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week twelve

The Captain’s Corner The final edition of Scope Magazine has finally arrived. It’s arrived quickly – only eight weeks since I took the role – but it’s felt much longer. To get to this point has required the support of a team whose tirelessly produced content throughout the semester. Without everyone who contributed it wouldn’t be possible for Scope to be a weekly. To everyone I’m entirely in your debt for such a great semester. This week’s Scope is slightly different with the top three Alumni Excellence Award Short Stories (and the VP’s Choice Award story) published for your enjoyment. They range from the comic to tragic and one even moved me enough for a single teardrop to roll down my cheek. They’re all rather excellent. This week is World AIDs Week and BUUNSA has got behind it with a variety of events. If your hungry at night FB message them at And on Thursday Don’s Tavern’s gone red. Come in red, get around red, and support a great cause. Also, this week the LSA’s hosting Dulce Week to get you all through the stresses of study and life with Yoga among other things. It’s a quieter week, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still find time to relax, come to Don’s, and join the boys at Vanity. On a final note, congratulations to all those who won at Exec Drinks. A special commedation to the recipient of the Kritin Bothra – the award that if rumour is true is rather ironic and very Bond – Matt McLean. The award is for an outstanding all round student and Matt, now in his final weeks, certainly is. Below is a short message recapping his time. That’s all from me. Good luck with exams. Farewell to those departing our ranks. And I expect to see you all out this Thursday. Jeffers

For the last time, a message from the Kritin Bothra recepient, and past President of BUSA Matt McLean: I’m told that my time at University will be the best days of my life. I hasten to believe this because it is hard to imagine life getting much better than my time here. On Friday night I was humbled to receive the Award of Kritin Bothra for 2013. Encouraged by this and more so by free alcohol, I joined with some of my oldest and closest friends to take the iconic midnight swim to the fountain. With this, my ‘Bond Bucket List’ is complete and my time at this University draws to an end. After almost four years, it is time to say ‘goodbye’ - or better yet - ‘see you later’. Thank you one and all. Matt

2 | scope

From the desk of the Cultural Clubs and Sports Clubs Directors Semester 133 has been jam packed full of cultural and sporting events, a birth of new initiatives and the continuing work of all our faculty student associations. Friday of Week 11 saw the executive members of all the clubs, associations and societies come together to celebrate their achievements at BUSA’s Executive Drinks. This semester, there was a record 704 votes for the awards given out on the evening. It was great to see the hard work of all clubs be acknowledged and praised on the evening. Congratulations to all our award winners for 133!

• Best Cultural Club: Bond University United Nations Student Association

• Best Cultural Event: Rotaract’s Death By Desserts

• Best FSA Event: BSA’s Palava

• Best FSA: Law Student’s Association

• Best Publication: LSA’s Bench Press

• Best Social Event: CLSA’s Halloween Party

• Best Social Justice Initiative: SPC’s The Kununurra Project

• Best Sporting Club: Bond University Netball Club

• Sporting Spirit Award: Bond University Cheerleading Club

• Best General Staff Member: Jenny Cuskelly

• Bonnie Whitehead Award for Social Justice: Alice McDonald (BUNSA)

• Contribution to Campus Life: Zoe Kaesehagen

• Service To Student: Matthew Boyce

• Kritin Bothra: Matthew McLean

That’s all from us! If you have any sporting/cultural club questions, please contact Mershell Pherm at or Jerk Blerkbern!

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content 07

Don’s Goes Red World AIDs Week

Women’s Welfare Hope Foundation




James Jeffree Chief Editor Sowmya Ram Features Editor Nick McLean Bondy Banter David Simmons Scoop Editor Rizal Redzuan Sport Editor Bridie O’Sullivan What’s On


Alumni Excellence Award Stories



Bondy Banter

Hal Quin Features Elin Jonsson Features Justine Landis-Hanley Bond Life Antony Scholefield Scoop Nicholas O’Hara-Boyd Scoop Teagan Ridley Sport

Contribution Connor McBain, Katie Cameron, Rupert Holden, Emma Wright, Lachlan Fea, Caitlin Liddelow






4 | scope

Ben Thangkam, James Mulholloand


What’s On

The views expressed in Scope are not necassarily the views of BUSA or the editorial sub-committee. © Bond University Student Association 2013

week 12 features


words by Connor McBain

Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome (AIDS) is

a disease of the human immune system  caused by infection with  Human Immunodeficiency Virus  (HIV). When the World Health Organisation last updated its records, 34 million People around the world had AIDS. In that period, 1.7 million people died as a consequence of the disease. It is not a disease concentrated in one particular region, class or ethnicity – it is global. It affects Australians, Americans, Europeans, Africans, and Asians without distinction. It has claimed 25 million people since its first recorded outbreak in 1981. Some of you will observe that the disease has killed more people than the First World War. It begs the question – what can you do about it? What can any of us do about it? The answer, for us at least, is simple. We can raise awareness. We can raise funds

that contribute to research. Research, which is aimed at eventually developing a cure for AIDS. It then becomes a question of not what one person can do about it, but what many can do. In 1998, the World Health Organisation declared the first World Aids Day. That day now transpires on December 1st every year. From November 24th until 1st December, HIV awareness week now takes place. The intent behind the week is to commemorate those lost, but more importantly, raise awareness and funds for the future fight against AIDS. For the last seven years, Bond University has hosted an event or multiple events to raise awareness about HIV and AIDS. Bond United Nations Students’ Association (BUUNSA) has been responsible for organising Bond’s contribution to the global fight against AIDS for a number of years now. This year, we aim to do more than ever and we need your help. This week BUUNSA will be cohosting Wednesday By The Water, our Underground Food Gang will

be providing much needed study sustenance, and we will be traversing the university grounds to seek donations for much needed AIDs research. Our own commemoration of World Aids Day will be taking place this Thursday with our event at Dons Tavern, that being ‘Dons Goes Red’. BUUNSA and its associated volunteers will be ever present during the week. Keep an eye out for our posters, keep an eye out for our personnel, and support the fight with what you can. We look forward to your help, and through Bond’s collective effort we aim to do what we can to contribute to the ‘Getting to Zero’ Campaign. Through collective and global action, it is hoped that campaign will prevent any further HIV infection and prevent any further AIDs related deaths. As Bondies, and global citizens, this week is the small amount we can do to benefit the many and we hope to see you there. S

scope | 5

features issue 8

A message from Women’s Welfare written by Katie Cameron

Bronwen Healy

‘family lunch.’ Sitting around a author of ‘trophy for grace’ table, enjoying a free meal and captivated a room full of female discussions with other women bondies (and Greg Hall) as she struggling in similar situations, told her story, with a chilling these resilient women form honesy, at the Women’s friendships, and in doing so find Welfare High Tea this semester. the support and care that they For those who weren’t there, it need to continue their battle was one of outstanding courage to start a new life. As well as and humility. Her determination the lunches, the Hope Haven to turn a terrible part of her life provides creative workshops, into something so positive was therapy, and prayer. They hold events on Valentines Day and inspirational for all there. Christmas for all those who Growing up in a loving have nowhere else to go. They family, with supportive and caring also make an effort to have parents, Bronwen’s upbringing birthday celebrations for their does not fit the stereotypical visitors, inviting the friends that familial environment one might they have made over their time expect. However, following a at the Hope Haven. destructive relationship and a While it is already series of bad circumstances doing such great work, The Bronwen ended up in a life of prostitution and drug addiction Hope Foundation has even for over 6 years. However, she greater vision of the future. fought against this life and is They are currently working now focused on using her past on establishing a community based outreach café that will to help other women’s futures. be titled ‘The Lovewell.’ The To do this she has created café will be run and serviced by the Hope Foundation, a national members of the foundation and charity based in Brisbane that the women of the community. is focused on assisting women They also have a long term who are seeking life change dream of establishing a from addiction and/or the sex residential rehabilitation farm industry. It is a foundation for these women called ‘Acres that provides women with an of Hope.’ incredible amount of support in times of unfathomable desperation. Every day they open their ‘Hope Haven’ to women from all walks of life and invite them to come visit for 6 | scope

care packages that they provide to women living in shelters. Over the next few weeks you will come across boxes situated around campus by us in the hope that each and every one of you is able to donate goods to this extremely worthwhile cause. We will have posters and brochures that outline what we would love for you to donate, but it basically just includes any items that are needed by women living in shelters. This includes shampoo, conditioner, soap, and sanitary items. You will also find members of the committee standing outside IGA in marketsquare if you’d like to donate goods there. We know that there are hundreds of fantastic ways you could be spending your money, whether it is on a smashed avo at blackboard or donating to another worthy cause. But If you could spare a few dollars to put towards an item that you know will be used by a women who would otherwise go without, The Hope Foundation, and the Women’s Welfare Society, would be incredibly grateful. For more information on the great work that they do, please visit www.

This incredible foundation would not exist without the continued support of others. That is why Bond’s Lots of love, Women’s Welfare Society is asking for your help with the Your BUWWS S

Alumni Excellence Awards Sitting around a table with other writers, Earnest Hemingway supposedly alleged that he could write

a story - with a beginning, middle and end; in less than 10 words. His companions wagered to the contrary. The result was simply:

“For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” This semester, in a brand new Medals competition, students were challenged to create an original piece of prose in the form of a short story. There were more entries then in any previous Medals

competition, and every single one was of an exceptionally high quality. Our esteemed judges, Professor Raoul Mortley, Adjunct Professor Rob Layton and President of BUSA Melanie Hayden, had an extremely difficult time deciding the final result.

This Alumni Student Excellence Medal is designed to create a legacy at Bond, and encourage student excellence and creativity. The goal is to continue the stories over the years and eventually see them

bound as a Bond Book of Short Stories. This book of stories is aimed to encourage an artistic culture

at Bond, and an attachment to the works and thoughts of students that can be distributed to new students, current students and alumni.

Since the competition’s initiation in 2011, the Medals has seen Persuasive Essays, Public Speaking, Visual Arts and many other innovative ideas. Each competition has cash prizes drawn from the

Alumni Annual Fund, very ably administered by the Alumni and Development Office. Under the new direction of the Advocacy Director next year, the Medals competition will kick off with a Soapbox Speech.

The winners from the Short Story Competition are: 1st Place: Rupert Holden with ‘They Would Be Young Forever.’ 2nd Place: Emma Wright with ‘Silence’ 3rd Place: Justine Landis-Hanley with ‘Not with a Bang but with a Whimper’ Vice President’s Choice: Lachlan Fea with ‘Mint Slice: Tales of a Shipwreck.’ The stories can be read in the following pages of Scope. Luke Lovegrove

Vice President (Education)

stories issue 8

They would be young together Rupert Holden - Winner

With a shove, Jack was sent

sprawling onto the dry yellowing grass as his classmates stampeded past, each eager to be the first to shatter the lake’s smooth surface.

8 | scope

Jack was left to gingerly pull

week 12 stories fact, since starting at his new limbs became ungainly, twisted,

himself up, dust down his brand

school, Jack had proved himself and interwoven whilst his body

new blazer, and straighten his to be something of a sensation.

convulsed hideously. Yes, the

tie before retiring on the bank. He was greatly admired for his

shaking was the worst, as he

Jack had done this every day for piano playing, drawing, and was writhed like a man possessed. the past two months, staring on clever enough to command respect

Jack’s mouth would loll open

jealously as the boys from school without coming across as priggish.

whilst his tongue whipped up a

performed this daily ritual. By Perhaps most importantly to his pool of thick froth that he coughed now, some were stripped down to

classmates, Jack had an enviable up upon the hollow waxy features

the waist, and heedlessly leapt into

rapport with the girls from the

of his sunken face. Each time his

the thick purple and blue water, neighbouring school. Conversation face wore the same expressionfeeling it sooth their sunburnt seemed to come naturally to him, an unknowing and unsuspecting skin. All that could be seen was an

and he had an unassuming type of

appearance of agony.

array of heads and arms, bobbing charm that set him apart from the up and down, accompanied by a other 15 year-olds at his school. cacophony of splashing, laughter Nor was there anything in Jack’s and gurgling from the water.

Every doctor and specialist

outward appearance that could had been consulted, but none could account for his apparent exclusion. find a cure for such a singular case. He had an athletic build, long, The instructions were always the

The boys were so absorbed slender limbs, and neat brown same. Constant supervision. Avoid

in their games that they seldom

hair that fell into a fringe, framing strenuous activities – in particular

turned back towards the sloping

his pale green eyes. There was climbing and swimming. Keep him

bank that led down towards the openness to his expression that

out of harm’s way. Wrap him up in

lake. Had they done so, they might ensured he won friends easily and bubble paper. Never leave him by have noticed Jack Crowcombe, was generally well liked.


a solitary figure, who sat all afternoon in the glaring heat, only

half obscured by the long grass.

These turns were acutely

Yet there was a problem. embarrassing for Jack. He had to

It was hideously uncomfortable. Over the years Jack had become

plead with his parents to avoid them

Jack could feel his sun-scorched prone to what his mother always making a warning announcement at skin throbbing on his nose and the referred to as ‘a series of little

school assembly. After all, no one

back of his neck. This combined turns’, when really it was far worse going to a new school wanted to with the sickly feeling of needing than that. The effects of these be immediately scrutinised, placed to peel his shirt from his sweaty ‘turns’ were downright frightening, under a microscope, examined by armpits every quarter of an hour or and sent all who knew Jack into a his peers and then be deemed mad, so, only made his wish to join his

frenzy of panic about his health. volatile; or worse, a burden. So

classmates more profound.

With almost no warning, Jack’s no one knew. In the earlier days, body would become limp, before

Jack had found the other boys’

he keeled over like a wounded entreaties to join them at the lake

Jack had not been excluded animal, hitting the floor with a far easier to resist, and he liked it

because he was unpopular. In

dull thud. Those already long that he was asked every day despite scope | 9

stories issue 8 his unwavering



after a month, the invitations had

The next moment, Jack like pollen particles into the still summer air. Sam seemed to spark felt the dandelion against his

stopped, and Jack began to feel the


weight of his monstrous condition

bearing heavier upon his happiness than before. He despaired that the invitations would never come

tongue as Sam shoved it roughly

“Can I show you something in his mouth. Jack coughed and with them dandelions? The other spluttered, artlessly picking the guys did this to me yesterday. If sodden threads off pollen off his

again, and it was a thought that

you break off the stem, and hide it tongue whilst Sam whooped with some there on your body, I can use joy. Jack didn’t realise that the

silently tortured and obsessed

the head of it to find out where it’s

him. This was the reason Jack had waited on the bank each day for

hidden. The top of it will kind of the lake. The boys ran over to mock Jack for falling for the prank bend towards it.’

two months, whilst untruthfully

so easily. While Jack was still

assuring his parents that he was

off-guard, it seemed only fitting

staying back at school under the strictest supervision.

Jack was so lost in his

thoughts that afternoon that he

others had been watching from

something that the jokes should continue mischievous about the way Sam at his expense. Four of the boys explained this, but Jack was so grabbed Jack by the hands and



bored that he was willing to play legs and began to drag him down along. Sam closed his eyes, while towards the lake, clothes and all.

barely noticed the patter of feet

Jack hid the stem in his blazer Jack wasn’t doing much to resist. He was tired of being left out and pocket.

that drew in close behind him. It

knew this was the temptation he

was Sam Briggson – always last out of class, always keeping others

“Ok” Jack said, “find out had been waiting for. He could join in, he was sure. He had swum where it is.”

waiting. Sam was friendly enough,

before hadn’t he? Plus, he hadn’t

and had a simple optimism about

had one of his turns for more than

him even though most of the other boys couldn’t stand him! But Jack was relieved to see him, if only to break the silence of the last hour. Sam seemed flattered when Jack

Jack felt like he was at an a year now – he might even be airport, as Sam used the dandelion getting better. But none of that

like a metal detector, screening really mattered, because this was his legs and arms slowly and the moment to decide whether

asked how he was, and mumbled

deliberately. After a while, Sam he’d join his friends, or spend the rest of his school years being alone smiled and said:

good-naturedly that he was well,

on the grass as a hapless bystander.

in that broad Australian accent of his. A moment later, Sam began

to peel off his shirt, revealing a pallid obtuse belly that was riddled

Without another moment You need to open up like you’re at of forethought, Jack was hurled the dentist.”

with stretch marks. The sight

into the lake and hit the water with

“I think it’s in your mouth.

was so repulsive that Jack turned

away, and distracted himself by

reply, but still he complied.



a crash. It felt brilliant! He would languish away on the bank no


longer, and the thrill of the harmless

dandelion and blowing its cotton-

rebellion was exhilarating. For

10 | scope


“It’s not.” Came Jack’s

week 12 stories once Jack felt that his adolescence “Nooooo” the boys replied, wanted to cry out but he couldn’t. wasn’t flickering by him. He didn’t as though they were spectators at It felt as though his body had care if he was caught – he didn’t some violent pantomime. become completely locked away care about anything. Jack didn’t from him, beyond his control, and even care that he was immediately

he sank beneath the laughter in the

made ‘it’ by the other boys, who

promptly began a game of Marco

gathered in intensity. What began whole weight of the world was

Polo. He was thrust into the centre,

as prods and pokes had turned into pressing in upon his eardrums, his

encircled by his classmates, who

harsh slaps that left sore pink hand nostrils, and finally his lungs. Then

The flurry of attacks soon

dark, murky water in anguish. The

had fasted a drenched handkerchief marks on Jack’s skin. The boys Jack lost his senses completely. over his eyes. had become completely fearless and the water around Jack became turbulent, bubbling and ricocheting


to and fro. Meanwhile, the circle

There was a small service

drew in closer and closer and the at school the following day. The attacks began coming from every headmaster addressed a silent, angle. Jack spun around constantly mournful assembly. No one could in a kind of lame pirouette, looking bear to meet the tearful gaze of like a wild, tormented dancer. He Jack’s mother, who came in to give peeled of the names; Davies, Nick, a speech. Only two of the boys had Will, Joe, Sam in a strident and seen the danger, but were not able desperate tone that was practically to drag Jack out in time. The others drowned out by the boys’ jeers. had actually left. They saw Jack’s Jack wasn’t having fun anymore, crazed movements grow more and



water and he ripped of the blindfold. more erratic. So they departed was still around him and there He was scant of breath, frantic, anxiously towards the bank, feeling was almost complete silence. Each and thrashing around in that pool that Jack’s desperate-seeming zeal wondered who would go first. A of laughter. He could no longer had ruined their game. ripple, then a stir, followed by a see the faces around him – each colossal splash as Jack felt a thick had become little more than an set of fingers dig into his back.

amorphous blur encircling and

“Chris?” he cried.

entrapping him. He felt his limbs the lake today can still observe






the begin to tire and stiffen as if the solemn cross, enshrouded chorus around him, in between paralysed, only to be awakened by by flowers and farewell notes peals of laughter. irregular jolts as he struggled to scribbled in childish writing. It keep his head above water.

stands amongst the tall grass on the bank where Jack so often sat.

In a flash, the same jab

The only other change is a harsh

of fingertip and nail pressed into Jack felt sick, his head metal fence that surrounds the Jack’s flesh. He whirled around slumped beneath the water – he circumference of the dark, still saying, “That was Sam!” couldn’t breathe. Help! Help! He lake. S scope | 11

stories issue 8

Silence Emma Wright - First Ruinner Up

She tugs

the embedded pin from her body and watches as her blood materializes. She smears it across her concave stomach, lodging her hands underneath her ribcage. Her reflection taunts her, casing her protruding bones and emaciated frame in layers of flesh. 12 | scope

Her hands tremble from exhaustion, and fastens it securely around the body yearns for warmth. She mouth of the bag, then thrusts it reaches for her nightgown that into a crevice on her bookshelf. rests on her vacant bed. Slipping it Her teeth are discoloured, gums over her head, it engulfs her figure.





She crouches to the floor, bones retching. She runs her fingers grinding against one another, and through her auburn hair, and they raises a plastic bag to her cracked emerge intertwined with strands lips. Inaudibly, she regurgitates of her once wholesome locks. the spoonful of yogurt her mother They twirl downwards to the forced into her that morning. She

floor, frolicking to the sound and

extracts a hair tie from a pocket resonance of her silence. The girl’s on her voluminous nightgown somnolent eyes flood; her mascara

smudges, producing a vein-like body for months, sustained only by

week 12 stories the partnership she had with her

blueprint on her gaunt cheeks. Her

weight loss tablets ingested with a clandestine

framework is defaced, tattooed in

mouthful of coffee, after purging continues to seduce her, promising

friend. The


lacerations, carved by the demon her body of the calories forced into her so many things. She couldn’t that has possessed her spirit. The


her by her credulous family. She

remember ever being happy, but

encounters darkness.

she knew the only path to happiness


lay in this very special friendship. *****

subsists by eight straightforward rules: if you are not thin, you are

She was cold. The hunger

not attractive. Being thin is more

The girl’s mother and father pangs had finally given way to a

critical than being healthy; the

are seated in a cramped hospital dull ache where her stomach used

number on the scale is imperative. room, subsequent to discovering to be. Tired, so very tired. It was Do not consume without feeling their daughter collapsed on her time to sleep. culpable. Do not devour calorific

bedroom floor, scarcely breathing.

food without punishing yourself

They’re stagnant, absorbing the



As she rests her head on

calories surge of realism enforced upon the lenient pillow, she is acutely them by a stern physiatrist who

aware of the soft pounding of her

Losing weight is a positive, sits opposite them. They clutch a

shrunken heart. Every beat seems

and confine intake accordingly. gaining weight is a negative.

picture of their anorexic daughter to hang in the air, time slowing

Under no circumstances can you

in their trembling hands, cheeks until each weak contraction seems

be too thin. Being thin and limiting

stained from their irrepressible to last a lifetime. Her breathing

consumption are signs of potency

tears. “Your daughter’s treatment becomes shallower. Her mind

and attainment.

must be handled carefully,” the physiatrist


starts to drift.


She makes an attempt to parents are overcome by an

The voice was there. All

stand, but her legs buckle under unrivalled ache as they come to the the time comforting, tempting, her weight. The domineering realisation that their daughter’s life promising, but even it is getting voice



conscience is waning on account of a demonic weaker now. Her conscious mind

persuades her not to succumb

paralysis they failed to detect, fades, her thoughts no longer


that’s been suckling upon their




coherent. S

surrender to the adversary. The daughter’s insecurities. voice converses with its prey, persuading it that starvation is

In a separate room, the

the key to contentment. She drags brittle girl is reclined, tubes her flaccid body across the carpet,

protruding from her nose, needles

an inundation of torrential tears

ingesting her blood. She knew, at

blurring her vision. The hunger is

this moment, she was winning. She

unbearable. She has not reserved

knew that the doctors, even her

any nutriment in her moribund parents, were powerless against scope | 13

stories issue 8

Not with a bang, but with a whimper Justine Landis-Hanley- Second Ruinner Up

Charlie didn’t get up that morning. When the pre-programmed alarm clock blasted the track in his numerically ordered Simon and Garfunkel playlist, he did not smack it into submission and leap from its wake. The 17 yearold allowed himself a moment to drift from unconsciousness, eyes closed, until the verse segued to the first chorus. After carefully redistributing the feathers in his pillow so that it slumped into a semi-plumped form, Charlie pushed himself upright, rested 14 | scope

his head against the jarringly flat wooden backboard, and listened to the sound of silence until it clicked over to nothingness. He thought the whole thing was simultaneously melancholic and ironic in a rather romantic sort of fashion. The sort of thing he would like people to grin and marvel at for its cleverness, its originality. If it hadn’t already been done in several rom-coms. Charlie didn’t get up that morning. He wanted to listen to his favourite song for a change as he thought through his plan for the

day. Today was a very important day. He stared directly at the wall ahead of him, counting the blue lines of his wallpaper, each one a slightly different shade and width. Manufacturer’s imperfections. But Charlie knew that it was time to start the day. Today was the day he would write the final chapter of the novel. 42. There were 42 lines. Funny, he had never thought to count them before today. ‘It’s the little things in life’. The people

in the street were always pulling that optimistic phrase from their arsenal of excuses to justify the insignificance of their daily tasks. They made choresheets to track the task’s completion. Pressed 99 cent gold stars next to their name as a self-appointed exemplification of their sense of accomplishment.

The cursor continued to blink.

week 12 stories

Ah, of course Charlie… Charlie wrote, “Percy stood at the edge of the shore, allowing the shells to cut into his bare feet. He didn’t care. His oversized brown pants of days come and gone rolled above his ankle, glistening damp at the edge from the salt Charlie’s slow morning start was the spray.” result of his intense intellectual quandary. He was contemplating the ending to his final work of the The cursor continued to blink. series. Ensuring he had considered all potential outcomes and chosen correctly. Charlie… why aren’t you typing? Remember, that your book is due tomorrow morning at Charlie wiped his hands across his white cotton sheet, erasing the crumples, the imperfections. The sharp thud of flesh connecting with wood He thought this was something that people with more silenced the voice. Charlie rubbed the blossoming time than meaning would do to fill the void of unfilled bruise on his right hand absentmindedly. From units. Smooth out all the crinkles. Aesthetic perfection somewhere deep within he croaked, for personal satisfaction. How quaint, he thought. “There’s a grief no longer spoken for I have Charlie, realising the error of the time he been and paid that token, wasted this morning, knew he needed to begin the Token that grants release from forgotten pages of day. forlorn, Of demise, plaguing indecision! For lack of a better Charlie closed his eyes and let his head vision, that would burst upon my page to be cheered compress the feathers of his pillow. by one and all, Would I fear again?” With his newfound energy, Charlie jumped out of bed and marched purposefully over to his writing No Charlie! Nevermore. desk, where the manuscript of the book lay. He snapped his hand at the computer screen. With a sigh, the young boy rubbed the rings from beneath his eyes and stumbled across the ill- “So once again, are lines of writing, laden timber floors to collapse, as he usually did, in Of my tales of self-invoked fighting, the well-worn chair before his desk. From there he That people far and wide have paid me money just to could see the people move about the street outside his read. window; putting the rubbish bins out on a Thursday You don’t realize what we have done here, morning. Sometimes they waved to each other. He At the start, to me, you weren’t clear, wondered what that must be like. About the detrimental, catastrophic nature of our ploy.” Ideas practically spilling out his fingertips, Charlie turned the computer on and began writing. What nature plagues you Charlie? Tell me and it will do so nevermore. Charlie jerked his head towards the computer and jabbed the glistening surface until he found the Charlie picked up the stack of perfectly power button. The modem whirred to life archaically. pressed pages, running his hands over each blackened A blank word document faded onto the screen, the letter imprinted on its front. The words choked him. cursor blinking impatiently for him to type. “Once I could look upon life so far and Charlie began writing the epic conclusion to reaching, his best-selling series. He could practically hear the take it in upon my teaching, buzz of anticipation circulating the street. leach from its preaching thought original to us all. But the blank page brewed and spluttered, scope | 15

stories issue 8 So to you dear narrator, I muttered, “Can we strike a compromise to keep my literary success galore?

But your fear of failure is nevermore!

His fists wound tight, crumpling the glossy manuscript in its jaws. He shook it at the voice somewhere above his head. Hot droplets collected and ran lines down his face. “Can’t you see my work is stewn, with borrowed phrases of Eliot and Poe; Auden and Cummings, So it is questionable what thoughts belong to them or you, and those to me. My success is not real, Merely stolen in a deal, With your devilish voice that plants their vision inside my head and tells me ‘write!’

The way it is forevermore.

“Oh dear creature”, the boy professed, confessions pouring from his chest, erupting from his lips as he professed to his window and the street beyond. “Please release me from your clutches, Set me free from you crutches, So I may run spritely to the open expanse before my feet. Then Charlie just write, whatever you want forever more.

The cursor continued to blink.

The cursor continued to blink.

“I am not trapped now by some blank page, by lack of new thought I am not caged, But rather the plaguing inability to birth new thought from that already gone.” Don’t you realize, can’t you see it, There is no originality, not one bit, This mere conversation is nothing but a replication of a poem about Ravens once fawned upon. Charlie please, STOP IT AT ONCE.

Beat. Beat. The cursor continued to blink.

Charlie was lying on his back against the cool timber paneling, allowing the groves of imprecisely 16 | scope

laid flooring to cut into his back. He didn’t care. He welcomed their reminder of reality. When he spoke, the words escaped as a whisper. When I look outside the window, all I see is a group of people absentmindedly mowing their lawns and keeping their business to themselves, and enjoying the fact that nothing new is resulting from their existence, because they fail to recognise the little contribution they make to the evolution of society. They don’t realize the masquerade we have been parading for them because they do not indulge in the work we provide in its first instance. They don’t realise the meaningless of their creation.” His hand swept the floor, stopping on the strewn flaps of pages. He gingerly picked up the first page of the discarded mess and read. “The yellow mountains were submerged in a purple fog that clawed fear in the pit of Percy’s stomach” We wrote that Charlie. You can’t claim that is borrowed from anyone else. For a moment the room was still, all but for the churning of the ceiling fan. A dull rumbling settled in the air, building, escaping in round broken wails that shook the boy’s slender frame like an electric shock. “Can’t you see? Can’t you see dear voice?” he yelled at the air. “Any new thought of you or I or any of them is not original even when we genuinely believe it to be so. It’s just the mere product of several components that already exist in our reality placed together.”

He rolled onto his side.

“Two plus two equals four. I cannot change that. Even if I say two plus two equals six, I’m not making something right, and I am not creating anything that is not put together already out of components that were not already discovered by someone else. A mountain is a mountain and yellow is yellow, and merely placing them together doesn’t create some original form.”

Charlie, I don’t understand the poi-

“My life is meaningless”, Charlie screamed,

until the sound crept red across his face. “I cannot give anything that is not already there! I’m not contributing!”

week 12 stories hovering tentatively over the trigger. His reflection stared back, the pupil quivering, like an ink splodge on wet paper- the edges fraying veins. Frightened. Disbelieving. Attempting to discern a bluff.

Slowly, he sat up, using the window frame as leverage, and stared out the glass to the people waving at each other over their neighbouring fence. “I’m just one of them; the people in the street. Devoid of any real chance at meaning.”

But his hands never shook. And for once the voice had nothing to say. ********

It didn’t take long for the others to find them. But Charlie, they love you. Think of how many And when they did, the screams began, and the people you make happy through your books! Your people ran. And hope cast its ignorance across every parents, your publishers! The people who want to player in the game called Chinese whispers. And for hear what happens to Percy. a moment they waited, ears ready, to receive the news of miracles and good tidings and cast it like an anchor “Percy is nothing but your deceitful replication into the evening soup bowls of Pitt Street. of Eliot’s Prufrock. These words aren’t my words narrator! Why can’t you see -“ It never came. Eventually they stopped listening out for good news, and returned to their Charlie pulled a tiny gold key from his pajama evening soup bowls to realise that it was just soup. shirt pocket, bent down to the bottom draw of his wooden desk and inserted it into the tiny lock. They found him lying in his bed, still wearing his pajama, his eyes staring blankly at the wall in Charlie… Charlie what are you doing!? front of him. The drawer popped open, and he reached into At first they sent his publishers. When he its depths, pulling out a dark, grey revolver. didn’t respond to their threats of lawsuits, they sent a doctor. Upon finding nothing physically wrong Charlie decided to put the key back. with him, they sent a series of psychologists. When he refused to talk to them, they threw around words He walked across his room, past his bed to the like ‘catatonic’ to ensure their medical reputability mirror that hung on the opposite wall to his desk. through solutions and answers. He didn’t tell them what was wrong, or that he had placed the gun back Charlie decided put the gun down. in his bottom drawer, climbed back into bed and listened to the sound of silence until it was broken by He weighed the revolver gingerly in his hands. the thunder of curious feet. CHARLIE PUT THE GUN DOWN, PICKED UP HIS PAPERS AND WENT BACK TO WRITING.

“I’m no longer doing what you say narrator”

And for the second time that morning the room fell silent.

Charlie, if you die, I will die with you.

On his computer, the cursor continued to blink. And because he still couldn’t find the words, he had borrowed an ending from someone else. Titled “The End”. followed by two sentences in Times New Roman. “For this is way the world ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper”. S

“Exactly”. Cocking the barrel, Charlie pointed the gun straight at the slender boy in front of him, his finger scope | 17

stories issue 8

VP’s Choice Award

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As a boy, I grew

up in a small discarded flask on the outskirts of Mozambique, raised by a herd of wild giraffe, where I was forced to live off the land. Communication was initially difficult for us, but over a period of about fifteen years we came to realise that we shared common interests: feeding, exploring and sunbathing. One day, as we traversed the native terrain, we haphazardly discovered a disastrous shipwreck along the coast; a tragic sight to behold. Curious as we were, we slowly approached - and by this time, I’d managed to create a Giraffe saddle using only my body hair - the wreck, where we were anxiously met by a disheveled, old, sea captain – a baker from the West. His name was Captain Arnott. His gray beard, akin to a medieval seawizard’s, was caught by the howling wind and blown around his wrinkled face like a tumbleweed in a hurricane; his blistered lips, charred from the enduring heat, swollen and battered like a Fillet O’ Fish special; his large blue eyes, albeit damaged from the sun, remained vigilant. Wearing a rugged brown tunic, seemingly handcrafted from baking paper, lentils and geese hairs, the man stood withered, but firm. As he, nor his ship, was in any condition to sail home to his bakery in the city of Newcastle, the herd accepted him on condition that he teach us the ways of the West.

week 12 stories esque coconut bra to protect his The years that followed sensitive nipples from the salty, were some of the best of my life. chilled air of the sea. Captain Arnott was not only an esteemed baker, but a philanthropist, an entrepreneur and a scholar; he The sun arose, and with taught me to read and write, and to it dawned the prospects of a new twerk, but his greatest gift was one day. While scavenging the remains he shared with us on a warm sum- of the old, creaking, waterlogged mer’s eve, sitting atop the golden wreck, we learned of an in-tact dunes of the distant desert island. packet of Mint Slice in the ship’s “Have you ever heard of galley; one of thousands of fortuMint Slice?” he posed, raising one nate survivors that were coincieyebrow quizzically. dentally undamaged in the voyage. And thus, it was written. We ate, we laughed, and we celebrated. “What is Mint Slice?” I Today was the day. retorted in an anxious flurry of interest, only to be met with a single tear of joy on the old man’s face, Unfortunately, we later diswhich penultimately evaporated covered that the entire giraffe herd into a rainbow of dreams before was diabetic (genetics can be cruexploding in the night sky. With a el) and so they soon perished under sudden clamor, Arnott burst from the weight of the sugary treats. his seat and disappeared into the Arnott and I spent the next foliage of the nearby jungle. What few months repairing the ship usseemed like only moments later, he ing tanned giraffe leather, which returned with haste, short of breath was now in abundance, and then and clutching in his right hand a set sail for Australia, which I now rare Mozabiquian coconut, and in call my home and write to you his left, assorted herbs and oils, from. one of which was mint. Returning to his seat after a brief Pilates demMint Slice changed my onstration, ingredients in hand, life, and so I wanted to share my he muttered some magic words, experience with you. Arnott was smashed the coconut in half using the bravest man I ever knew. S a nearby rock, and entwined the herbs to create a long, minty string which would bind the two coconut halves together on a hinge. We didn’t actually eat any Mint Slice that night, but the captain did craft himself a very stylish, Hawaiianscope | 19

photos issue 8

week twelve

Photographer: Rory Murdoch | James Mulholland | James Jeffree Events: Exec Drinks | BASIC’s Frat Party | Death by Desserts | Alumni Awards

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week 12 photos

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photos issue 8

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week 12 photos

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photos issue 8

oh dear bond pt 2 Photographer: Your worst enemy…

Events: The ones you wish you’d stayed in for…

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week 12 photos

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bondy banter issue 8


While you’ve all been out t hard at work rummaging th

Hello children,

How are we all?

Hungover lads?

Wearing even shorter skirts ladies in an attempt to acquire those last few templates?

Now onto the events of the week and the tantalising titbits you’ve supplied me with! So let’s be sequential and start from the beginning, a very good place to start, so first we begin with the Cambus Wallace Shenanigans that I last left you for, sa-la-di long time ago… Congrats to the HMSA kids on a job well done. The job of turning up, drinking and accepting certificates. Because you were all uncontested and we all know what a joke uncontested positions are. But in all honestly love ya’s, and a bit of advice from a seasoned Bondy: take time to escape from your dark and dingy faculty every now and again to party with us, last year the new committee deprived us of their company for way too long!

And then Tuesday – everyone was DTF – and no the third word I’m implying is not ‘Frat’. Most definitely not, especially for a certain group that left early. Because we hear if Pitbull was

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banter Bond

to play, Miss Bond’s been hrough the dirt. singing it would go along the lines of ‘take me to the blocks: one plus two, plus three’.

week 12 bondy banter



Executive Decisions Dear Dr Bond, Whilst at Exec Drinks, I decided to become

So all the Cats turned up for our man Fritzy’s birthday, all ready for a good time – which is what absolutely makes Miss Bond’s day! Happy Birthday Fritzy and well done - we hear that you did well and got higher on a cat for the photographic evidence.

a shareholder in a very profitable business structure. Suffice to say, I incorporated her association. Unfortunately, I implicitly violated equitable principles, as this particular agent turned out to be already involved in another fiduciary’s relationship. In order to save the

And for those that were wondering about Exec drinks… they’re not relevant – apparently you needed to be ‘a committee member’ to go so all I’m saying is ‘you need to be interesting’ to make it onto my radar. This week was also exciting with many of you finding your way up into the arms of schoolies. Classy kids. Speaking of people up in arms this weekend: the photos that sent trollers trolling and haters hating on the GR spam that clogged newsfeeds. I personally see it more as a trade off – she gets to be a doctor and we get mines… sorry tonnes of new sparkly ‘learning equipment’. It’s all about passing it forward lovelies. Now with no elections to hate on let’s finish with a quick note on some old competition. The previous king of health leading the ladies on… tut, tut…the tops a long way to fall.

skin of my personal portfolio, how do I keep my violation of her proprietary limited status from becoming known to the Bond bubble’s public registrar? - Director for Mergers & Acquisitions A: Piercing the corporate veil was a poor business strategy on your part my man – research is key for hostile takeovers, especially a rival company’s assets. Fallout may be inevitable, which will result in a drop in the stock value of the shares; internal management is obviously prone to wild fluxes regarding supply and demand, I fear you will be a victim of Caveat Emptor. As an avid financial assessor, I feel your best option is to invest into her sister subsidiaries, mitigating your dependence on the outcome of her monthly dividends.

xoxo Miss Bond

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THE LSA's w { DULCE WEEK } w Helping You Relax in Week 12


Survival Show Bags

Think: Lollies, BBP and Value 10:00am to 2:00pm ---- Outside the Law Faculty Wednesday

Yoghurt and Yoga

Think: Yoga, Fruit and Zen 5:00pm to 6:00pm ---- Outside the Law Faculty Thursday

Beneficial Breakfast

Think: Pastries, Coffee and Fulfilment 9:00am to 10:30am ---- Outside the Law Faculty

week 12 scoop

The Best of 2013 To mark the conclusion of the academic term of Bond and the final edition of Scope for 2013 the writers for Scoop have compiled their best of lists for the year. DAVID SIMMONS – SCOOP EDITOR

TOP 10 ALBUMS 1. Pure Heroine - Lorde Pure Heroine is one of the most amazing debuts I have had the pleasure of hearing. In a glorious mix of pop and indie dance music, Lorde explores the concept of growing up, the music industry, and turns the mundane into the fascinating in a deconstruction of middle class suburban life. 2. Yeezus – Kanye West 3. Not Art – Big Scary 4. ARTPOP – Lady Gaga 5. Settle - Disclosure 6. Random Access Memories – Daft Punk 7. Save Rock and Roll – Fall Out Boy 8. M b v – My Bloody Valentine 9. Halcyon Days – Glass Towers 10. Hanging Gardens - Classixx

TOP 5 FILMS 1. The Great Gatsby This year Baz Luhrman brought to life F. Scott Fitzgerald’s masterpiece about decadence and upper class exuberance in fine form. One of the ‘as if you haven’t seen that films’ of 2013, Gatsby prevailed as a very artistic Hollywood piece. Helped along by the incredible talent of Leonardo DiCaprio and Carey Mulligan, I would highly suggest you download this amazing film. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Spring Breakers Django Unchained Prisoners Gravity

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scoop issue 8

SONG OF THE YEAR ‘Tennis Court’ by Lorde Easily my most played song of the year, Tennis Court supersedes the musicality demonstrated by her mega hit ‘Royals’. I can’t decide if it’s the catchy chorus hook, the quirky synth jabs or the amazing vocals which make ‘Tennis Court’ my song of the year, but I do know that it is worthy of its title.

NICHOLAS O’HARA-BOYD – SCOOP SUB-EDITOR TOP 10 ALBUMS 1. Wise Up Ghost and Other Songs – Elvis Costello and the Roots Every year a couple of dynamo musicians stylistically more at odds than Catarina Migliorini and a daughter you’d have been proud to raise will come together and lay down a track or two. Bob Dylan and Kurtis Blow did it for the mega fly Street Rock, the Jonas Brothers and Common did it for the cataclysmic chunder anthem Don’t Charge Me For the Crime, and now, in 2013, sharp-witted pop-rock patron Costello and the exquisite – often ‘session musician’ pigeon holed – Roots band come together to gang bang the shit out of some killer tunes. This, for me, is the album of the year. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

Electric Slave – Black Joe Lewis Paradise Valley – John Mayer The Beast in its Tracks – Josh Ritter The Music is You: A Tribute to John Denver Pure Heroine – Lorde Marshall Mathers LP 2 – Eminem Magpie and the Dandelion – The Avett Brothers 9. Kiss Land – The Weeknd 10. Child Ballads – Anais Mitchell & Jefferson Hamer

TOP 5 FILMS 1. The Act of Killing Sometimes you have to go hunting to find a masterpiece. 2013 won’t ever be remembered as a year of outstanding cinema, but Oppenheimer’s The Act of Killing will, as long as humanity and soul are revered within our culture, stand the test of time. A documentary challenging former Indonesian death squad leaders to re-enact their real-life massacres, Oppenheimer describes his opus as being, “an effort to understand the moral vacuum that makes it possible for perpetrators of genocide to be celebrated with cheers and smiles.” This film will change your life. 2. 3. 4. 5.

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Blue Jasmine Before Midnight Elysium Mud

week 12 scoop SONG OF THE YEAR ‘I Will Be Found (Lost at Sea) by John Mayer John Mayer’s I Will Be Found (Lost at Sea) takes my cake for being 2013’s best song. Lines like the Queen of California throwback “I saw her face and I could tell my ghost had left her town as well” and the autobiographic “I might have strayed a bit too far; I’m counting all the moonlit stars” look naff out of melody, but with an undeniable McCartney-esque refrain, it makes for a killer track. As up-lifting as it is sing-along worthy.

ANTONY SCHOLEFIELD – SCOPE SUB-EDITOR TOP 10 ALBUMS 1. …Like Clockwork – Queens Of The Stone Age ...Like Clockwork might be to alt-rock what Dark Side of the Moon is to prog-rock. It’s also a record of contradictions. It’s industrious yet fantastical, heavy yet seductive, cynical yet existentialistic. All that’s certain is that Queens frontman Josh Homme absolutely doesn’t give a shit about anything - except his art. There’s nothing stunningly original about Clockwork. Instead, it’s a culmination of everything that came before - Dinosaur Jr, Pearl Jam, Nirvana, even Oasis - viciously trimmed into 10 tight tracks. It proves that art doesn’t have to be inaccessible, and rock doesn’t have to cheap and nasty. Best of all? It’s not fucking Yeezus.

2. Steal The Light – The Cat Empire 3. Hesitation Marks – Nine Inch Nails 4. Modern Vampires of the City – Vampire Weekend 5. Tomorrow’s Harvest – Boards Of Canada 6. Save Rock and Roll – Fall Out Boy 7. Push The Sky Away – Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds 8. Wolf’s Law – The Joy Formidable 9. Trouble Will Find Me – The National 10. ARTPOP – Lady Gaga

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scoop issue 8 TOP 5 FILMS 1. The World’s End The World’s End is the spiritual sequel to Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz. This means that those who didn’t get the previous films will revive the same complaint. For a critically-acclaimed comedy, it lacks guffaw-out-loud moments, a la The-Avengers-punygod. This, I argue, is because it’s not actually a comedy. And despite the alien robots, it’s not a sci-fi either. I argue that World’s End transcends any genre; it’s just pure, visceral storytelling. Hot Fuzz may actually be funnier, but World’s End compensates with its ascension into inspirational cheesiness. You can peck apart Life of Pi, but the spectacular, self-conscious silliness of World’s End renders all criticisms moot, because you’ll never get bored, and you won’t stop smiling. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Life of Pi Star Trek: Into Darkness The Great Gatsby Oblivion

SONG OF THE YEAR ‘Get Lucky’ by Halestorm ‘Get Lucky’ is undoubtedly a prefect pop song, on paper: danceable, upbeat, technically flawless, and tolerant of a hundred covers and remixes. In practice, however, it’s six minutes long, and Pharrell Williams’ vocals, while pitch-perfect, don’t sound like he’s up all night to get lucky. They sound like he’s fallen asleep already. Enter Halestorm, Grammy-winning hard rockers led by sexalicious songstress Elizabeth Hale. They’re no two-bit cover group. For over a decade, they’ve been singing about sexual deviance and domestic abuse. They slashed Daft Punk’s discotheque anthem down to three minutes, added a sly guitar solo, and let “Lzzy” scream. They took the best song of 2013, and made it even better.

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week 12 scoop

JUSTINE LANDIS-HANLEY – BOND LIFE TOP 10 ALBUMS 1. The Lumineers- Deluxe Edition - The Lumineers There is something about a good folky song that just gets the limbs flailing and the foot a-tapping. The Lumineers self titled deluxe album is evidence of how country-style tunes are like pure poetry… with guitars. This album features their major 2012 hit, “Ho Hey”, along with a number of twang-filled tracks that each hold their own surprisingly well. Note: This isn’t the music you would go grinding to in a club (unless you have a barn and are into that sort of stuff). It’s thoughtful, quirky, and will leave you with a smile on your face and sense of short-lived optimism. 2. The Great Gatsby Soundtrack- Various Artists 3. The Civil Wars- The Cvil Wars 4. Riptide- Vance Joy 5. Halcyon Days- Ellie Golding 6. The Blessed Unrest- Sara Barielles 7. The Hunger Games: Catching Fire Soundtrack 8. Trouble will find me- The National 9. Boy and Bear- Harlequin Dream 10. Bangerz- Miley Cyrus

TOP 5 MOVIES 1. The Silver Linings Playbook I love movies about dysfunctional families. It is like a breath of fresh air in an industry populated with scenes of little Jimmy being taught by his Dad how to play catch while his Mum bakes fresh cookies and brushes the perfectly trained dog’s immaculate coat. For this reason, my favourite film this year was The Silver Linings Playbook, starring Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence. The Silver Linings Playbook was an intellectually simulating, emotionally challenging, raw insight into the life of Pat, former teacher who, after a stint in a mental institution, tries to rekindle his relationship with his adulterous ex-wife. He meets an equally quirky girl, Tiffany, who convinces him to enter a ballroom dancing competition to win his love back. Overall, its a hash look at the life of a man coming to terms with his mental instability and moving on from a fantasy relationship to something dirty and difficult, but all the more real. It also deservingly won Jennifer Lawrence the Oscar for Best Actress in a Movie this year, which goes to show that the performances are pretty wonderful too.

2. 3. 4. 5.

What Maisy Knew The Great Gatsby Now You See Me Warm Bodies

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sport issue 8 SONG OF THE YEAR ‘The One that Got Away’ by The Civil Wars I have this tendency lately to fall masochistically in love with bands who I later learn, have broken up. This self-titled album by country/ folk newcomers, The Civil Wars, was released just before they announced their sudden split, which left me rather sad, considering that it, along with its featured song, The One that Got Away, is hauntingly beautiful. It’s edgy and slick with the pain of a love affair gone wrong, but really sweet and melancholic at other moments, resulting in a rather emotional 3 minutes 50 seconds. Also, you have to love a band that includes a violin (or a trumpet, or a banjo).


The Ashes - First Test

The first day of the first Ashes

test provided an amazing atmosphere. The Australians won the toss and elected to bat in front of a sell-out crowd of 42000.

England’s most hated player, Stuart Broad, bowled the first ball of the series to the loudest hecklings and boos you could imagine. David Warner thrilled the crowd smashing a 4 off his first Ball.  Unfortunately, things went downhill after that for the Aussies and at one point we were, 6-132. 

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England’s Barmy army created great atmosphere singing in the extreme heat all day long. There were beach balls, costumes and the Mexican wave. 

The Aussie crowd were praying for a comeback and after tea Brad Haddin and Mitchell Johnson gave us hope. The two veterans put on a century partnership and hit a couple of 6’s which brought the crowd to life.   It was great to see.

At the close of play the Aussies were 8/273 with Haddin not out on 78, Johnson 64. Pantomime villain Stuart Broad had the last laugh with 5/65.

Day one at the Gabba has set the scene for a great summer of Ashes cricket. The 2 teams are evenly matched and the fight for cricket’s most coveted prize is well and truly on!

Let’s hope the Aussies can win the urn back!

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week 12 sport

Bond Elite Athlete named Rolex World Sailor of the Year by Caitlin Liddelow Olympic Champion and Bond sustainability student, Mathew Belcher, has been named as the Rolex World Champion Sailor of the Year, early last week in Oman. Belcher has become only the second Australian in history to take out the sports most prestigious award, and has described the experience as “incredible”, after having being nominated twice previously without success. Belcher now joins London Olympic teammate and fellow gold medallist Tom Slingsby as a recipient of the award handed out to the top athletes across all disciplines of sailing. Belcher has definitely proven his worth, after experiencing one of the most extraordinary winning streaks in world sport, and notably winning gold at the 2012 London Olympics and a world title earlier this year with his new crewmate, Will Ryan. Belcher is ever humble, stating he was “a little bit shocked [and] a little bit speechless” when he heard his name called out to receive the prestigious award. The new dad, and recipient of Bondʼs very own Blues Awards Sportsman of the Year, is respected by many. Belcher's coach Victor Kovalenko has described Belcher as "a very special person. A very special sailor,'' and has aided Belcher in his tremendous sporting success, which include four straight world titles in the Olympic 470 class. Belcherʼs success continued a few nights later when, at the launch of the Australian Institute of Sports Campaign of World Champions to Worlds Best, his team, consisting of himself and crewmate Will Ryan, were awarded 'AIS Team of the Year for 2013'. With an air of dedication, Belcher and Ryan have indeed resumed on-water training, and are looking forward to competing again at Sail Melbourne in the coming weeks. This tremendous winning streak is undoubtedly only the beginning for Mathew Belcher, who is definitely a fantastic advocate for Sport at Bond, and indeed sailing worldwide. scope | 35

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features issue 8

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scoop issue 8

Good luck with exams, and enjoy the holiday season. 40 | scope

Scope Magazine Issue 8  

Week 12

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