The Times Online – A Critical Analysis

The Times Online is the online base for The Times newspaper, and as part of our Web Communication unit we were asked to write a critical analysis of it. Below is simply the opening of my essay, but you can read the entire document and view my list of references here.

The rising potential of the internet as a mass medium service has resulted in most news organisations being brought to the World Wide Web. (Sundar 2000) The Times Online is the internet’s equivalent of The Times newspaper, and uses a wide range of multimedia techniques, from stories with images, to videos and user generated content (UGC) to present the news to its audience. However, the answer to whether The Times Online is a ‘good’ website relies not only on the news it relays to the public, but the extent to which the aspects of its site are carried out successfully and efficiently. As Lawrence and Tavakol (2007) suggest, a sign of a ‘good’ internet site exists in whether the user can carry out the task they desire -in this case exploring the news – without noticing they are even using a website interface.

            Kharbanda (2006) suggests that the most effective and efficient way to increase traffic on to a website is through search engine optimization (SEO), an aspect which Grappone and Couzin (2008) suggest encompasses a wide range of tasks to improve a website’s presence on search engines, and which Thurow and Musica (2009) define as the way to create the best chance that a site will be found in the top positions in search results. The Times Online is the top result in search engines when ‘The Times’ is typed in, making it extremely easy to find, and ranks at the number four position when the phrase ‘newspaper’ is searched. Kharbanda (2006) proposes that using SEO to attain positions within the top 20 results, especially the very top, has an extremely positive effect on a website. It would seem that The Times Online has been successful in this aspect of its site.

Read on…

Crime drama script – The opening extract

Another of our Professional Writing assignments was to create a script for television in a genre of our choice. We were asked to write the opening eight to ten minutes of the programme and specify which channel would be suitable for the show. I chose to create a crime drama that I named ‘Forensic’ to be shown on BBC One. As a HUGE fan of programmes such as CSI:NY, Criminal Minds, Silent Witness and Waking The Dead, I was eager to try my own hand at crime writing.

Below is a small extract from my script, if you would like to read the full piece (which of course, you would) you can do so by clicking here.

INT. SCHOOL KITCHEN – DAY
A friendly, plump DINNER LADY, who looks to be in her late fifties, is bustling around the kitchen. She is by herself, finishing up after the school day. The large, stainless steel kitchen seems very empty and quiet. She carries two large, fit-to-burst bin bags towards the door.

EXT. SIDE ALLEY, SCHOOL – DAY
The dinner lady heaves the bags on to an already over flowing pile, misjudging her efforts and knocking the bags to the floor.

DINNER LADY
(muttering)
Tsk, damn bin men. Easiest job in the world and they can’t even do that properly, leaving it all here in a…

She stares at the cause of her abrupt halt. A YOUNG, DARK-SKINNED BOY’s body lays lifelessly in a pool of blood beneath the scattered bags, his school uniform stained deep red around an unnatural whole in his stomach.

DINNER LADY (CONT’D)
(screaming, backing away frantically)
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! SOMEONE, SOMEONE HELP!

 

Hooked…? Read on.

Election 2010 – A Poll for your opinions.

With the election looming tomorrow, I am growing ever-increasingly nervous of the outcome. Let me know what you think, whether you are voting or not, by taking part in the poll below.

I must admit this is the first time I have taken a proper interest in politics, and most of my knowledge regarding each party came, until recently, mostly from my parents. However, I have been doing some background reading on the people who call themselves ‘leaders’, and I’ve got to say, its a bit of a worry. I’m truly nervous for the outcome and fear for this country really going down the pan in the next couple of years.

But, aside from the differentiating views of the public and some controversial (to say the least) ideologies that stem from these three major political parties, we must be grateful for one thing. At least we have the right to choose who runs our country, even if the choice seems less than diabolical.

A Blooming Affair – A Short Story, Part 2

      WAIT! If you haven’t read Part One of this short story, please do so before you read any further! You can find it by clicking…HERE. Wouldn’t want to ruin it for yourself, would you? If you have already read Part One you are very sensible and please continue. I would also be very grateful for any constructive criticism you may have regarding my short story, although nothing too horrible please, I’m not sure I could handle it…

      On this particular evening I was admiring the woodland with my children. They bounced around beside me, happy and content now winter had passed. Their rich golden heads – a hereditary gift from both their mother and I – bobbing dizzily from side to side, occasionally bumping into each other as they enjoyed the sun and the gentle breeze. The woodland was calm, my family and I the only company for the newly emerging bluebells, interrupted here and there only by a tiny bird or mouse, until I felt her footsteps through the earth below me.

            As the dog-walker approached I watched as the small, cream dog bounded alongside her. She was accompanied today by a tall man, a fellow dog-walker I presumed, as also added to the pack was a large labrador, his big pink tongue lolling casually from his mouth. I talk here of course, of the labrador’s tongue, not the man. I considered quietly the idea that I should perhaps get a dog of my own to attract the attention of this beautiful woman, the only woman to have ever caught my eye since my wife. She was so different from my wife that I could scarcely believe I had even noticed her, her hair was dark and seemed to capture and keep the light, a stark contrast from the glow of gold my wife had radiated, and her skin was pale, like beautiful, smooth ivory. Her elegance emitted almost a sense of coolness which you might imagine to be unpleasant, but as I watched her walk and chat amicably to her acquaintance I lost myself in her, and felt a warmth I’d never felt before almost washing over me, trickling through me like new life in my veins. As she swung around sharply to face me, however, I snapped out of my dream like state and realised two things, very fast, and at the same time. In my preoccupied condition I had failed to notice the small woolly creature approach me, sniffing and sweeping its nose from side to side along the soil, to finally reach a standstill in front of me and do none other than cock its leg. I’d also failed to correctly identify the warm, relaxing sensation that washed over my entire body as I gazed at the woman I implored to acknowledge me. Now, as she looked directly at me, turning her graceful body towards my family and I and striding purposefully back the way she had come, I realised my mistake.

            “Harvey!” She addressed the small, lamb-like dog. “Stop pissing on that poor daffodil!”

A Blooming Affair – A Short Story, Part 1

 I wrote this short story for a recent assignment as part of our Professional Writing unit. It revolves around the grief the narrator has had to deal with in the past and looks at his new love interest, a mysterious woman who catches his eye in the woods. This is part one of the story, part two will follow shortly. The story is named ‘A Blooming Affair’ and hopefully you’ll find an interesting twist to the tale of this flowering romance. Oh, it was also a great excuse to put up pictures of my adorable Bichon Frise - Hugo, who features in the story but under a different name. I wanted to protect his privacy, you see, didn’t think he could handle all the press and papparazzi outside his door… enjoy.

            I saw her almost every morning and evening, strolling through the woodland with her small, woolly dog. So woolly, was he, in fact, that on first glance I mistook him for a sheep. She was beautiful, this dog-walking lady, in my eyes anyway. Yet she never noticed me, and we never spoke. She’d come close but never close enough and I would find myself static, surrounded by my family; invisible to her and unable to talk. I studied her when I could, picking out the graceful detail on her face and in the way that she walked. I was captivated by her despite the overwhelming realisation that she was out of my league, a completely different species. Through her beauty I attempted to derive her age and I’d hazard a guess that she was in her late thirties, although sometimes when she’d pass me on one of her evening walks, perhaps after a stressful day at work, her attractive face edged elegantly closer to her early forties. But anyway, what was age? I’d lost track of mine many years back. 

            I wouldn’t be lying if I said I was lonely.  An onlooker would question how I could possibly feel such an emotion, because, amongst other things I was part of such a massive, beautiful family. I had brothers and sisters and cousins and second cousins, aunts and uncles and even an ancient old grandma. Bless her, we all thought she’d give up the ghost long ago but year after year she came back fighting. But this supersized family, as loyal as there were, for they rarely left my side, couldn’t replace the gaping, aching hole that punctured my life; the real core of my loneliness – the death of my wife. Four years ago, during a particularly long and deadly winter she had contracted a fatal illness in which she simply could not withstand the icy depths of the harsh season, and although much breath-holding was carried out by my relatives for a new lease of life as winter faded, my soul mate passed away and spring arrived with a fresh wave of grief and loss. I found myself left not only without a soul mate, but without a soul.

            As the years passed I withered through the dark winters, crippled by the cold and the memory of what had happened, curled into myself and hidden, distanced from my family and friends by the heaviness of what held me down. Every year I’d think I’d reached the end, that I couldn’t possibly bring myself out of this. I felt the weight of the earth above me and the cold froze my soul, the hard frost of winter and of loss immobilised my senses as I struggled through the pain. Seasonal affective disorder stretched to its extremes, tautened by the grief and memory of my wife.

“Keep trying, Dad” the children would whisper through my dark veil of mourning and the dirt and debris of things I couldn’t deal with, and I’d withdraw even further into myself, believing surely that I would let them down and never make it through the cold. But each year spring would arrive and I would feel my heart begin to beat again. The weight would lift and I would push through the depths of my grief until I could feel the sun on my skin once more.

(For Part 2 click HERE because it’s really exciting and you can’t carry on your daily life without knowing what happens…)

Five things I want from Topshop RIGHT NOW

As a student I am plagued by that wretched feeling that you can never afford what you want. Never mind that I can only just cover what I need to survive in a week, I am more obsessed with the fact I can’t afford new clothes. Topshop in particular at the moment is taunting me with its amazing stock and I’m a cat’s whisker away from blowing my loan (thats loan, not load) on these beauties. 

Topshop Utility Trousers in Stone - £38

I am IN LOVE with the idea of combats coming back into fashion. They remind me of when I was a little girl dashing around in my baggy combat trousers (with long cotton tassles on, if I remember rightly..?)  looking WELL COOL and loving life as a mini fashionista. They’re making their reappearance in a skinny-leg manner however, and I’m visualising these babies with my brand new Office shoes – tan leather, wooden heel… a match made in fashion heaven. I’ve seen snaps of Cheryl Cole wearing similar utility trousers with a plain back tee, and I’m loving the pairing. These would look great with a simple top and I can see perfect summer outfits with these, a plain white strap top and some black or tan flippy floppys. (AKA Flip Flops.) 

Also scoring in the trouser department (see what I did there) is these pretty-in-pink cotton three quarter lengths. These caught my eye when I was mooching around in a Topshop store the other day, but, alas, I had no time to try them on. 

Panelled Sports Joggers in Rose - £22

For the best, maybe, as I may have bought them in every colour. These are another pair I can see looking fab with some plain tees or strappys, and some pumps or flip flops. Another chilled out summer look… 

Speaking of summer, I adore the new shape thats proving to be all the rage this year for sunglasses. The butterfly shape is a charming twist on the oversized shades look and these ones from Topshop are available for a reasonable price. I’ll take seven pairs. (I have a habit of breaking sunglasses.) 

Butterfly Ombre Sunglasses - £15

This year I’m really keen to try the baggy fisherman type pants that began to creep on to the streets last summer. I may seem a year behind, but I simply didn’t have the courage to wear something last year that looked as if it would make my bum appear to drag along the ground. I have since had my mind changed by witnessing them look amazing on others, and I’m up for giving them a try. These will be my first pick of the bunch and we’ll see how it goes… I can already see them paired with the butterfly glasses. 

Cotton Trousers by Boutique - £45

Finally, on a more glam note, this chic black tunic has got me dribbling. I LOVE tunics, they look great with heels or flats, night or day wear and they even make you feel good on one of those dreaded fat days. There is nothing worse than stepping out of the house knowing the first thing people will notice is the bulge of your bloated tummy. Tunics flatter the figure and hide the lumps and bumps you wish didn’t exist! Another item that I can picture with my new shoes…surely a reason to get it, right? 

Silk Tunic by Boutique in Black - £55

I think its time to do some maths, check my finances, and work out what I can afford to spend. Then triple it, forget about food and heating bills, and go to Topshop waving my debit card above my head. Hello overdraft, you’re too good to me. And who cares if I’ll be horrendously poor afterwards, I’ll look damn good in the process.

Starbucks Marketing Campaign

As part of my Marketing unit at Bournemouth University I was required to carry out an analysis of Starbucks in the UK to evaluate the state of business at present and make recommendations on how to improve sales and increase growth throughout the UK.

On the assumption that the technicalities of my business report may be fairly weak – business was never my strong point – I concluded that adding some creativity into my recommendations may make up for my lack of economical knowledge. As a result I sketched 8 new ideas for carry-out cups that Starbucks could hypothetically introduce to their UK stores for consumers to choose from. After analysing (albeit probably not very well) that Starbucks had lost their fashionable edge and the exclusiveness that the brand once stood for, I wanted my designs to reincoporporate the element of fashion into drinking coffee and attracting a younger demographic. Below are my 8 ideas for new cups, drawn with coloured artist pencils and black pen which were then scanned into the computer so that each slogan could be added.

‘The Original’

My first sketch was simply a cup that held the original design that has been a part of Starbucks since it first began. It seemed imperitive to me to keep this design to appeal for the members of the market who were happy with Starbucks just the way it was.

‘The Green One’

 

This design was created on the basis that Starbucks need to regain an edge over competitors on the ‘Fair Trade’ side of things. As Fair Trade becomes more and more common throughout the world, companies are required to make an effort to show that their business has ethical grounds. This cup would also allow the consumer to feel like they are doing a good deed, and a green and brown colour scheme was used to tie in with the environmentally friendly side to this choice.

‘The Classic’

‘The Classic’ used a blend of the trademark colours that are associated with Starbucks to create a new and sophisticated carry-out cup for consumers to choose from. The prominence of the dark green gives this choice an elegant edge. It was also recommended in the report that Starbucks used subtle celebrity-endorsement, with the idea that if certain celebs were ‘papparazzied’ holding the cup of their choice, their fans would follow suit. This cup would look good in the hands of a male, sophisticated actor, suggesting a fashionable twist to the already cemented colours of Starbucks.

‘The Striped One’

Following the idea of celebrity-endorsement, the idea was proposed that the minute a female celebrity known for having immense fashion sense, such as Cheryl Cole or Kate Moss stepped out wearing an outfit that matched this carry-out cup, everyone would want one. The nautical theme makes this choice an excellent one for summer and really brings the fashion element back into the coffee drinking experience.

‘The Red One’

 

This red cup was supposed to bring a romantic feel to the choice available to consumers. As a passionate colour this cup would be easy to market in terms of romance and love, and would appeal to younger consumers who are dating but are unable to go to pubs or bars. As a single, bold colour it also offers the chance to make a fashion statement with your cup of coffee.

‘The Leopard Print One’

 

This design was the quirkiest of the lot and really relies on consumers expectations of a sense of fashion and exclusiveness from the coffee drinking experience. Being marketed as a ‘wild’ design also enabled this idea to mention the effort they put in to sourcing the best coffee beans from around the world.

‘The Black One’

This simple sketch shows another idea that is meant to ooze elegance, and the colour black hopefully would appeal to a male demographic as much as a female one.

‘The Cosy One’

This design was my ultimate favourite of the 8, based on the classic print of pyjamas this cup gives consumers the choice of a relaxed, chilled out drink in or out of the Starbucks restaurants.

Overall I was proud of my designs for the new Starbucks range of cups. Knowing that the business element to my report perhaps wasn’t as strong as I had hoped, I at least wasn’t ashamed at my efforts to draw my ideas. Personally, I’d definitely visit Starbucks more often if their cups looked like this! But then, I am a lover of the coffee shop chain anyway, and also, I am biased…

A Short Story – The Confectionary Aisle

Below is a short story I wrote last year for an assignment that focuses on a young girl as she makes a shocking realisation. It’s titled ‘The Confectionary Aisle’  and probably needs some work, but it’s a start. I’m planning on developing it into a novel, as soon as I can get control of my will power and stop feeling the need to eat a hundred mini scotch eggs and drink mug upon mug of tea every time I write something. I spend more time in the bathroom than clattering on the keyboard of my laptop. Once that’s sorted though, I’ll be a great author. Honestly. Now, enjoy.

I realised what she was doing to me far too late to stop her.

It seemed such a normal day when I first met her, but thinking back on it now, something couldn’t have been quite right, something was slightly off-balance, and that’s why I bumped into her.    

I was weaving my trolley round the aisles in Asda, attempting to feed myself within the constraints of my student budget when I stumbled across the confectionary shelves; the shiny wrappers of countless chocolate bars and bags of sweets winking cheekily at me, begging to be eaten. As usual, when presented with a situation such as this, my mind began a minor war with itself; one side telling me I really didn’t need the calories and the other side reminding me of the sensational taste of that first chocolaty bite. The taste-sensation side was just taking the lead when a voice behind me interrupted.

            “If you look at them for long enough, you won’t want one.”

            I couldn’t see her at first, the owner of this soft, female voice. I span around and came face to face with a girl who on first glance looked roughly my age. Although on closer inspection you’d be forgiven for thinking the lines on her face represented a fair few more years than my nineteen.

            “I’m sorry?” I replied after a few seconds of suspended silence.

            “When I’m tempted by something I shouldn’t eat I spend a long time looking at it, and I convince myself I don’t need it. Try it, it works.” The girl flicked her eyes from my face to the chocolate bars and as I opened my mouth to stammer a response she cut in authoratively. “Try it.” 

            My initial confusion seemed to evaporate and I was compelled to do as she said. It may have had something to do with the fact she looked shockingly similar to me, same height, same blue eyes and same ash blonde hair, the only immediate, noticeable difference was her frame; she was a much skinnier, wirier version of me. Or it may have simply been the controlling element in her tone of voice, whatever the reason, I turned instantly to the stacked shelves and looked properly at the content. I didn’t want a chocolate bar. The girl, my almost-parallel, registered the change in me, and held out her hand.

            “I’m Ana.”

To this day I still don’t remember how we got quite as close as we did in such a short space of time, but within days of our introduction, Ana played a huge part in my life. We did everything together as teenage girls often do when they’ve formed a close friendship. We spent countless hours poring over magazines, obsessing over the appearance of celebrities; Ana had a particular interest in their weight and I wasn’t disinterested with the size of the girls in the images in front of me. We made sure we stayed healthy by visiting the gym and jogging regularly – Ana was there when I felt like I couldn’t run any further to spur me along those last few steps. We never found time to sleep or eat, we were far too busy with our active lives to consider food, and when I stopped for long enough to let the hunger pangs kick in, Ana always whipped a new distraction from the sleeve of her over sized sweater.

Roughly a month after the day we met, I was sitting alone in my room, amongst the mess of discarded clothes and shoes with a chocolate bar in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I was momentarily content, savouring the taste of both and thinking how long it had been since I’d tasted chocolate, when a small, unfamiliar notepad caught my eye between the jumble of fabric. Simple curiosity led me to pick the notebook up and it was mere seconds before I wished I hadn’t. Flicking through the pad I found page after page of recordings; what I had eaten on a daily basis, how many calories I’d gorged on, and endless lists of my bodily measurements. At first I recognised the handwriting as my own, but it was scribbled, far too frantic and messy.

“Put that down!”

            I moved my head so fast my neck cricked and I came face to face with Ana. I hadn’t heard the door open, I was almost certain it hadn’t, yet there she was, tiny and white in front of me.

            “Put that down!” Her eyes were wide and she looked as terrified and angry as I felt. This was her writing. She reached to snatch the book away from me and brushed her arm against my cigarette, and as she did so, I was half aware of a burning sensation on my own arm. The book fell to the floor and there was a tense silence, I hadn’t a clue what to say to her. Ana, my most trusted friend…

            She rubbed her arm and glared furiously at me.

            “Get to the bathroom, now.” She grabbed at my wrist but before she had even reached me I was up on my feet, I didn’t need her physical touch to persuade me, I couldn’t fight her control anyway. “On your knees, head over the toilet.” I hesitated for less than a second before her hand was on the back of my head, pushing me towards the toilet bowl. She moved my own hand towards my mouth.

            “Don’t,” I said feebly but I knew it was no good. I had nothing on her.

            “Make yourself sick, I saw that chocolate bar in your hand. Have I taught you nothing?” 

She left me no time to respond as she shoved my hand into my mouth and further down my throat, and then I was violently, violently ill. After what seemed like a thousand years I lifted my head from the toilet bowl, weak from expelling the one morsel of food I’d had for days from my system. I turned shakily and slowly to her, barely noticing the cigarette burn on my own arm, hoping for the angry look on her bony face to be replaced with pride, but she was gone. And once again, I hadn’t heard the door open.

   She stayed with me for years, though not in the same way as that first month. We were no longer friends; she was simply a leader, a dictator. She would come and go like a ghost, she could walk through walls and break in doors without making a sound. I’d see her in the confectionary aisle, staring at the chocolate. I’d see her in the gym, sweating on a treadmill, glaring at me if I wasn’t doing the same. More than once she found me eating and the toilet scene was repeated. In my darkest moments I tried to hurt her, I’d go at her with blades but the cuts appeared on my wrists instead. I tried to put my cigarette out on her arm again during an argument, and the day after found I had two burn scars instead of one. She always, always won.

            Eventually, my friends and family became suspicious. They packed me off to a rehab centre where I was told on a daily basis that I had an eating disorder, and on a daily basis I told them I didn’t. Ana didn’t conform to the regulated visiting times, instead I’d find her sitting on my bed, waiting to tell me how clever I was for denying the claims. At first, I was glad to have her as a back up, someone that believed I didn’t have an eating disorder, but eventually I began to resent her presence. I’d shout at her until she evaporated from the room in her own special manner. I’d beat her until I couldn’t see her anymore. And I told everyone about her. My name’s Lily, and I have Anorexia.

            I beat it after four years of help, relapses and more help. I haven’t seen Ana now for six and a half years. I became too strong for her, I stopped turning down food and when I looked in the mirror I saw me, minus her skeletal figure hovering next to me. I saw only me, and I liked me. Against its best efforts, anorexia had lost.

Happy Birthday GaGa…

An illustration for the current ‘Queen of Pop’.

Apparently, Lady GaGa turns 24 (maybe?…24ish…) today. So as a present to her that she will never know is here or exists at all, my bamboo pen (if you still don’t know what this is, get up to speed here, SLOW COACH) and I collaborated to produce this. GaGa in one of her most peculiar outfits yet – in fact I’m not even sure I can refer to it as an outfit, because quite frankly, it scarcely exists. Who knew someone could look so fashion-tuned in that horrible CRIME SCENE – DO NOT CROSS tape that frequents less on the catwalks and more in CSI:NY. Nevertheless, she’s rocking it. Happy birthday Lady G.

A Feature Article – ‘Delicious yet affordable, please’

A feature article on the best places to eat in Bournemouth on a budget.

Last term we were required to write a feature article for our Professional Writing unit. The feature had to focus on an aspect of Bournemouth and be suitable for a local publication. We then had to design a spread in InDesign that was appropriate to the content of our feature. Here is the opening of my feature article, and below, the three pages created on InDesign. You can view the whole document and read the rest of my feature article here or if you simply want to read the text, click here.

“I found him waiting by the door of the restaurant looking fairly normal and untroubled, checking his watch casually to see how late I was. No one had really noticed him or given him a second glance, but then, why would they? This wasn’t an actor, a musician, a fashion designer. This was my Dad. My very own, unemployed, completely-and-utterly skint father.

“You’re late,” he said as he greeted me with a grin and gestured towards the door. “You get that from your mother, you know.” He laughed at my disgruntled face.

We weren’t, however, there to banter about my lateness or compare my traits to those of my relatives; we were in fact on a mission, a food mission. You see – my Dad has two qualities in which I really admire him. Firstly, he is the most intelligent man I know. Secondly, he has an insatiable desire for food, and although I said we weren’t going to be discussing our family traits, I can safely say that’s been passed on to me. We are a little obsessed with food.

Funny then, that neither of these qualities are apparent in my Dad at the moment. For one, he is not remotely overweight (and neither am I for that matter, lucky genes), and for two, he has been cruelly unemployed for nine and a half months. The economic climate has stripped his intelligence away from him, as it has with many, and left him jobless, foodless and teetering on the edge of homelessness.  He mostly eats beans, lentils and lots of green vegetables, and although he insists he enjoys them, I require a gas mask to enter his flat once they’ve been consumed (and digested) and frankly, I’ve had enough. I don’t intend to sit back and watch the cleverest man I know eat himself to horrendous flatulence when I can find him a good meal somewhere. So, when he told me he would be staying down in Bournemouth for a few days looking for work, I promised him some delicious yet affordable food. Now we just had to find it; our food mission.