Most Haunted: a load of b*llocks? Two for yes, one for no.

Picture the scene: it’s pitch black and you’re armed with nothing but a torch. You’re alone in what is purported to be one of the most haunted locations in the country, and somewhere in the distance a dusty old clock strikes midnight. Your heart is racing, palms sweating, and every slightest sound strikes fear into your very bones. Your only comfort is your team of fellow ghost hunters, but they’re all just as shit scared as you are. Daylight can’t come soon enough.

Sounds utterly chilling, doesn’t it? No one in their right mind would willingly put themselves in that kind of situation, surely? But that’s exactly the kind of scenario the Most Haunted team go through on a regular basis, visiting addresses where paranormal activity has been reported – things flying off shelves, ornaments moving of their own accord, apparitions walking down vacant corridors, that kind of thing.

So who better to investigate these strange reports than Yvette Fielding, the go-to choice for any ghostbuster (obviously). Each episode sees our brave Yvette stepping into the realm of the unknown, eyes wide with terror that’s set off so perfectly by the night vision cameras. By her side is husband Karl, ghost hunter and camera-fiddler extraordinaire, and some other blokes who don’t get much more than a ‘what the f*ck was that?’.

Into the night they go, starting off as a group of bolshy spirit botherers. ‘You don’t scare us’, they arrogantly proclaim. ‘Come on, do your worst!’. Wow, these guys are seriously brave. Those ghosts must be quaking in their boots.

But then they decide to split up and each goes off to a different room to stake out, and very quickly the bravado fades. Every sound is amplified by the silence of isolation, and we see our brave heroes flinch and whimper at specks of dust – sorry, ‘orbs’. If it’s a particularly good episode, we’ll even get a scream out of Yvette, or one of the crew will pretend they’ve had enough. We’re led to believe they’re fed up of those nasty ghosts, but in reality they’re probably pissed off with Yvette and Karl. 

Throughout the show, the team tells us of horrific happenings like a clock being flung down the stairs or malicious laughter, but we’ll never actually get to hear or see any of this. What we do get to see is, well, not a lot. We get to listen to some apparent recordings of spirits saying things like ‘say what you want to me’ and, of course, ‘Mary loves Dick/dick’, but it’s not exactly difficult to fake a recording. And there’s an awful lot of tapping which is supposed to be the ghost’s way of making contact, but we all know it’s the crew messing about next door. Sorry Yvette.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love a good scare. Who doesn’t? But with this kind of entertainment, you start off watching from behind a cushion and end up thinking ‘Why am I watching a bunch of fully grown adults pretending they’ve just seen a marble fly across the room?’. Ghosts could exist, but if you’re looking for solid evidence then you won’t find it on Most Haunted. And remember, if you do come across anything paranormal, give Yvette and the team a call. Their dramatic overreactions will show you that there’s nothing to be afraid of.

Rugby World Cup 2015: a bitter blow for the hosts

‘If I win, lose or draw, it’s a victory for all’ goes the official World Cup anthem. But that isn’t quite true. It’s only the winning that really counts.

It’s the morning after the night before that England fans didn’t want to wake up to. A devastating loss in the do or die game against the Wallabies means we’re out of our own World Cup – the first hosts to be knocked out in the group stages, and the first time England has never made it through to the quarter finals. Certainly infamy we didn’t want on the global sporting stage.

So what went wrong?

Kicking things off against Fiji on September 18th, England filled the nation with hope after a convincing, yet not unsurprising victory. But then the real test began.

Pool A, England’s group, was nicknamed the ‘Pool of Death’ thanks to its inclusion of three top-tier teams, which left many an England fan quietly doubtful of how far Lancaster’s side could go in the tournament. But any true fan knew not to express that doubt, and belted out Swing Low at full volume to fill Twickenham with the sonorous sounds of that optimistic reprise. Besides, as the hosts we got to pick our own stadium, the home of English rugby, to play our big games – and much was made of that home advantage.

When it comes down to it though, the stadium and the support can only account for so much. At the end of the day, the performance on the pitch is what matters. Points on the board make for progress in the World Cup, regardless of how many white shirts and painted faces there are in the stands. And when it was most important, England were simply outperformed.

Debate followed the so-close-yet-so-far defeat to Wales, which left players, coaches and fans alike full of what ifs. The decision not to kick for three points to seal a draw in the final moments of a game that had been firmly in English hands for the most part left many reeling – and ultimately led to a last minute loss.

Never mind. There was the chance to redeem themselves in the following game a week later. Learn from their mistakes, pick themselves up and come back even stronger against Australia, England’s biggest rugby foe. There was plenty of hype around the inclusion of key players, and a real sense of ‘we can do this’. Fans wore the rose, made them giants, and got behind the team in a way that only the English can. Optimism and a stiff upper lip. Could we repeat that glorious day in 2003?

That hope remained until perhaps the final ten minutes of the game when it was clear that an essential victory was out of reach. England were never really in the game. A few moments of brilliance got them achingly close to the try line, but on almost every occasion the Wallabies turned it over and kicked it back downfield. And with every kick, English optimism faded a little more.

Down 17-3 at half time, the game was already slipping away. But the latter half inclusion of George Ford and his clean playmaking seemed to turn the tables, and England seemed to be back in the game. Not for long, though. With Farrell yellow carded for a high tackle, the fortress crumbled. Australia kicked penalties, got points on the board, and to add insult to injury came back with one last try in the closing minutes to seal the deal. 33-13.

And that was that. England out of the English World Cup, forced to sit at the side and watch as everyone else enjoys the party. There was, of course, one more pool game to come against Uruguay, but frankly, when the fate had already been sealed, it felt a little superfluous.

After the match, England captain Chris Robshaw said that the team felt they had let the nation down. Sure, there is disappointment, upset and maybe even anger – that’s the nature of the game. But there is also the chance to come back bigger and better, and to make the critics eat their words. I for one will still proudly support my team, because I know that glory is always just around the corner if you want it badly enough.

Apple vs. Samsung: the ultimate playground battle

One of the nice things about being a human in the developed world is that we have something called ‘choice’. While others less fortunate than us have to stick with what they get, we can pick our goods from a plethora of options. Everything we need is catered for by a huge number of companies and brands, and it’s up to us to choose what we want based on budget, requirements, or even colour.

Wait a minute. What’s that? You’ve got an iPhone? An actual iPhone? Are you serious?! What is wrong with you?

Yep, that’s right. We have choice, but when it comes to smartphones, those oh-so-essential pocket computers that we can’t live without, your choice can start the biggest (and most pitifully hilarious) online arguments.

The best time to witness such ‘mine is bigger than yours’ pettiness is right around the launch of a new Apple product. I guess because Apple has firmly established itself as the giant of the industry, anyone who doesn’t like it feels the need to pick holes in it. It’s standard ‘I can’t have it, so I must hate it’ psychology. In other words, it’s a bit pathetic. And by a bit, I mean very.

Head to any techy website when a new iPhone is released and you’ll find hundreds of comments declaring this latest gadget to be sh*t and endless reasons why Android is, like, so totally better. Reasons that don’t even matter. Is it a phone? Yes. Does it do all the things I need it to? Yes. That’s all I need to know.

The further you scroll through the comments, the more juvenile it gets. You’ll find highlights such as ‘Apple is so behind, only just making the screen bigger when Samsung has been doing it for ages!’ Is that important? Personally, I couldn’t give a toss about a bigger screen. I’ve got a tablet for that. ‘It’s just the same as the last iPhone!’ Hmm, no. I think you might be confused by the fact that Apple has developed its brand largely on the iconic design of the iPhone, but I’ll forgive you for that. ‘Tim Cook is gay!’ He beat you to that, I’m afraid.

I can’t help but feel slightly sorry for these passive-aggressive keyboard warriors. If you don’t like something then that’s fine. After all, it’s your freedom to choose and you’re entitled to your own opinions. But be grown up about it and accept that other people may choose differently from you. There are far more important things to be worried about.

Horrible Histories series 6: Where has all the laughter gone?

I first started watching Horrible Histories as a student on those afternoons when I’d roll out of bed and find nothing but back-to-back ‘chat’ shows on TV. So rather than stick needles in my eyes, which was the preferable option to watching four hours of Jeremy Kyle shouting at chavs with funny teeth, I flicked over to CBBC, and haven’t looked back since.

That is, until now. In the lull of a Sunday evening, right about the time when the ‘Oh no, work tomorrow’ blues kicked in, my spirits lifted as I spotted a brand new episode – nay, series! – of Horrible Histories on iPlayer (which, incidentally, is nowhere near as ‘gangsta’ as its name suggests). I immediately hit play, but something was amiss.

For starters, it’s out with the old as a completely new cast has taken over the reins of this one. Now, I’m all for change if it is for the better, but this just feels a bit, well, below par. The old ones, the good ones, managed to personify the brand of Terry Deary’s brilliant series of books that made learning feel like fun. The essence of Horrible Histories is that you’re laughing, but you’re actually learning, which is where schools go wrong. More than that, though, Horrible Histories struck that rare balance as a show intended for children that adults could actually sit through without wanting to rip their ears off. The poo jokes were for the kids, the satire for the adults.

This new bunch, however, seems to have been landed with too many of the poo jokes and not enough of the satire. Dear reader, I laughed not once during the latest episode. That’s a one hundred per cent decrease.

It’s not the new guys’ fault, though. It seems as though the show has fallen prey to one of those infamous budget cuts, as it mostly looks to have been made in front of a screen, minus the bits that they filmed in a field. And don’t even get me started on the rat. I could just about grin and bear that rodent narrator as the format of any children’s show demands some sort of accessible furry thing, but at least in the previous episodes the rat was energetic. Now it doesn’t even move its mouth in time to the voice. Talk about lacklustre (I tried to make that a rat pun. Didn’t). Looks like even the puppeteer has had a pay cut, reduced to just five mouth-movements per sentence.

Horrible Histories also made a name for itself with its songs. Hilarious send ups of popular music (favourites include the Georgian navy football song and the RAF à la Take That – look it up) that guaranteed you’d be waxing historical for the next six weeks. But the songs on this latest episode were just, dare I say it, dull. By the end of the show, I was left feeling robbed. Although I did learn a little more about the Magna Carta (mainly that King John was a bit of a dick).

So as the next episode of series six draws near, I’ll be watching in anticipation, hoping that this opener wasn’t a taste of things to come. History will always be horrible, but at least let’s be able to still laugh about it.

Black Friday: a dark day for mankind

Traditions are typically things to be celebrated; annual gatherings where we come together with our fellow human beings, let bygones be bygones, and forget about the troubles of this cruel world for a moment.

But what’s this? 30% off a television that I neither want nor need? Get the f*ck out of my way!

You see, this little island of ours, which once was home to quaint traditions involving twee costumes and the sound of innocent choral tones, has now fallen foul of a more sinister, er, ‘festivity’ from our friends across the pond: Black Friday.

It’s just as bleak as the name suggests. The premise of Black Friday is essentially grab what you can. It’s a day when shops offer discounts on TVs, computers, clothes – you name it, you’ll probably have to participate in a stampede to get it.

The scenes from Black Friday were utterly astonishing for all the wrong reasons. Crowds of eager bargain hunters queued all night outside Asda, baying for blood and a slightly cheaper TV. When doors were finally opened, in rushed the predators seeking out their prey, trampling over the weak and fighting those who dared get in their way. Staff in tears. The store in chaos. Chavs proclaiming victory for £20 off a flatscreen.

The police have condemned Black Friday, claiming they have enough to deal with without having to crowd-control the Asda crew. And while we can all appreciate the irony of the force’s plight, we have to agree that this nonsense really isn’t worth it. When people are hospitalised because they’ve been battered over a half price laptop or flattened by a falling TV, you have to say enough is enough. Nip this one in the bud.

Only it will carry on, year after year, chaotic scene after chaotic scene, because it makes the crowds part with their money. It’s an extremely clever, and mightily cruel, marketing trick. These are things that people don’t need, but flash some numbers in front of them and you trigger the primal urge to buy, buy, buy. Throw into the mix the idea that everyone will be after it, and you’ve sealed the deal – no one will be mad enough to miss it.

When you think about it, Black Friday is just a shallow, materialistic monstrosity that turns us supposedly civilised beings into animals. It’s taken millions of years of evolution to get to this stage, and we’re undoing that in one day for the sake of a bigger TV.