Issue 7 : August 2017 'Live Experiences'
Down and dirty festival life - p4
The voice of popular culture by young creatives FILMS | PHOTOGRAPHY | BOOKS | MUSIC | POLITICS | TRAVEL | GAMING | AND MORE
contributors JAMES NORMAN – FEED editor
HANNAH BAYNHAM – food p18
JORDAN MOLONEY – music p6 Jordan is a banker in the city, working on his new found love for his start up website and writing.
JADE DAWSON – sport p20
LUKE ALEX DAVIS – music p8
MIKE TAYLOR – film p24 A Journalism and Media Studies graduate from the University of Worcester, Mike hopes to achieve a respected journalism career by being a reliable source of information, providing social commentary and creating cutting edge content.
LUKE LUDBROOK – music p10 Luke is a journalism student in his final year at university. Upon finishing, he'll stumble out into the world with crippling debt and attempt to make his way in the world of professional writing.
PETE MORSE – FEED designer
A Maths graduate and writer with an affinity for both numbers and words, James writes novels and screenplays in his spare time and hopes to one day sell a story that someone will actually read.
Luke Alex Davis is a music producer and writer. In his spare time, he enjoys watching tennis, modernist architecture and playing Pokémon.
SOHAIL KHAN – politics p14
A reader of books and watcher of sports, in his stop-start career as an amateur writer, Sohail has published mostly about sports but is soon to be a best-selling Times author for a pop culture book.
GOT WHAT IT TAKES?.... Are you interested in becoming a contributor to FEED Magazine? We are always on the lookout for talented creative writers and photographers. Email us at email@example.com
A Media Studies graduate from the University of Portsmouth, Hannah is still trying to figure out life, but has a passion for food and a goal to achieve the world's crispiest roast potato.
Jade is 22, has a love of travel and spends of her free time watching sport (or Netflix).
Graphic designer, web designer, facilitator, musician and all round good guy!
................................................................................. 4 Down and dirty festival life
Feed Magazine is an outlet for young creatives to get their voices heard without distortion or pressure. We are always looking for new talented writers and photographers to join our team. Please get in touch if you’d like to be involved.
...............................................................................12 Fighting for the cause
...............................................................................12 Selling sushi by the yen
...............................................................................20 Damp and dangerous
Not your ordinary cinema
note from the
For me, August is summer in its prime. Unfortunately, mother nature doesn’t always agree with that. August is for being outside, for squeezing as much life out of the year as you possibly can before hibernation season begins. August is for living. This month’s issue of Feed magazine is about live experiences. A summer live experience is to me synonymous with festivals, so we’ve got three different takes on festival season (pages 6-11). There’s also a fascinating description of banger racing (page 18), and some alternative, predominantly outdoor cinema experiences (page 20). On a slightly different tone, there’s a first-hand description of a protest against fascism (page 14). Also, a tale of unique dining experiences in Southeast Asia (page 16). JAMES NORMAN - Editor-in-chief
next issue out in September
Down and dirty festival life
THE UK FESTIVAL EXPERIENCE: A PLAY IN 3 PARTS
Dos – The Loo of Death I once entered a portaloo at a festival and there was literal shit on the literal walls. Now, we all do Festivals in the US are advertised with daisyneed to go sometimes, no question. You’ve been chained, fake-tanned, beautiful people skipping on a Megabus for 8 hours, coming back from merrily through a field, cocktail in hand without Leeds after a Big One. There are no toilets, but a care in the world. To every UK festival-goer: we you breathe a sigh of relief as the Megabus pulls know this is, of course, absolute bollocks. into the services. You rush into the BP, enter the Let’s delve deeper into the typical live UK festival toilet, pull your trousers down, put your hands on experience. I shall give you a detailed eye the floor and your feet on the walls, and-- no. This witness account of a typical day. is not a regular manoeuvre that normal human’s carry out. It is not normal, in everyday life, but Uno – The Wake-Up at a festival it seems to be commonplace. I was You wake up from one of those dreary 2 hour alarmed as I entered this portaloo. This was not sleeps, which was constantly interrupted a normal portaloo: this was The Loo of Death, by the sound of a group of people shouting covered in shit and the regret of many a person ‘WINGDINGS!!’ all night. Yes, fucking wingdings. from the last 3 days. The smell of shit wafts through the air as the first wave of turdulence overwhelms you, partly due to Tres – The Actual Music the fact your tent is setup dangerously close to the There comes a time at a music festival where portaloos. you have to, you know, go listen to some music. I always find that this part of a festival is the most Portaloos. Portable loos. It’s all fucking Sue’s fault. deceptive. The thought of seeing music artists She wanted to be nearer the portaloos so you’re is wondrous and exciting and the build-up is closer to the shitty burger stand, which takes magical, until you’re burnt, with slight sunstroke advantage of inflated-yet-accepted prices for and Sean Paul is about to drop ‘Temperature’. a shit hot dog and a slab of solidified ketchup. It’s at this very moment, right here, when Anyway, I’ve digressed. It’s all Sue’s fault. And Temperature is playing through those speakers, really, you know it’s because she wants to be able that you realise what you’re doing. to slip off in the night to lay a big one. But now you’re waking up to the stench of alcohol shits. You’re standing in a field, with a cup of lukewarm Somersby cider, ankles that are unable to function The Wake Up is one of those bittersweet moments correctly because you’ve spent three days walking at a festival which sets the tone for the rest of the through fields and tripping over tractor tracks day. It’s never enjoyable, as you peel back your trying to locate other human friends you have eyelids from your bloodshot eyeballs, and with lost. Your phone has 13%, your mates have gone as much grace as Boris Johnson commenting on further in the crowd because they want to ‘be racial tensions, you emerge from your tent cocoon amongst it’, and for recourse, you have a sip of the like a heroin-addled caterpillar. cider. It tastes gone off, a bit like when you look at
the expiry date on the milk in the fridge and think ‘yeah, this’ll be alright’ – you then realise that the milk is, indeed, not alright. You’re sweating because the 17-year-olds around you are all grinding and slut dropping and losing their minds over the sound of Sean’s collaboration with Dido. They’re closing in on your personal space like a pack of intrusive cats, MDMA flowing through their veins. The worst thing about this is The Look of Disgust you get from an older couple in the crowd. This only happens because the pack of underlings are shoving and barging, causing an elbow of yours to be inflicted on those within your proximity. ‘Dyamind?’ She utters, even though you literally couldn’t do anything to avoid it happening unless you went on some mad rhino sprint directly forwards. ‘Dyamind’ is equal to ‘no offence but’ or ‘not being funny’. ‘Dyamind’ is a dagger to the oesophagus of social equilibrium. Hearing ‘Dyamind’ from a stranger will indeed, to borrow from Mr. Paul, raise the temperature in a public situation. Because chances are you do actually fucking mind being in this situation without the sound of someone else bleating off at the fact you’re being hemmed in by young adolescents, drink in hand, spilling over. You look at your phone: dead. You have no friends. It’s getting cold now but you’re still
sweating. You go back to the tent. You’re sitting in a tent, contained by four walls of thin, urine-soaked fabric. The fabric contains you as you empty the contents of your pockets. Now think of the most disappointing moment of your life. Really think about that time your family had convinced you through subliminal messaging that the original Xbox was going to be your Christmas present. You were so sure of it. The conversations in the build-up of months before, the smile when the advert for this true beast of a games console flashed on your TV, the tension and excitement in the slow reveal when tearing away the wrapping paper, and… and, an-- it’s a fucking massive boom box/radio monster hybrid? What? What? What am I supposed to do with this? It takes cassettes, and CDs...will I ever need a radio? Have I ever needed one at the age of 12? This object looks as if it could enable me to send Morse code to Harambe. Capture that disappointment, amplify it by 10 fold and that’s how it feels when you empty your pockets to check your wallet at the end of a festival. Yet, we still do it all again next year. JORDAN MOLONEY
Friendly Flurries: how a summer was made
Nowadays, I don’t go out very much. This sounds even more tragic when you consider I’m still under 30 and live alone. But having done it so much for the past 10 years, I’ve grown tired and money isn’t as free flowing when you have adult bills to pay. My tolerance for drinking has drastically reduced and clubbing is a definite no-no. But one joy has remained: I live for the summer. The sun adorning the sky after 9pm, the varying heat of UK (usually condensed to ovenbaking temperatures for one week in August), the laughter and wonderment of children playing outside. I hate the rain that often overtakes the season but I’d happily accept summer rain over winter snow. I define my summers by the experiences I encounter during these months. Arguably my best summer moment came in 2012, when I was cordially invited by my cousin to Lovebox Festival. He had a spare weekend pass and given the lineup (including Hot Chip, Groove Armada, Chic, Little Dragon, and Boy Better Know), I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. It was the first festival I’d ever been to and the most accessible. I had no inclination to ever camp out for Glastonbury and festivals like V and Download were of no interest to me. Lovebox was my kind of place. I went on the Friday night and managed to catch some of the England vs. Sweden game during Euro 2012 (good old Welbeck saved the day) before we had to leave. Boy Better Know were amazing and the boisterous crowd managed to infiltrate
the stage before being forcibly removed. The atmosphere all over was electric and far exceeded my expectations. Saturday was a mixed bag. The highlights were seeing Groove Armada - the festival organisers - perform with Candi Staton and hearing “At The River” live, including a stretched-out intro which was breathtaking to witness. I even managed to spot someone famous in the crowd although to this day, I still can’t remember his name. The downside to the day was finding myself on my own and being accosted by a stranger for drugs. Apparently, non-offensive attire and a rucksack made me “look like a drug dealer” despite my obvious protestations and discomfort. This brought me down and I started to feel desolate. This kind of interaction was precisely why I avoided festivals in the first place. I identify as an introvert so these sorts of events are tough to navigate. Comments like that made it worse. But rather than call it a day, I decided to stay for what was to be one of the greatest moments of my life. Friendly Fires were one of the main headliners for the festival and a band I had enjoyed after their second album, Pala. I’d never taken an interest in seeing them live before but I took the opportunity to witness their performance that day. The majority of the artists I had seen had performed at indoor events. The likes of Jamiroquai, D’Angelo, Flying Lotus, Quadron, and Omar had stunned
me with their breadth of emotion in a live setting. Listening to musicians through headphones can provide its own form of engagement but being within throwing distance of the artist, hearing them perform their craft there in the moment can’t be topped. Mistakes can be made, alterations can be done, but the humanity of the performers remains from start to finish. The weather had been muggy as darkness started to fall. The band rose as the sun set. Ed Macfarlane, the group’s front man, introduced me to his infamous brand of dancing, dressed in his signature slim fit shirt and skinny jeans. The singing was accentuated by a phenomenal rhythm section, comprised of both acoustic and electronic drumming. As a producer myself, I was mesmerised by the musicianship. I’ve always admired both sides of the musical spectrum but a combination of “analog” and “digital” is a fascinating marriage with no chance of creative divorce. As the beats rolled on and sweat dripped from Macfarlane’s shaggy mane, a light drizzle blanketed the crowd. The vibrance of the lighting with the rainfall created a sensory euphoria I had never felt before. As I ascended to a nirvana-like state, they played my favourite song, Hurting. I’m not as spiritual as I’d like to be but everything seemed to align towards a musical enlightenment not even my all-time faves could bring me. The rain washed away the events of earlier that day,
the lights brightened my outlook, the sounds intensified my emotions. I felt at peace during my favourite time of day during my favourite time of the year. After such bliss came a physical crash. My hayfever decided to take control the next day and I wasn’t able to go back for the final day. It meant I missed Chic which was one of the main reasons I wanted to go in the first place. Given the heat and the abundance of pollen likely to be there, I wouldn’t have lasted more than 5 minutes. It was a sad end to a remarkable festival but it was my summer curse. I’ve had enjoyable summers and gigs since but none have come close to that year or that moment. I think the fundamental reason it was so magical was timing. I’d been feeling down before it started and the performance had picked me up like the rising of a phoenix. Live performances allow for their audiences to be emotional sponges and blank canvases. Artists work best when they live in the present and recreate their best moments. We, as fans, absorb these intricate events and form vivid memories. To have seen Friendly Fires live at a festival, with all their audio-visual eccentricities and the weather putting on a performance is unlikely to be topped. Not because of the quality of songs necessarily but for the power of the adventure. LUKE ALEX DAVIS
Dive into the Ocean
At the beginning of the year, when summer festivals started to tease and announce their 2017 line-ups, an unprecedented name began to appear. The notoriously elusive Frank Ocean was named in headlining slots on a handful of shows from May through August, becoming his first potential live performances for around three years. He unsurprisingly, immediately pulled-out of the two earliest festivals that were scheduled for May, leaving his final count at 8. I bought a ticket for his third planned appearance, and his second of just two in the UK – Lovebox festival, held in London’s Victoria Park on the 14th July. He played Parklife in Manchester a month before he was scheduled to play London, and reviews were conflicted. He came on stage 30 minutes late and consequently was forced to cut his set short, and people were complaining about him restarting songs. I was already paranoid that even if he did actually show up at Lovebox – which was maybe 65% likely – that his show would be stuttered and delayed. Even his set-list was being shredded. It surfaced on Reddit (shoutouts to r/FrankOcean), and people were unhappy about the lack of material from his 2012 album channelORANGE. It was very much a set that’d please his fans, as opposed to one that’d appeal to general festival-goers. My friends and I had shuffled towards the front of Ocean’s bespoke stage set-up; a wooden catwalk that jutted out from the main stage, decorated meticulously in hand-drawn scrawlings and doodles. Watching the minutes drain away, I waited nervously as his stage time crept closer and then quietly slipped by. I frustratingly whined about his tardiness, knowing that the curfew would once again force him to rip songs out of the set list. The tiredness in my legs started to become apparent as I felt my patience dying, one single thread at a time. The crowd had really swollen in the time that we spent waiting, too. It had reached the point where I couldn’t really move my arms without accidentally bumping into someone.
Then the crowd started to cheer, and whistle. The noise rose like a wave about to crash, and a lone figure unsuspectingly strolled down the catwalk to his set-up. Frank Ocean stood, elevated on his stage platform, no more than 20 feet from me. It felt like I was looking at a ghost – his media-shy disposition and publicised step away from the spotlight had only enhanced his mystique. In reality, it was just another human being, but one that was incredibly difficult to see in the flesh. I found myself caught somewhere in between tedium at his lateness and absolute awe from his presence. The first few chords of the warbling organ from his song Solo started to play, and as he layered his buttery vocals over the top, every feeling melted away. No longer did I care about the delay, no longer did my legs ache and no longer did I feel encroached by the crowd brushing against my shoulders. He swept across his plinth, taking in the vast, swaying crowd and yet somehow he seemed to be in his own world. He looked at home, like he’d brought his studio set-up to a public park. For the rest of the night, I found myself swimming in euphoria, part of a sea of raised hands and iPhone periscopes trying to peer over the crowd. As I watched Frank Ocean walk back down the catwalk, gliding away to the stuttered, thudding beat of Nikes, I tried to process the hour and fifteen minutes that had just passed. I acknowledged that there was an extremely good chance that I’ll never see him perform live again. I wanted to be angry that he’d cut Pyramids from his setlist due to his own lateness, but that lasted about a second before I was sucked back in by his closing song. As the stage lights burned out and the speakers silenced, I tried my best to replay the memories in my head. And I won’t ever forget it. LUKE LUDBROOK
Politics Fighting for the cause 12
Experience of a protest In my life, I’ve been to a grand total of one protest, which isn’t really a lot because I’ve read and heard stories of people attending hundreds for different issues. But at least now I can tell people of my experience. The only protest I attended was in February 2017, shortly after Trump became president and introduced his ‘travel ban’. Because I’m a Muslim and his ban is going to affect people travelling from countries where the large majority are Muslims, I felt like I had to attend. So I did. From the second I arrived in Birmingham City Centre, there was a strong sense of unity. We were on the good side, fighting against evil. I attended a protest in England, so beforehand I knew that others in attendance would share the same view as me. I can’t imagine I’d have the same experience had I attended the same thing in America, where there would be a barrier of riot police separating the pro-ban and anti-ban sides. Apart from assuming everyone present will be on the same side as me because “We’re in England so why would there be Trump followers supporting a travel ban in a different country” type thing, I had little idea of what to expect. Sure, there was going to be some creative signs and a lot of noise, but apart from that, I didn’t know what would happen or if many people would turn up. I saw a lot of police and thought ‘this could end badly’ but it didn’t. I was lucky enough to experience a protest with no anger or violence. I took part in chanting and marching and a bit of shouting, but it was successful. A few thousand people attended a peaceful protest. I saw people interact with each other, having conversations, uplifting each other. The initial fear I felt when I arrived and saw a large crowd had gone and instead, I felt proud. I think it’s important to say that the crowd was made up of a variety of people and races, packed with grandparents and students; people of all ages and all walks of life. I had never felt more comfortable surrounded
by individuals who shared my principles. I never once felt threatened or made to feel like I was in the wrong, we were all fighting for the same cause. Generally, the experience was revealing and it’s reassuring, that there are good people from all backgrounds out there. I felt weirdly empowered by just being there and it’ll be hard to forget what it’s like to be supported by thousands of people in one place, and for the sake of future generations and our own quality of life, resistance against fascism is very much needed. SOHAIL KHAN
Selling sushi by the yen
Self-confessed sushi addict East Asia is like nothing I’ve experienced before. Walking to the shops in England you might see a few cats, or someone walking their dog. In Vietnam you’ll see a goat tied to a lamp post or a family of four on one scooter. Vietnam is home to some of the friendliest people I’ve met. There was no denying I was completely naive and clueless while travelling and I would’ve been easy to take advantage of. However, the Vietnamese didn’t and were extremely welcoming. As was their food. In the capital, Hanoi, the streets are constantly filled with an assortment of delicious smells of lemon grass and fresh herbs from the locals cooking outside. It was almost impossible to walk down a street without wanting to try everything. On one of our explorations, we came across a tiny alleyway filled with smoke and people. Knowing nothing about Vietnamese cuisine and speaking very little of the native language, we just picked a stall at random. We ordered Bánh xèo, which translates to crispy pancakes filled with shrimp, and Nem lui, which is pork moulded on a skewer with lemongrass. We began tucking in when the cook came over, clearly horrified at how we were eating, and had to demonstrate how to correctly eat the food. Visiting Vietnam, Thailand, Hong Kong and Tokyo for 5 weeks, I can honestly say is one of the best things I’ve ever done. Although it did come with its struggles, the 100% humidity, jet lag, the occasional scam and my dire need for a proper cup of English breakfast tea. Despite all of these, the food more than made up for it. The thing I always look forward to most about visiting a new country is the food. I love trying new things and I am pretty open minded and will try almost anything. Luckily I didn’t come across a fried tarantula, because I might have had to politely turn that down. However, with endless noodles, sauces, vegetables, meats and fish, I was in food heaven. It would be impossible for me to write about every delicious thing I ate, but I have two things that particularly stand out.
Fresh spring rolls are a big thing in Asia, and in Hanoi it was no different. Each table had a bowl full of fresh herbs and leaves and a rice paper. The cook showed us how to expertly construct the perfect spring roll, using a mixture of the crispy pancake and pork. It was delicious. Everything mingled together created the perfect combination. I wish I could recreate it at home, but nothing I cook would ever come close to the real thing. There are many things I would recommend trying in Vietnam, particularly Bánh xèo and Nem lui. My second favourite experience happened in Tokyo, Japan. Japan was the country I was looking
forward to visiting most. I loved the mixture of new and traditional. You can be walking down the street and be hit with a wave of lights, sounds, quirky fashion and even the occasional robot! But then find yourself in a back alley filled with old traditional bars or a park with ancient shrines. I am a self-confessed sushi addict. I could eat it all day every day, and in Tokyo that’s exactly what I did. Even though we ate in some of the more upper class sushi restaurants, that served the best sushi I’ve ever tasted, my favourite place was a conveyer belt, chain restaurant called Genki. Selling sushi at only 100 yen (71p) a plate, it was far from fine dining, but that didn’t matter. The restaurant was made up of five or six long rows of seats with three levels of conveyer belts. You can get conveyer belt sushi here in England, but what really made this place special was how you ordered it. You placed your sushi on a little screen and the sushi came whizzing out of the kitchen on the belts and stop right in front of you. It was such a novel experience and I had so much fun looking through pages and pages of exciting new sushi to try. Salmon, tuna, mackerel, squid, roe, sea urchin, the options were endless! And on top of that, the food was so cheap I was able to try many things that would usually cost a mortgage over here. When you’re finally done, the screens adds up your total and you just pay at the till. When visiting Japan it’s definitely worth every penny to eat in a high class sushi restaurant, but equally, if not more, fun and exciting trying somewhere a lot cheaper and more unique. If you ever find yourself in East Asia, don’t worry about the calories or maintaining that perfect beach bod. Try as much of the food as you can, because you won’t regret it and it will make the experience even more spectacular. However, my main piece of advice, if you see ‘meat platter’ on the menu, don’t order it. You will get meat, but what meat you get and from what part of the animal it comes is a complete mystery and not a risk worth taking. HANNAH BAYNHAM
Damp and Dangerous Stood in the middle of an old, unused military base in Northern England you might not expect to be watching cars that are spray painted, dinted and definitely never passing an MOT ever again. As unlikely as it may seem, here as well as in other just as obscure places across the nation you can witness a little-known form of motor racing, known as banger racing. Just as it says on the tin it involves old ‘bangers’ racing round a dirt track in qualifying heats which usually end with a final in each category. If you’re lucky, they’ll finish off with a destruction derby. My most recent experience was at Barford raceway, at Barnard Castle. It’s described as an old military base, but is now mainly used as farmland – I kid you not, I’ve seen them herd sheep off the center of the track minutes before the races start. I’ve also been to racing events at other venues including Arena Essex and Cowdenbeath football
ground (of all places) where they host the Banger Racing World Cup. The premise of banger racing is simple – old cars, dirt track, bad spray paint jobs and undoubtedly contact. Unfortunately, when based in the UK, especially up here in the northern parts, you usually get wet. Or snowed on. It’s not for the faint hearted. Between loud crashes, flying dirt and the portaloos that would look clean at Glastonbury, it’s something that may take getting used to if you’re not brought up with it. Whether you’re at a track which is all standing crowd or a seated grandstand, you’re going to get dirty. Whether it’s wet or dry, you’re going to get dirty. In other words, I definitely wouldn’t recommend visiting a race if you’re not willing to get a bit grubby. When you’re at a banger racing meeting you’re usually welcome to walk around the pits. This is
where the cars are fixed up – but let’s face it, most of the fixing is done by hammering out the car so it’s straight enough to drive after a bad crash. It’s also where the cars are kept between races so, while the other heats are on, or there’s a break in the meeting, you can walk around the cars and see what they’re working with. The cars can be pretty much any car the driver wants or can get his hands on for cheap. They’re stripped out to the bare necessities, fitted with a roll cage and the windows are removed. I honestly can’t think of anywhere else you can see a bright pink Hearse, next to a luminous-green Ford KA or, one of the beauties of banger racing, a mangled MK2 Cortina.
Overall, banger racing is totally unique. It’s usually cold, wet and dirty but it’s a whole load of fun. There’s not many occasions that you can have a laugh and spur on cars ramming into each other at high speeds. Without being judged, anyway. It’s all done in a safe way with plenty of marshals equipped with plenty of fire extinguishers, ready in case anything goes wrong. I’d definitely recommend it purely for a new experience if it’s not something you’ve ever done before. JADE DAWSON
Not your ordinary cinema
Alternate Cinema Sometimes as a film lover a trip to your local Cineworld or Odeon doesn’t cut it. While you know what you’re getting with ventilated screening rooms, cosy chairs and an array of snacks, sometimes you fancy a change. Thankfully, there are alternative cinematic venues to sample, and here are some of the best: Drive Thru Cinema A throwback to American film culture, the vintage movie-going experience is making a resurgence. Venues such as Kent’s Moonlight Cinema allow viewers to order their tickets online before parking at the cinema site, tune into the cinema’s FM station, and watch the movie from the comfort of their cars. Tickets will set you back a bit – £25 per person including a 90p booking fee. Secret Cinema Possibly the most well-known alternative cinema destination, this London-based film experience blends film with reality to an astounding detail.
Set at a random venue each time, the Secret Cinema organisers create purpose-built scenes to match the screened film’s tone, including actors, working bars and invites paying guests to join in on the fun too. Previously screening the likes of Star Wars, Back to the Future and Dirty Dancing, this live experience celebrates fan and pop culture – if you can get a ticket! Rooftop Cinema High above the streets and up amongst the clouds is a cinema experience that does what it says on the tin. A popular trend in London, Rooftop Film Club runs screenings of indie films,
cult classics and recent releases across the nation’s capital in Kensington, Peckham, Shoreditch and Stratford. Offering fresh food and cocktails as well as ponchos in case it rains.
England, Cult Cinema turns unusual or scenic locations into makeshift cinemas, with viewers sitting on comfy deckchairs, bean bags and cushions. Only downside: the weather.
Cinema on the beach Sometimes a trip to the beach isn’t just for sunbathing. There are a few specialised venues like Brighton’s Big Screen that allow film goers to sit on the sand and witness movies projected onto a 40-square-metre screen. For £70, a season pass allows guests to view any film of their choosing, including Rogue One, Get Out, Trainspotting 2 and family favourite Beauty and the Beast.
Take your dog to the movies day Because it’s 2017 and everything is a bit weird, one cinema in London has recently introduced dog-friendly screenings. The Picturehouse Cinema is now inviting dog owners and lovers to its venue every Sunday morning. All customers with a dog will receive a customary blanket and treat with water bowls available. No word on what films will be shown but rumours are circulating that the cinema will be screening Grounddog Day, Pup Fiction, Jurassic Bark and The Man With The Golden Retriever.
Cult screens It might be another outdoor one, but it’s definitely one of the most luxurious and accessible cinema experiences. Littered throughout Southern
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The voice of pop culture by young creatives.