industry in order to pay for their education. The frequency
with which different categories of sex work were chosen ranged from 5.4% for
non-Internet-based pornography to 18.1% (n ¼ 57) for pole/lap dancing. In all, over
one-quarter of respondents (25.7%) indicated they knew of students involved in some type
of sex work.
Knowledge of other students’ participation was significantly related to gender
( p ¼ 0.036; proportionally more males knew of someone than females: n ¼ 37, 36.6% vs.
n ¼ 53, 25.1%), and social class ( p ¼ 0.018): middle/upper-class respondents were more
likely to know than working-class respondents (33% vs. 20.5%). Cross-tabulating
knowledge of participation in specific types of sex work with the item concerning
150 R. Roberts et al.
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
awareness of student participation in the sex industry is instructive. Of 184 individuals
responding in the affirmative to the question concerning awareness of student participation
in sex work, 35.3% (n ¼ 65) indicated that they actually knew of students in at least one
market of the industry. Furthermore, of those who indicated they knew students working
in at least one market, 80.2% (n ¼ 81) had endorsed the earlier item relating to their
knowledge of student participation in sex work. These two variables were associated
(Cramer’s V ¼ 0.27, p , 0.0005), suggesting that respondents’ knowledge of student
participation must come from at least two sources – one of which is their specific personal
knowledge (of their own or another’s participation). Knowledge of specific student
participation was correlated with social class (r ¼ 0.12, n ¼ 308, p ¼ 0.04), as well as
how acceptable (r ¼ 20.20, n ¼ 312, p , 0.0005) and understandable it was considered
for students to work in the sex industry (r ¼ 0.20, n ¼ 260, p ¼ 0.001).
A logistic regression model was constructed to predict knowledge of student
participation in any type of sex work. This comprised: age, gender, social class, amount of
debt owed, part-time job status, estimated percentage of students working in the sex
industry, how understandable, and how acceptable participation in sex work is. This was
highly significant (22 log likelihood ¼ 75.34, p , 0.0005) and fitted the data well
(Hosmer and Lemeshow test x2(8) ¼ 8.04, p ¼ 0.43). Overall, 83.5% of cases were
correctly classified (50% positive predictive capacity and 90.2% negative predictive
capacity). Pseudo R2 measures suggested a model of moderate predictive capacity, ranging
from 22.7% (Menard’s R2) to 33.3% (Nagelkerke’s R2). Several variables emerged as
significant predictors: greater acceptability of student participation (Wald x2(1) ¼ 5.23,
p ¼ 0.02), higher social class (Wald x2(1) ¼ 2.87, p ¼ 0.09), and higher estimates of the
percentage of students working in the sex industry (Wald x2(1) ¼ 12.57, p , 0.0005)
each predicted knowledge of student participation.
Likelihood of participation in the sex industry
Table 2 presents the numbers of respondents who indicated that they would be likely or
very likely to participate in particular markets of the sex industry to pay for their
education. The frequency with which different categories of sex work were chosen varied
from 3.5% (n ¼ 11) for Internet pornography to 11.1% (n ¼ 35) for escorting/prostitution.
In all, 16.5% (n ¼ 52) of students indicated that they would be likely or very likely to
participate in some kind of sex work.
We found that expressed likelihood to participate in the sex industry could be scaled.
Scoring allows for a range of values – from seven (very unlikely for all types of sex work)
to 35 (very likely for all types). This yielded a Cronbach’s alpha of 0.91. Mean score on
the scale was 12.23 (SD ¼ 6.25). This scale was significantly correlated with gender
Table 1. Knowledge of students participating in sex work to pay for education (by type of
sex work).
n Percentage
Pole/lap dancing 57 18.1
Stripping 38 12.1
Escorting/prostitution 31 9.8
Internet pornography 23 7.3
Non-Internet pornography 17 5.4
Any type of sex work 81 25.7
Sex Education 151
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
(r ¼ 20.38, n ¼ 312, p , 0.0005; proportionally more males than females endorsed these
items: n ¼ 41, 40.6% vs. n ¼ 27, 12.7%), age (r ¼ 0.11, n ¼ 307, p ¼ 0.059), how
acceptable (r ¼ 20.24, n ¼ 312, p , 0.0005) and how understandable it was (r ¼ 0.25,
n ¼ 259, p , 0.0005), and with the level of debt (r ¼ 0.13, n ¼ 273, p ¼ 0.03).
We constructed a general linear model to examine the predictability of expressed
likelihood to engage in sex work. This comprised age, gender, amount of debt owed, and
whether participation in the sex industry was understandable and was acceptable. Scatter
plots suggested the possibility of a non-linear relationship of age with the dependent
variable. On the basis of this, age was recategorized into three levels: below 21 years
(n ¼ 221), 22 years (n ¼ 31) and 23 years and above (n ¼ 56). The subsequent model was
highly significant and accounted for 24.7% of the variance (F6,217 ¼ 13.19, p , 0.0005).
All predictors were significant: understanding participation ( p ¼ 0.041), accepting
participation ( p , 0.0005), amount of debt ( p ¼ 0.017), age group ( p ¼ 0.045) and
gender ( p , 0.0005).
Discussion
The current study points to a widespread awareness, understanding and, to a lesser extent,
acceptance amongst the student population of sex work as a facet of contemporary student
life that exists alongside high levels of debt and long working hours outside study.
Students themselves attributed participation in the sex industry to several factors – chief
of which, by some way, was their financial situation. Household bills and student fees
loomed large and were counterbalanced by the logic of the presumed financial
opportunities to make quick money from sex work. Other (mostly situational) factors –
such as self-esteem, family problems, peer pressure and lack of guidance – were
considered motivations by a smaller number. Students’ own perspectives therefore are
consistent with previous work that has highlighted financial circumstances as a driving
force behind student involvement in sex work (Roberts et al. 2000; Roberts, Bergstro¨m,
and La Rooy 2007b), whilst also lending some support to Jenkins’s (2006) claim that other
factors – such as family support, self confidence and the climate of personal morality in
which contemporary undergraduate life unfolds – are also important.
Knowledge of participation in some type of sex work to pay for education was high
(26%) and suggests a substantial increase on previously reported Figures (10%). This
could signal increasing student activity in sex work – but could also be a response to
growing media coverage, both in the local student press (for example, Day 2007) and
nationally (for example, Milne 2006; Dolman 2008). The local student press has, for
example, carried reports of male student sex workers (for example, Moon 2006) and both
Table 2. Reported likelihood (likely or very likely) of students participating in sex work to pay for
education (by type of sex work).
n Percentage
Escorting/prostitution 35 11.1
Pole/lap dancing 23 7.3
Stripping 19 6.0
Lap dancing 19 6.0
Non-Internet pornography 15 4.8
Internet pornography 11 3.5
Any type of sex work 52 16.5
152 R. Roberts et al.
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
knowledge and professed acceptability of student participation in the sex industry was
greater amongst males. Such coverage might reflect and/or contribute to a less censorious
moral environment in which students may be more open with one another about what they
do to pay for their education.
The present work suggests almost one in seven students would be willing to engage in
sex work and that many of these would be willing to be involved in escorting/prostitution –
reported by over 11% of the sample. Almost one-quarter of the variance in expressed
willingness to undertake sex work was explained by a model incorporating age, gender,
amount of debt, understanding and acceptability of student participation. Applied solely
to escorting, the same model explained over 18% of the variance. With more males
reportedly willing to work in the sex industry, it would be a simple matter to interpret this
as wishful thinking in accord with male socialization, which proclaims participation in any
kind of sexual activity is a good thing. Whilst this probably plays some part, it should be
remembered that a view expressed by many who completed this survey (both males and
females) was that participation carried a range of negative effects. It is also possible that
specific local effects are operating within the institution where the research was
undertaken. In a revised model that included the interactions of these variables with
gender, it was only the gender x acceptability term that was significant ( p , 0.005; this
added 5% to the explained variance) and entailed gender was no longer a significant main
effect. This suggests that it is the greater acceptability of sex work which leads males to
position themselves as more likely to participate. However, this is not to disregard the
evidence of the growth of male sex-work markets in the United Kingdom, particularly in
London. Gaffney and Beverley (2001) note that the contemporary male sex work markets
where men sell sex to other men through informal and formal sex work networks,
increasingly through the Internet, is attractive to men who identify as gay, bisexual or
heterosexual. In addition, whilst little is known beyond anecdotal evidence about the
informal economies where men sell sex to women (usually as escorts), this is a market that
could also be attractive to young male students who seek out high-paying jobs for low
hours.
How do we understand this rise in both the increased acceptability of sex work
amongst the student population and the potential participation of students in various sex
markets? Bernstein’s (2007) paper ‘Sex Work for the Middle Classes’ provides some
insightful explanations as to why men and women from privileged classes find themselves
involved in sex work. Attributable to new technologies and modern methods of Internet
communication, working in the sex industry is part of a much wider economic
restructuring. In addition, there are new meanings and experiences connected to
buying and selling sex: ‘emotional consumption’ (Egan 2005), ‘emotional connectedness
through “mutual” satisfaction, romance and friendship’ (Sanders 2008a) and
‘bounded authenticity’ (Bernstein 2007) enable ‘the girlfriend experience’ to be marketed
(Sanders 2005) and consumed (Sanders 2008b). These enhanced meanings purchased
through commercial sex contribute to new forms of sexual and emotional labour, which
provide both viable economic earning power for women and a desired commodity for men
who seek to buy fantasies and bounded, contractual emotional and sexual experiences.
The findings from this student survey need to be considered within the broader context of
‘new and historically specific conditions of possibility’ (Bernstein 2007, 485) that enable
the sex industry to grow and become mainstreamed as a reaction to poorly paid jobs
(even for graduates), unaffordable costs of urban living, high levels of mass consumption,
and, now in the United Kingdom, rising student debt as normalized conditions.
Sex Education 153
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
At present there is simply no way to obtain an unbiased estimate of the extent of
student participation in the sex industry until ethical clearance is obtained to ask the
appropriate questions. We hope this will soon be possible. The present study, in
highlighting the widespread acceptance of sex work and the expressed willingness of
students to participate in it, provides, we believe, important arguments as to why research
to answer this question is now urgently required. Despite the obvious caveats we attach to
the present findings, we would argue that the data here point unequivocally to a new
culture whereby students view engaging in sex work as a rationale response to their
situation of financial hardship. The findings here provide the first steps toward
constructing a psychosocial model of student sex work. The data, both qualitative and
quantitative, suggest an important role for several social-cognitive variables – selfconfidence,
positive outcome expectations, normative (community) beliefs, situational
and social constraints (e.g. finances) – in the decision to engage in sex work.
We acknowledge that the model developed in this paper would benefit from the
incorporation of variables which existing work has suggested may predict different types
of sex work – for example, mental health or drinking problems or prior sexual abuse
(Roberts, Bergstro¨m, and La Rooy 2007b). Although we concur with previous critiques
regarding the limitations of social cognitive models – notably their neglect of subjective
experience – and the role of affective influences in regulating behaviour (Conner and
Sparks 2005) – for example, the role of pleasure (Ingham 2005), or the habitual nature of
problem behaviours (Stroebe and Stroebe 1995; Ajzen 2001), not to mention the role of
power relations in maintaining certain behaviours (Roberts, Towell, and Golding 2001) –
we posit that such models can be useful provided a framework is present for understanding
behaviour within its wider social and cultural context, although it is likely that the models
have more heuristic than precise explanatory value. What can be said with more certainty,
given that sexual behaviour is often resistant to change (Donovan and Ross 2000), is that
the threefold ‘pull’ factors potentially present in student sex work – the experience of
personal satisfaction, the accrual of financial rewards, and the ensuing financial and social
survival that these permit (Agustin 2006) – mean that even were the economics of student
life to change for the better, selling sexual labour in the sex markets may become a
mainstream rather than alternative informal economy. Future research will hopefully
address in some detail the career trajectories that students take both into and out of sex
work (see Sanders 2007).
Findings from this study have implications for policy. Future education policy
regarding student finances and quality of life issues should take seriously the relationship
between student debt and supply routes into the sex industry. There is clearly a relationship
developing between sex work, student financial survival strategies and debt. Appropriate
responses are required from organizations that represent either students (e.g., the NUS)
or those that have a duty of care and benefit from their presence (the universities).
Respondents identified several avenues of support which they thought could be
provided by these institutions for potential or actual student sex workers. For action to take
place, both the NUS and universities must be prepared to acknowledge the issue to a
much greater extent than they have to date by adopting a more open and accepting attitude
both toward sex work and toward students who feel this is a necessary course of action
for them.
Acknowledgements
The authors would like to thank all respondents who participated in the study.
154 R. Roberts et al.
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
Note
1. A further 29 individuals (9.2%) failed to provide data in answer to this item.
References
Agustin, L.M. 2006. Sex at the margins: Migration, labour markets and the rescue industry. London:
Zeb Books.
Ajzen, I. 2001. Nature and operation of attitudes. Annual Review of Psychology 52: 27–58.
Attwood, F. 2006. Sexed up: Theorizing the sexualization of culture. Sexualities 9, no. 1: 7–94.
Banister, P., E. Burman, I. Parker, M. Taylor, M. Taylor, and C. Tindall. 1994. Qualitative methods
in psychology: A research guide. Buckingham: Open University Press.
Barrett, D. 1997. Students on the game. The Times Higher Education Supplement, July 18.
BBC. 2008. Amy: My body for bucks. BBC 3, Sunday April 20. http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/
b00b0x35.
BBC News Online. 2007. Fees ‘pushing up student debts’. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/education/
6945975.stm (accessed August 14, 2007).
Bernstein, E. 2007. Sex work for the middle classes. Sexualities 10, no. 4: 473–88.
Bott, E. 2006. Pole position: Migrant British women producing ‘selves’ through lap dancing work.
Feminist Review 83, no. 1: 23–41.
Brents, B., and K. Hausbeck. 2007. Marketing sex: U.S legal brothels and late capitalist
consumption. Sexualities 10, no. 4: 425–39.
Brinkworth, L. 2007. Students who sell sex. Cosmopolitan, July, 60–2.
Chapman, M. 2001. Red light finds its way onto campus. Times Higher Educational Supplement,
November 5 (1486).
Conner, M., and P. Sparks. 2005. The theory of planned behaviour and health behaviour.
In Predicting health behaviour: research and practice with social cognition models, ed.
M. Connor and P. Norman. 2nd ed., 170–222. Maidenhead: Open University Press.
Day, E. 2007. Escorting: Is it all it is cracked up to be? The River 17: 18–19.
Dolman, K. 2008. Selling sex to study. http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/education/
student/article3396280.ece (accessed February 19, 2008).
Donovan, B.D., and M.W. Ross. 2000. Preventing HIV: Determinants of sexual behaviour.
The Lancet 355, no. 9218: 1897–901.
Duvall Smith, A. 2006. Thousands of students ‘join sex trade to fund degrees’. http://www.
independent.co.uk/news/europe/thousands-of-students-join-sex-trade-to-fund-degrees-422287.
html (accessed October 31, 2006).
Egan, D. 2005. Emotional consumption: Mapping love and masochism in an exotic dance club.
Body and Society 11, no. 4: 87–108.
Gaffney, J., and K. Beverley. 2001. Contextualising the construction and social organisation of
the commercial male sex industry in London at the beginning of the twenty-first century.
Feminist Review 67, spring: 133–41.
Hawkes, G. 2004. Sex and pleasure in western culture. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Home Office. 2008. Tackling the demand for prostitution: A review. http://www.homeoffice.gov.uk/
documents/tackling-demand?view¼Binary (accessed February 20, 2009).
Illouz, E. 1997. Consuming the romantic utopia. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Ingham, R. 2005. Teenage pregnancy policy on England, sexuality research and social policy.
Journal of National Sexuality Resource Centre 2, no. 3: 56–67.
Jenkins, S. 2006. Students and the sex industry: Is financial hardship turning students into sex
workers? Unpublished diss., Keele University.
Lantz, S. 2004. Sex work and study: The new demands facing young people and their implications
for health and well being. Traffic 3: 31–50.
McNair, B. 2002. Striptease culture: Sex, media and the democratization of desire. London:
Routledge.
Milne, J. 2006. Female students turn to prostitution to pay fees. The Sunday Times. http://www.
timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/education/student/news/article665019.ece (accessed
October 8, 2006).
Moffat, P.G., and S.A. Peters. 2004. Pricing personal services: An empirical study of earnings in the
UK prostitution industry. Scottish Journal of Political Economy 51: 675–90.
Moon, A. 2006. I became a rent boy: The dark side of education. The River 10: 17.
Sex Education 155
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
O’Neill, M. 1997. Prostitute women now. In Rethinking prostitution: Purchasing sex in the 1990’s,
ed. G. Scambler and A. Scambler, 3–28. London: Routledge.
Roberts, R., S. Bergstro¨m, and D. La Rooy. 2007a. Commentary: UK students and sex work:
Current knowledge and research issues. Journal of Community and Applied Social Psychology
17: 141–6.
Roberts, R., S. Bergstro¨m, and D. La Rooy. 2007b. Sex work and students: An exploratory study.
Journal of Further and Higher Education 31, no. 4: 323–34.
Roberts, R., J. Golding, T. Towell, S. Reid, S. Woodford, A. Vetere, and I. Weinreb. 2000. Mental
and physical health in students: The role of economic circumstances. British Journal of Health
Psychology 5, no. 3: 289–97.
Roberts, R., A. Towell, and J. Golding. 2001. Foundations of health psychology. Houndmills:
Palgrave.
Sanders, T. 2005. Sex work: A risky business. Uffculme, Devon: Willan Publishing.
Sanders, T. 2007. Becoming an ex-sex worker: Making transitions out of a deviant career.
Feminist Criminology 2, no. 1: 74–95.
Sanders, T. 2008a. Male sexual scripts: Intimacy, sexuality and pleasure in the purchase of
commercial sex. Sociology 42, no. 3: 400–17.
Sanders, T. 2008b. Paying for pleasure: Men who buy sex. Cullompton, Devon: Willan.
Scoular, J., J. Pitcher, R. Campbell, P. Hubbard, and M. O’Neill. 2007. What’s anti-social about
sex work? The changing representation of prostitution’s incivility. Community Safety Journal
6, no. 1: 11–17.
Sedgman, J. 2004. Sex work more attractive option for students. The World Today, April 2.
Stroebe, W., and M.S. Stroebe. 1995. Social psychology and health. Buckingham: Open University
Press.
Weitzer, R., ed. 2000. Sex for sale: Prostitution, pornography and the sex industry. London:
Routledge.
Whitaker, M. 2001. Actuality at school. BBC Radio 4, June 24.
156 R. Roberts et al.
Downloaded By: [Roberts, Ron] At: 18:44 14 April 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
