Where do storytelling, SMS and open source technology, social networks and advocacy collide?

Stories are how we learn about what is happening in our world. They inform how we think, learn and adapt. They’re how we justify our decisions or teach our children.

They’re how we share our indignation and persuade and inspire others to join our cause.

Technology, open data and social media have turned storytelling upside down – sideways – every which way but the way that we knew.

Social media gave the Arab Spring activists the tools to quickly organise, share information and bring about change. And access to data has driven global stories like Wikileaks.

But while Facebook and Twitter may have grabbed the headlines in the Middle East and Maghreb there is another digital revolution taking place in Africa.

Lack of a ‘fixed line’ telecoms infrastructure has dictated that the continent ‘leapfrog’ technology straight to mobile. And Africa has one of the world’s fastest growing mobile markets with subscribers expected to reach 750 million by the end of 2012.

The country is fast becoming the envy of the world with its ability to innovate. Mobile phones bring access to health, social networks and entertainment. One of the most visible innovations being Kenya’s mobile payment system M-Pesa.

But technology doesn’t tell stories or hold governments to account – people do.

So what would happen if you joined this new vanguard of storytellers, bloggers, hacktavists, citizen journalists (really anybody with a mobile phone or computer) with the new tools, with greater mobile penetration, innovative partnership, open data and open source tools, and mashed them up on the new frontier of storytelling – of hyperlocal advocacy?

That’s what we are in Tanzania to find out.

We’re on the ground meeting people and organisations that are working on ground-breaking projects. From people who are working to combine radio (which has the highest penetration) with open source programs like Freedom Fone to inspired individuals setting up rural ICT projects to organisations using SMS to hold local government to account.

We’ve also partnered with Tweetminster who are going to be running a report for us on the use and penetration of Twitter in Tanzania. We’ll be releasing this in a months time.

Follow the project on the Tumblr or on Twitter.

We’re shortlisted in the Best charity/Not for Profit social media strategy catagory alongside some other really great projects.

In the video below, Chairman of the judging panel, Paul Fabretti talks about why these awards are so important for the social media industry.

The winners are announced in December – so wish us luck!

In June 2011 this year world leaders had four hours to save four million children’s lives at the global vaccination summit hosted by David Cameron in London on June 13^th 2011.

#Passiton was designed to create unprecedented noise around the importance of and lack of funding for vaccines. The idea was to put immense pressure on David Cameron so the UK pledged enough money, and to ensure that he also passed the message onto other world leaders.

I took three of the UKs most high-profile (and utterly brilliant) blogging and vlogging mums from the UK to follow the journey of a vaccine (on Twitter @Mr Vaccine) in Mozambique. They were: blogger Christine Mosler, political blogger Tracey Cheetham and You Tuber Lindsay Atkin.

The project has been shortlisted for a 2011 Social Buzz Award (announced in December – wish us luck!).

Lindsay Atkin’s first film to introduce #Passiton to her audience.

The journey started in the warehouse in the capitol, Maputo, they then travelled to a district health clinic before jumping on the back of motorbikes with the healthworkers and heading for a rural clinic under a tree where it was given to a child by one of Save the Children’s roving health workers in a health clinic under a tree.

We achieved a 27 million reach on twitter, over 200,000 YouTube views, hundreds of bloggers blogging both in the UK and internationally. And scores of school children blogged up and down the country.

Celebrities including Stephen Fry, Jamie Oliver, Jon Snow, Christy Turlington and Mylene Klass tweeted their support.

Our bloggers/vloggers met both Bill Gates and Andrew Mitchell, Secretary of State for International development, to talk about the project.

We also secured significant national and regional media coverage including Daybreak and the Politics Show.

Another key element to the project were our partnerships with GAVI (Global Alliance for Vaccines and Imunisation) The Gates Foundation and also DFID.

Support from the online community was staggering as scores of people came up with their own ideas of how to support the project – and many joined and hosted Twitter parties, twitter quizzes, memes, and followed the live blogging action from the field.

But best of all we achieved our goal as $4.3 billion was pledged for vaccines by global leaders.

Detail and strategy

#Passiton demonstrated how telling stories in real time from the frontline can engage people using social media, starting a groundswell of interest that will then push the campaign out into national mainstream broadcast and print.

We not only gave a voice to the healthcare workers and mums in Mozambique that we met, we also demonstrated the importance of vaccines and how they can help put an end to 8.1 million children dying every year from things like pneumonia and diarrhoea.

Keeping vaccinations cold under the blistering Mozambique sun and delivering them to places accessible only by foot or motorbike are just some of the many challenges our health workers face.

They do it day after day because vaccines are vital and save millions of lives every year.

Mums all over the world have hopes, fears and dreams for their children  – so who better to tell the story?  From three different niches, politics, parent blogging and YouTube,  our bloggers/vlogger meet mums, children and healthworkers and shared their stories and lives, minute by minute, with their community back in the UK.

We didn’t just take three mums with us to Mozambique– we took three whole communities.

In the cloud

Rather than developing an expensive microsite and try to create a new audience/community we let the project ‘live’ in existing social networks. This approach meant that we immediately increased our audience because we took the campaign to them, to the channel with an existing engaged audience. It’s a different approach because the project lives in ‘the cloud’.

Who is @MrVaccine

We set up a fun twitter feed called @MrVaccine. @MrVaccine was the ‘vaccine’ that the bloggers would see given to a child in rural outpost clinic. (MrsVaccine had a few things to say about his trip).

We designed a whole storyline for him and his journey and it ran in parallel to the bloggers journey.

For example when the bloggers got on the plane he was down in the hold, and as they headed for their hotel in Maputo he headed for the coldstore in the vaccine warehouse.

@MrVaccine also gave us a fun ‘ask’ to celebrities and we found that as a result they were very willing to tweet for us bringing exposure to the project.

Tag team:

In addition to reporting live the bloggers were all tasked with having their own ‘tag team’ back in the UK to pass on their stories/tweets/photos.

Like a game of tag in the playground, these ‘tag’ teams of pre-determind bloggers around the UK were challenged to write their own blog post in response and then #passiton to other bloggers to do the same.

The concept put simply – was to ‘pass it on’. The result was an unprecedented amount of noise online and coverage in print and broadcast.

The brilliant Josie George and Maggy Woodley hosted this fabulous meme called This is me this is my future.

Thankyou…

This project would not have been possible without the hard work and dedication from Chris, Tracey and Lindsay. Thankyou for all your hardwork and for believing in the project from that first (what in honesty may have seemed like a fairly bonkers) phone call.

Thankyou to GAVI for all the assistance in the project planning and support throughout and Gates and DFID for taking guest posts and to Mike Sutherland, Rachel Palmer and the talented team at Save the Children.

The community support was just phenomenal and is a brilliant example of what we can achieve when we all work together. Thankyou.

And as always the biggest thanks need to be reserved for the healthworkers, mums and children who graciously let us into their homes and shared their stories and their lives.

Notable results:

Celebrity tweeters

Myleene Klass
Arlene Phillips
Stephen Fry
Jamie Oliver
Amanda Mealing
Christy Turlington

Regional coverage:

ITV Yorkshire -  x 3 pieces (before/during/after)  for the news programme as well a 2  online  video diaries whilst in the field.

ITV West Country – two online video diaries whilst in the field with a news piece on the 9th and 13th.

BBC Points West – A piece for  regional news programme on 9th and  package for Politics Show on the 13th.

Preview and follow up interviews with BBC radios Sheffield  x3 , Somerset   x2 and Bristol  x1  as well as commercial stations Hallam FM  (x2 and online) , Viking FM  (x1)  and Heart West Country  (x2 and online)

Interviews for features in The Sheffield Star, South Yorkshire Times  (and online),  Barnsley Chronicle  x2 , Bath Chronicle, Somerset Standard  x2, Somerset Life online, wearebarnsley.com (video diary).

National Coverage:

BBC 1 Breakfast: Save the Children calling for more money to be spent on vaccination: Interview with Red Ted Art’s Maggie Woodley and Save the Children CEO Justin Forsyth.

ITV Daybreak: Interview with bloggers.

ITV lunchtime news

Five Live Breakfast News

Telegraph – Charities’ Twitter campaign ‘to save 4million lives’ #4mlives

Number of blog posts by the community

Over 150

Twitter reach: 27 million

Total YouTube views (to date): Over 200,000

How we used twitter: As well as tweeting from the field we used twitter chats, twitter parties, twitter quizzes to help raise awareness.

All photographs by Liz Scarff.

My resulting photo story was highly commended in the Observer newspapers ‘Hodge Award.’

Following the success of the Passiton project the Faversham Times contacted me for an interview.

How one tweet can change the world.

By Lowri Stafford

TWEETS, Facebook updates and blog entries give everyone a voice – and the means to listen.

That is the mantra of a Faversham-based journalist, who uses these mediums as a way to change the world for the better – with hugely effective results.

Armed with just a computer and a bit of technological prowess, media dynamo Liz Scarff, 36, who lives in Park Road with her cameraman partner David Carter, 39, has tapped into these innovative platforms as a way of spreading awareness of important issues.

The multimedia hack, who currently works for Save the Children, has embraced the fact that the ways in which we consume news are constantly changing.

Self-confessed technology geek Liz has therefore adopted these new resources, enabling her to reach a wider audience than ever before.

She explained: “I’m interested in how communication is evolving. Social media, such as live blogging, enables people to produce news rather than passively consume it. People don’t just receive news through newspapers and TV anymore. It’s more of a 24-hour thing.”

About eight years ago, Liz began thinking of ways to utilise these skills in different ways, which led her to pursue social and digital media projects.

These have included implementing the media campaign behind Sir Ranulph Fiennes’ sponsored Everest climb for Marie Curie Cancer Care, which involved filing daily video reports, photographs and blogs direct from the base camp of the mountain.

Liz was also commissioned to film Hugh Grant for Marie Curie Cancer’s Great Daffodil Appeal – a cause close to the actor’s heart since his mother succumbed to pancreatic cancer in 2007.

Aside from high profile campaigns with major celebrities, Liz’s efforts have reached an audience of millions and helped her to secure meetings with leaders who can make a difference.

Her most recent project – and one of her biggest achievements – was Passiton for Save the Children, and aimed to spread awareness of the lack of vital vaccinations in Mozambique.

It involved taking a team of mums to the African country to blog about the journey of a life-saving vaccine from a coldstore in the capital to a rural village, where it was given to a child by a health worker.

Tales of their experiences reached 30million people on Twitter and helped them secure a meeting with International Development Secretary Andrew Mitchell.

Passiton followed the success of Liz’s Blogladesh campaign in July last year, which was shortlisted for a Media Guardian Digital Innovation Award and bagged her a PRweek digital campaign of the week award.

The project also took blogger mums abroad – this time to meet other mums in Bangladesh – as a way of giving them a voice to ultimately put an end to the crisis which sees 8.1million children dying from illnesses like pneumonia and diarrhoea each year.

It resulted in a Twitter audience of ten million, two meetings with Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg, and a commitment from the UK Government to help double the number of women and children’s lives saved.

Liz, whose work has been published and broadcast in more than 13 countries, explained: “I love telling stories, and a lot of the stories I have worked on have been issues-based in one way or another.

“Most journalists start out with an idealistic view that they want to change the world. It’s great when you can actually see the results of what you’ve done.”

One of Liz’s proudest moments was seeing her piece about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict on the pages of Glamour magazine – a publication more accustomed to features about celebrity gossip and beauty tips.

She achieved this by charting a designer’s quest to create a fashion collection designed in Israel and embroidered in Palestine, which shone a light on the important underlying issues.

For more information about Liz and her work, visit www.liz scarff.co.uk

The parenting community have swung into action behind #Passiton my latest social media campaign for Save the Children.

The very talented Josie George at Sleep is for the Weak has hosted a meme (to fit in with the whole tagging idea) called This is me. This is my future, with the incredible Maggie over at Red Ted Art - and the response has been sensational with bloggers both in the UK and overseas getting creative with their children drawing pictures and then tagging their friends to join in.

Check out the original post on Maggie’s blog and this fab news round-up of the project so far from Josie.

I wanted to add the blog hop here so you can check out all the entries – I kid you not once you start reading them you’ll be there all afternoon. They are that good.

Enjoy.

In July 2010 I was tasked with coming up with a digital / social media campaign that would create publicity for Save the Children in the lead up to and during the UN MDG summit in New York.

I’d been thinking a lot about how Save the Children could work effectively with bloggers, and in particular the parenting community. I began to listen, watch and learn, and at the end of July went to the first Cybermummy, a conference for mummy bloggers.

I met a group of passionate, funny, articulate women who, during the brilliant crowd sourced keynote speech, had the room falling around laughing and crying in equal measure.

Mums all over the world have the same hopes, fears and dreams for their children and I knew that Save the Children’s work would resonate with these women.

I’m a great believer in not re-inventing the wheel. There was no point in spending vast amounts of money building something and waiting for the masses to come (always a bit of a digital tumbleweed moment).  Any project had to use existing tools, Twitter, Facebook, Flickr, Youtube etc – and we had to ‘go to’ the community.

I pulled together a plan and a few days later picked up the phone and invited three of the UK’s most high profile ‘mummy bloggers’, Sian To, Eva Keogan and Josie George,  to visit Save the Children’s work in Bangladesh.

The idea was that they’d meet mums and children just like them and share their stories and lives, minute by minute, with their online community back in the UK.

By inviting bloggers with large audiences we got immediate cut through with our target audience. We didn’t just take three mums with us to Bangladesh – we took the whole community.

The project, dubbed #Blogladesh, not only gave a voice to the healthcare workers and mums in Bangladesh that we met, we were also able to demonstrate the simple solutions that could put an end to the scandal of 8.1 million children dying every year from things like pneumonia and diarrhea.

Together we tweeted, uploaded films and photographs and blogged live from the paddy fields of Bangladesh.

And it caused a digital storm.

The project generated a 10 million reach on Twitter, thousands of hits in the blogosphere, 75 million reach in national media, two meetings with Nick Clegg, deputy prime minister and a commitment at the UN General Assembly.

63,569 people signed Save the Children’s ‘push for change’ petition.

I then took Sian To, one of the mummy bloggers,  to the UN summit in New York, September 2010. I filmed a daily video diary for ITN. The UN launched a worldwide campaign to save 16 million mothers and children over the next 5 years and Nick Clegg announced that the UK Government will double the number of women and children’s lives saved.

The campaign was supported on Twitter by Stephen Fry, Davina McCall, Nick Kirstoff, Richard Bacon, Neil Gaimon, Boy George, India Knight

The project was designed to push out into the mainstream media. Highlights include of media coverage include: Radio 4 Today programme, ITN lunchtime and Ten O’clock news, The Times, The Sun, The Express, Five Live, Sky online, AOL online, regional BBC radio.

It was first nominated as digital campaign of the week by PR Week – and then as one of their campaign moments of the year at the end of 2010. It has also been mentioned at TED X and shortlisted for a Media Guardian Digital Innovation award.

This project would not have been possible without the dedication of the three bloggers, their incredible community, the celebrities who supported the campaign, Save the Children Bangladesh,  and of course the talented team at Save the Children.

Last, but by no means least, the biggest thanks need to be reserved for the mums and children who graciously let us into their homes and shared their stories and their lives.

#Blogaldesh has been shortlisted for a Media Guardian Digital Innovation award.

Here’s a bit of blurb about the awards:

The Megas recognise those at the pinnacle of achievement in media innovation. The finalists and winners represent thinkers and doers in UK media who act as a catalyst for change and inspire others.

The Megas will reward innovations which are ingenious in theory and sublime in application. The future is being built on the innovations of today.

#Blogladesh is nominated in the Campaigning – Charities and Social Enterprises catagagory.

There are three projects shortlisted.

The awards are announced on March 24^th – wish us luck!

It’s the middle of the morning in Pakistan and the Himalayan sun is bouncing off the chintzy reflective flowers of Jhanzab’s opulently decorated truck. He’s just been pulled over by the Chief of Police for incorrect licence papers and is about to receive a 500-rupee-fine.

This is where I come in, accompanies by Rachel, who’s already enthusiastically taking pictures of the truck, and Mohammed, the local ‘Big Cheese’. Mohammed starts talking to the Chief of Police in hushed, conspiratorial tones and after a few moment the policeman turn to Jhanzab.

“We can forget this fine ever existed,” he says, “if you take these two girls in your truck up the Karakoram Highway.

Jahnzab looks bemused, “Why would anybody volunteer to travel for two days in a lumbering truck on one of the most terrifyingly in-hospitable roads in the world? But if this is what the ‘Big Cheese’ wants, this is what he gets, so we toss our bags into the cab and climb aboard.

The Karakoram Highway is the main road that connects the Pakistani capital Islamabad to the northern territories and eventually China. It follows the Silk Road the ancient trading route, through the North Western Frontier Province – and area crawling with rebels, which the British Foreign Office suggests tourists give a wide berth. As well as such man-made hazards, nature provides a few of its own in the shape of formidable stomach-churning drops along the cliff edge as you climb through the mountains.

The trade-off is the view, as this route forms the meeting point of the three great mountain ranges, the Hindu Kush, the Karakoram and the Himalayas. It’s truly one of the most spectacular site on earth, but one that could be all to brief if Jhanzab makes a mistake behind the wheel. Its enough to get even the staunchest atheist praying.

But I should have had more faith in Jhanzab. Given the amount of dedication that’s gone into decorating this truck, he’s not about to get reckless. The Pakistani truckers attitude is: ‘If a driver can’t afford to be garish, maybe he’s a bad driver.’ And this truck is garish with a capitol G. When everybody else was ‘chucking out the chinz’ Pakistani truck drivers were buying it by the bucket load.

It costs a fortune but the owners argue it is well worth the expense, as no self-respecting merchant would trust his goods to a driver with a shabby truck. With every inch of the truck covered in bright reflectors, sculptures and poms poms we’re talking two-fold bling – Asia style. Not only is this, ‘Keeping up with the Khans,’ the decoration has the added bonus of earning drivers protection from, ‘Him’ upstairs.

Decoratively, they’re a riot of embossed metal fish, birds and flowers. Reflective plastic, the kind used on regular car indicators, is cut into intricate patterns and stuck on. The sides of the trucks are hand painted with patterns, mountain scenes and even the odd film star. Bright metal sculptures, pom-poms are attached to the outside and twinkly metal fringes skirt the floor.

The inside of the cab is given the same treatment. The door panels, ceiling and seating are garishly upholstered and adorned with all manner of religious trinkets and charms. Not one inch is left uncovered, which even includes painting the underside of the bonnet and wheel arches.

Disturbingly the windscreen gets the same ornate treatment, being adorned with pom-poms, hanging trinkets, wreathes of flowers and stickers of, in Jhanzab’s case, lovebirds. I definitely can’t see out very well and I’m fairly certain Jahnzab can’t either.

Squinting through the chintz and the dust, I think back to how we got ourselves here in the first place. Our search for a truck to take us up the Karakoram Highway started in Peshawar on the Afghan border, a town that has more guns than chapattis and is home to many Taliban rebels. It’s here, tucked away in hundreds of paintyards that local truck drivers can pimp their ride.

We’ve been tipped off about a particularly good one and head off to find it in a taxi. The dusty streets are lined with small shops and men milling around in traditional dress, a loose fitting, light coloured pyjama suit. They cover their heads with huge cloths, sip tea and sensibly try to do very little in the heat. There’s not a woman in sight.

Coveting anything shiny: Pakistan is a nation of magpies. On spotting something that sparkles or twinkles they swoop, scoop and hang it on the dashboard. This doesn’t just apply to trucks: tinsel and sparkle decorates everything from roundabouts to tractors even wheelbarrows get the jingle jangle treatment.

The paintyard is full of pakstani del-boys hawking their wares. A teenage boy, selling the ubiquitous cup of sweet tea, carefully balances a silver tray with teapot and cups as he picks his way over the dusty floor that’s strewn with paper and plastic.

The cab and body of the truck is almost entirely constructed of wood and these enormous wooden carcasses lie like whale skeletons in a mass graveyard. Mechanics crouch down fixing the 1960s and 1970s Bedford trucks that really should have been scrapped years ago. The last thing you’d imagine they’d be doing is driving up the narrow and treacherous mountain passes.

Asafaddin, 38, a truck driver for fourteen years, has brought his truck to this yard to be stripped and completely re-furbishes. He has picked this yard because it has the best mechanics and the decorators are au-fait with the very latest trends.

‘I have told the decorators that there should be no other truck like mine. I want it to be the best on the road,’ he says brandishing a cloth in order to stem the flow of sweat running from his forehead. ‘A good truck is a status symbol,’ his voice drops as he adds, ‘there is a lot of competition between the drivers and if you have a good truck it shows you are rich and you get a good reputation.’ Reputation is everything in this game.

The yard looks to be in chaos, but amongst the dust and dirt I suspect everything has its place. A teenager wheels a hugh exhaust pipe past in a wheelbarrow. Around the perimeter of the yard are small, ramshackle wooden huts. Some are mechanic’s shops full of spare parts. Others are for making the decorations where teams of men are sawing wood into the shapes of flowers, while other fashion nickel into creatures such as parrots or abstract patterns.

Crouching on the floor closer to the door a young boy is sticking brightly coloured vinyl to the shapes. Whilst in a wooden shack tucked away in the corner a man wrestles a bright red piece of material through a sewing machine – upholstering for the inside.

Embossed nickel has been the big trend in the last few years, green is the hot colour of the month and stickers, vinyl sticky material that can be cut into any shape, has begun to surpass the painting. But that’s not to say it is old hat.

The whole scene really took off in the eighties. ‘I drove my first properly decorated truck about seven years ago,’ explains Assfadin. He earns around 5000 (about fifty pounds) Pakistani Ruppees a month and to decorate the truck costs about 300,000 rupees (roughly two hundred and eighty pounds). Its an expensive business. But when your pride is at stake – Asafaddin, like everyone else, is happy to shell out.

I talk about our plan to head up the Karakoram Highway and Asfadin grimaces. He recalls a time when a glacier made the road impassable. ‘I was on the way to Skardu and found a glacier was blocking the road. We tried to cross it but became stuck in the icy snow. We were stranded for two days without food and water until the Pakistani army came to rescue us.’

Back in the cab with Jhanzab at the wheel we have been fortunate enough to encounter no such obstacles. This area has some of the highest mountains in the world, K2 and Nanga Parbatt among them. The landscape is barren, defying anything to grow in it. The roads are narrow and the corners sharp. The level of concentration required to drive is immense.

After six hours of slow progress I’m getting bling blindness the jingle jangle is starting to get the better of me.

We reach a bridge that crosses the Indus. The truck grinds to almost standstill before easing gently down onto the wooden slats that cover the bridge. The slats jump and shift unpredicatably as the truck weight moves across them. Our hearts jump to the same beat.

When we finally get over the bridge to a checkpoint, a Policeman pulls the ab over and points at us incredulously. He orders us down immediately.

‘What are you doing on a truck,?’ he asks whilst inspecting our passports, ‘Going to Skardu,’ I reply. At that moment a minibus comes careering off the bridge and as the policeman flags it down. It contains two lean European climbers off to tackle the Himalayas. After the policeman has a brief conflab with the driver we are unceremoniously dispatched onto the minibus.

As we head off into the mountains I think abouthow White Van Man in his Mercedes Sprinter dashing around the M25 really is a world away from the jaunty trucks and the harsh conditions the drivers cope with here. Then I smile, thinking of Jhanzab, the Jimmy Saville of the sub-continent, to happily jingle-jangle his way up through the Himalayas.

©LizScarff2011

Photographs©RachelPamer2011

It’s Saturday afternoon at the Millennium Skate World in Camden, New Jersey. The afternoon kids’ party has moved out and the roller girls have shipped in. Under the gaudy, oversized tinfoil palm trees that hang from the ceiling, New York’s Gotham Girls and Philadelphia’s Liberty Belles limber up for their evening bout. In training at least three times a week, these women are well-toned, highly skilled athletes. With names like Greta Turbo, Surely Temple, and Ana Bollocks, it’s the humour mixed with a high-grade sporting campness that appeals to the skaters.

“Are we ready to get this thing started?” Gori Amos, the announcer for the evening, shouts into the mike. “From the mean streets of Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn and the boogie-down Bronx we have the Gotham Girls Roller Derby!” The crowd screams and whistles as the girls skate out onto the track to Jay-Z’s ‘I got 99 problems’ “She does it for the love!” shouts Gori Amos, as Donna Matrix skates out onto the track, playing up to the crowd with her leather bondage paddle.

The two groups get into their starting positions, crouched down like coiled springs ready to propel themselves forward around the track. There are five player to a team – one pivot, three blockers and one jammer. The rules are basic, the scoring system based on the ability of the jammer to pass as many opponents as possible while lapping the track. Blockers on the other ream use their legs, shoulders and arms to stymie her efforts. The jammer scores appoint for every opponent she passes during the three  20-minute bouts.

The crowd is settling down to a buzzing murmur and is looking around in anticipation.

On the whistle, the pack skates off so fast you can feel the tail wind on your cheeks. The jammers jostle to get through the pack, while the blockers use all their skills and force to stop them. This can be brutal, as body blocking allowed as is elbowing in some leagues.

Blink and you’d miss the tangle of skaters heading, out of control, towards you. The animated crowd tilts backwards in a reverse Mexican wave, trying to anticipate the next fall as the girls whip around the small track. Goodie bags in the VIP seats go flying when a tangle of roller boots and frill-covered booty fly towards them. Injuries to players and fans are not uncommon.

The Roller Derby story begins in America during the Great Depression. By the 60’s and 70’s bouts became so popular they attracted as many as 30 – 40,000 fans with the skaters becoming household names and magazine cover stars.  One of the most famous was Anne Calvello, who didn’t hang up her skates until she died last year, aged 76, from liver cancer. Calvello was famous for her duels with the blonde bomber, Joanie Weston, and has been immortalised in the 2006 documentary Demon of the Derby.

High overhead costs contributed to the sport’s demise in the 1970s, but in 2001 a team called the Texas Rollergirls reignigted interest in the sport. Then last year reality TV caught up , screening the rough and tumble in the doco-style Rollergirls. Now teams have sprung up all over over the US, Canda and the UK and even Australia.

Gotham Girls’ Ginger Snap is a typical modern rolelrgirl – she’s mean in a kitsch bubblegum that bites kinda way. Over the thump of Blondie’s ‘Call me,’ Ginger Snap shouts, ‘Roller derby is the only rock and roll sport.’

In their early 20s and mid 30s, the skaters have day jobs as scientists, attorneys and executives. Gotham Girl Ginger Snap (a.k.a. Natily Blair, 29) is a graphic designer from Manhattan. ‘I love the fact that women are doing it because they love the Derby,” she says, jamming her cowboy hat over her ginger braids. “The group is so diverse. I have so many great friends from circles that I would never be a part of – we just don’t share the same airspace in NYC. It can be hard to make new friends but now not only do I have 64 friends in this area I have over 30 leagues full of 64 girls. That’s a lot of couches I can stay on.”

Spitfire Flare (a.k.a. Kelly Katko, 30) skates for the Liberty Belles. “It’s a pretty colourful sport,” she says, stretching her hamstrings. “You get to meet new girls all the time – it’s like a huge sisterhood.” When she’s not busting on the track, Katko is an administrator for a high-end hotel chain. The girls choose their own names, like Rosie Bloodbath and Violet Temper. “My name had to be fairly chilled,” explains Spitfire, “If I had a meeting with all the executives and my boss pulled out a newspaper cutting of me calling myself Poca Ass or something it wouldn’t be a good scene.”

What makes the Roller Derby unique is that it is controlled and operated solely by female skaters. In 2004 the Women’s Flat Track Derby Association (WFYDA) was formed to promote and foster the sport. The philosophy is “by the skaters, for the Skaters,”

The girls embrace the DIY spirit and draw on their own resources. In addition to organising and publicising their bouts teams produce their own website, radio shows, podcasts, DVDs, calendars and t-shirts. They have their own PR managers, marketing managers and make-up artists. Everybody skates for love, not money, and any profit they make is ploughed straight back into running the league.

Gori Amos sums up the girls’ ethos perfectly, “I love that this is a bunch of strong women who aren’t afraid to be strong and sexy at the same time.” Each team has its own uniform, the Philly Roller Girls are a blaze of electric blue butt-skimming dresses emblazed with a lightning flash, while the Gotham Girls are a grungy mix of black and red. Each girl gives her outfit its own individual flare – adding customised leggings, painted t-shirts or underskirts. Helmets, gum shields and shin and kneepads are compulsory.

Bonnie Thunders (a.k.a. Nicole Williams – a 23-year-old biologist from New York) had been a figure skater all her life until she joined the Gotham Girls. “Having people fall in front of me is nothing new, but having people hit me and knock me down is a little different,” says the brunette. “I tried out for the Gotham Girls last fall. And 125 girls turned up to fill only 25 places. They were looking for people who could make the Derby their own; girls who had a good attitude.”

And attitude is where it’s at for these girls. The section in the rulebook that gives penalties for the use of hands and forearms doesn’t bother Gotham Girl Beyonsláy (a.k.a. Jackie, 29, a New York attorney). She prefers to ‘booty block’. ‘I was at the Gotham Girls’ championship game in October 2005 and from that moment knew I had to try out. I saw the game on Friday and by Monday I had the boots I’m wearing now.

‘I saw the girls and their skating ability and I knew I could do it. I was a competitive figure skater from the age of four. I’m a big girl and what I Iove about the derby is that we have girls who are short, wide, petite, and tall.  Whatever your size you can use it to your advantage,’ explains Beyonsláy, ‘It is a thinker’s game and there is a lot of strategy. It is like chess, if you interfere with a block you have to think how that will change the movement of the game.’

‘It is very empowering that the derby is run and operated by women. That is why everybody is so proud of the league,’ adds Beyonsláy, ‘it would be a very different game if it was run by men.’

Liberty Belle Roxi Gunz (a.k.a. Nikki Knight, 32, a paralegal from Delaware). agrees, “It’s more fun without the guys,” I don’t get a whole lot of free time because I have two children, so this is my outlet. And, if I’m having a bad day, I play so much better!”

Think cheerleaders and you imagine girls in frilly skirts on the sidelines, doing the splits for slam dunks. But squads with a serious political message are gaining notoriety in the US.

‘Riot – Don’t diet, Get up, Get out, and try it,’ shout seven excitable women, standing on the corner of 42^nd Street. In a blaze of pom-pom shaking red and black, one girl turns a cartwheel across New York’s famous theatre district. ‘I can’t believe they are protesting on Broadway,’ mutters a startled passer-by in disbelief.

Meet the New York City Radical Cheerleaders. They aren’t just college bimbos, high kicking to score themselves a gorgeous guy from the football team. They’re sassy, switched on, socially aware activists. They stand up for women’s rights and shout out against sexism.

In 2001, they protested in Central Park to draw attention to a series of shocking sexual attacks. In 2003 they were anti-war and anti-Bush. Last weekend they chanted in protest against women being forced to have Caesareans if they’d been in labour for over 24 hours. And today, a busy Saturday in February, they’re as mad as hell about pressure on women to embark on starvation diets.

To match their bright red tops, short skirts and legwarmers the girls tie red tassels around their knees and fashion pom-poms out of plastic bags.

They congregate a few blocks up from Times Square to discuss tactics. ‘I don’t think we’ll get arrested,’ says Cheri Yanek, a 24-year-old Librarians assistant, fiddling with the red ribbons in her hair, ‘we’re far to cute.’ Pedestrians on Broadway get ready…..

The Radical Cheerleader movement originated in Florida in 1996 when two sisters, Aimee and Cara Jennings, wanted to find a more creative way to make a statement than just standing holding banners emblazed with feminist slogans. ‘I was a high-school cheerleader,’ explains Aimee, now 32. ‘My sister and I realised that to get our message across we needed to be louder. Cheerleading was a good way for our voice to be heard. We were often dismissed for wearing short skirts and carrying pom-poms but people started to realise what we said really packed a wallop.’

The Radical Cheerleaders’ goal is to lobby for changes in the law, including an end to the Patriot Act, a set of anti-terrorist measures passed after September 11^th, which include the provision of imprisonment without trial. Although they are no allied to any political party exactly, a clear part of their remit is to oppose the anti-abortion, pro-war Bush government. They have also been recognised by organisations such as the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union) who describe them as, ‘imperative in raising awareness of civil liberties.’

The Radical Cheerleader movement is spreading by word of mouth and the internet. Since it’s inception, squads have sprung up across the US, including the Rocky Mountain rebels in Colorado and the Memphis Dirty Southern Belles in Tennessee. Each squad is autonomous and the movement is growing.

March 2001 saw the first cheerleaders’ convention in Ottawa, Canada and in September 2002 over 1000 women travelled to Miami to support a Free Trade conference. The NYC squad, founded in 2000 is now 13-strong and ranges in age from 15 to 33 (most are twentysomethings). With equal opportunities at the top of their agenda there are even a couple of men in the squad.

Every Friday evening at 7pm the New York squad hold their weekly practice in a house on the Upper East side. The lounge coffee table has been pushed out the way and the girls are careful not to knock over the TV as they stand in two lines and bounce through a rousing cheer. As ever, they’re loud and effervescent. When a cheer finishes they whoop and squeal, high-kicking in celebration.

The house belongs to Jessica Joy, a 25 year old secretary and actress. ‘I found out about the squad on the Internet,’ she explains, ‘I’ve been to other feminist groups that don’t like it if you wear lipstick and are girly. That’s what I love about the squad’ we are so flexible. I came along to the cheerleaders’ sleepover in January. Raising awareness through cheering seemed like such fun I joined up.’

One girl pulls out a well-thumbed copy of the cheerleader’s handbook, put together by movement founders Aimee and Cara Jennings. In its third edition it contains dozens of different cheers on issues like equal rights for women, anti-rape and positive body image and urges cheerleaders to get  “off the side-lines and onto the front lines.” The girls learn cheers from the handbook or write their own.

Cherie is an old hand. ‘I cheered with the New York squad two years ago, and then joined the Rocky Mountain Rebels while I was studying in Colorado. Then I came back to New York,’ she says, ‘I feel strongly about feminism and the fact that a woman’s body is her own,’ she explains, ‘I want our cheering to empower women to stand up for their rights.’ About tomorrows anti-diet message she explains, ‘When I was younger I was totally obsessed with being skinny and getting boys. I want to show girls you don’t have to be thin to get ahead in life. It is not the only way to think.’

‘Activists make better lovers,’ reads a t-shirt made by Jen Nedbalsky, a 24 year old New Yorker who works for a ‘I was captain of the Kick Line squad in high school and I loved it. People get excited when Radical Cheerleaders show up and that means we can draw attention to the issues we believe strongly in.’

The girls take the issues seriously and are resolute in their political beliefs but practice is still a very girly gathering. Raising her voice above the excited chatter Cherie asks, ‘Does anybody want some chocolate?’ she puts two boxes down on the coffee table and the girls tuck in before running through dance moves and perfecting the words to their cheers. The squad are practising for a day of ‘spontaneous’ action in Times Square tomorrow.

Saturday, 1pm, Times Square. ‘Squad Set,’ shouts Jen, pom-poms held aloft, ‘You Bet,’ the squad reply as they flip the middle finger to the world in general. ‘Kiss the back of my butt.’ Hardnosed New Yorkers, jostling for pavement space, hurry past trying to ignore the disruption in their city. A guy in a blue parka, eating a sandwich, stops and dances along with them. ‘What are they?’ drawls a short women trussed up in a fur coat.

Under the riot of flashing billboards, a crowd gathers to watch. Jen is wearing a tiny pleated black skirt, fishnet tights, legwarmers and a black and red top emblazed with the slogan, ‘Doing it herself.’ Her bright red lipstick matches the squads colours. ‘I’m travelling a bit lighter today,’ she confided earlier to the rest of the girls. ’I only have one lipstick instead of the usual four.’ A bemused cop wanders over to see what the commotion is all about. He doesn’t faze the confident girls and they continue to high- kick and cartwheel through their routines in one of New York’s busiest squares.

Exhausted after a day of spontaneous cheering the squad head to Blue Stockings, a radical bookstore and favourite cheerleader hangout on the Lower East Side.

Over coffee and chocolate brownies Jessica, who works on Wall Street, tells the group she wears her activist T-Shirts under her suit and secretly leaves cheerleading flyers around her office. ‘My parents are terrified that I am on some sort of list,’ says Jen, ’and my brother keeps getting stopped at the airport and they are sure it is because of me.’ Cherie laughs, ‘Well my parents just think I am nuts. But my boyfriend, Trevor, is totally supportive. He shares my views but is far to shy to ever join in.’

According to Aimee Jennings the movement has spread far beyond what she ever anticipated. Radical Cheerleading has captured the imagination women standing up for what they believe in.

‘We want to show women there is another way to think. When I was growing up I felt constantly pressured to please somebody else,‘ explains Jen. ‘We are doing this for us, for women. Putting across important messages and having a ball at the same time.’

©LizScarff2011

Photographs©DanHallman2011

Thousands of dolphins are killed every year by British and French fishermen using a technique called ‘pair trawling’. Now Greenpeace wants the practice banned, and is ambushing the perpetrators on the high seas. Liz Scarff boards the ‘MV Esperanza’ to watch a risky game of nautical brinkmanship

It’s a sharp February morning, and a gentle breeze conjures a light swell as the Greenpeace ship MV Esperanza heads into the Channel from Falmouth docks. Last-minute preparations are being made: an on-board refrigeration unit for dead dolphins is under construction and the cameraman is fiddling with a “polecam” for capturing underwater footage. With the Cornish coast still in sight, a loud bellow comes down from the starboard wing deck, “Dolphins on the bow.” Just three hours after leaving port, a group of around 20 dolphins are riding the waves of the Esperanza’s rainbow-painted bow. It’s a Flipper moment. The crew lean over the side and ecstatically whoop and cheer as the common dolphins, recognisable by their dark uppers and tan undersides, slice through the waves.

It’s a sharp February morning, and a gentle breeze conjures a light swell as the Greenpeace ship MV Esperanza heads into the Channel from Falmouth docks. Last-minute preparations are being made: an on-board refrigeration unit for dead dolphins is under construction and the cameraman is fiddling with a “polecam” for capturing underwater footage. With the Cornish coast still in sight, a loud bellow comes down from the starboard wing deck, “Dolphins on the bow.” Just three hours after leaving port, a group of around 20 dolphins are riding the waves of the Esperanza’s rainbow-painted bow. It’s a Flipper moment. The crew lean over the side and ecstatically whoop and cheer as the common dolphins, recognisable by their dark uppers and tan undersides, slice through the waves.

But the Esperanza and crew are not on a dolphin-watching jolly: they’re sailing in the English Channel for seven weeks to do everything in their power to stop sea bass pair trawling, a fishing method which kills many dolphins each year. Sarah Duthie, 30, heads up Greenpeace UK’s Oceans Campaign Team and, alongside the organisation’s Action Team co-coordinator and the Esperanza’s captain, this feisty blonde will be calling the shots as to how Greenpeace takes on the trawlers.

Pair trawling for sea bass is not illegal. The problem is the issue of what is known as dolphin “by-catch”. Pair trawling involves dragging a net the length of a football pitch between two boats for around six hours. One boat then hauls in the net, inadvertently snagging any dolphins that happen to be in the vicinity. Dolphins are a listed species under the EU Habitat Directive and, last year, Government observers on British sea-bass trawlers recorded 169 dolphin deaths from just two boats alone. Greenpeace estimates that British and French sea bass trawlers are responsible for the deaths of over 2,600 dolphins every year. Last June, based on that evidence, the Government banned sea-bass pair trawlers from fishing an area 12 miles out to sea around the entire British coastline. Greenpeace argues that the impact of the ban is negligible, as the bulk of trawling is done outside this area by French vessels, and it has launched a legal challenge against the Government in the High Court, seeking an outright ban in all British waters. French Greenpeace is pursuing a similar challenge.

At 72m long, the ‘MV Esperanza’ is a floating, eco-friendly rabbit warren and, for the first few days of my stay on board, I make a speciality of ending up in the media edit suite when I’m after the shower, or stumbling into the engine room when I want to be tucked up in my bunk. I’ve been assigned to share a cabin with Leon, an amiable Dutchman sailing with Greenpeace for the first time.

“Have you been to sea before?” he enquires. Hmm, does Dover to Calais for cheap plonk and cheese count?

The Esperanza, meaning “hope” in Spanish, was formerly a Russian firefighting ship; the 20-year-old vessel has been re-fitted with new, fuel-efficient diesel engines and on-board re-cycling of waste water. It is the greenest ship in Greenpeace’s fleet. With 35 berths, three decks and a helipad, it is also the largest and latest addition. It joins the Rainbow Warrior, a sailing vessel and the Arctic Sunrise, an ice breaker.

Having worked for Greenpeace for six years, this isn’t the first time Duthie has been on the Esperanza. She found herself on board last year as Greenpeace, along with the scientists from the Whale and Dolphin Conservation Society (WDCS), conducted the first winter population survey of whale, dolphin and porpoise species in the western approaches of the English Channel. This year the campaign will involve more direct action to stop the trawlers.

“When I was at university doing an economics and politics degree I’d never have imagined this is the job I’d end up doing,” says the roll-up-smoking Duthie. She became involved with human-rights campaigning while studying, and worked for various NGOs before joining Greenpeace, first in her native New Zealand and then in the UK. She has worked on many campaigns.

“The most surreal moment so far was in Antarctica on an anti-whaling campaign when we were on a ship, in the middle of nowhere, hiding behind an iceberg observing a whaling ship,” she says. “If we want healthy oceans we need to go out there and make it happen. I could never turn around and go back to not trying.”

For the seven weeks of the tour the Esperanza traverses the Channel along a pre-determined route, or transect line, identified by the WDCS scientists. The three scientists on board then record dolphin sightings and their distance and bearing to that line, enabling them to effectively count and establish the dolphin population. All the while the captain, Duthie and other crew position themselves on the bridge and scan the horizon for trawlers while keeping a watchful eye on the radar in case two green dots pop up. Each dot represents a boat, so when two appear moving alongside eachother in a parallel line, it’s a sure sign they are pair trawlers.

“It just feels like dolphin soup out there,” says Duthie sadly as her eyes scan the horizon for trawlers, “I saw quite a lot of dead dolphins last year but I still find it shocking. We’ve even found dolphins with their stomachs slashed open in an attempt to make them sink.”

Information is the key to tracking the pair trawlers and this comes from all quarters. “We talk to lots of people,” she says conspiratorially, “and sometimes we do get phone calls.” Couple this with the spotter plane deployed to search the Channel and it all adds up to a slick, well-financed operation.

The Greenpeace story began in 1971 when a group of anti-war protesters took non-violent action against US nuclear weapons testing in Amchitka, Alaska. They chartered a fishing vessel and re-named her Greenpeace. The US subsequently abandoned testing in the Amchitka and Greenpeace was born. The charity now boasts 2.8 million members worldwide. In 2003 it reportedly raised £8.4m in donations. Greenpeace is currently involved in action against global warming, GM crops, whaling and illegal logging.

But even the slickest operation can’t magic trawlers out of thin air, and waiting is the name of the game. As the weather picks up on our second day at sea, I begin to walk with a “ship-shape shuffle” – with one step forward comes two steps sideways, then an occasional, lunge to starboard throws you two steps back again. I also learn that the best way to ascertain my chance of seeing some action is to apply the on-board knitting equation. Increased needle clacking equals a slow day, and right now, knitting fever is threatening to become an epidemic. Duthie has even put a call into New Zealand to get a particularly good hat pattern.

The Esperanza is organised like any other ship: captain, first, second, third mate and so on. Most of the crew are adept at multi-tasking. “Like the A-Team we can make anything – except perhaps the cabbage throwing machine,” boasts one member of the Action Team. A blackboard in the mess keeps the crew up to date with the daily dolphin sightings and any pair trawlers that have been spotted. There are rules to adhere to. Illegal drugs are banned and everybody on board must be familiar with man overboard and fire procedures. The daily wake-up call is at 7.30 and breakfast is over by eight – expect the wrath of those on mess-cleaning duty it you are late. The ship’s galley is run by a Frenchman called Loic. Everything in it is strapped down. “When it gets choppy I will cook pasta. It is easier,” he says. A sign over the toaster reads, “Hey you, your mother doesn’t live here. Clean up after yourselves.”

Loic prepares lunch at one and dinner at six. At dinnertime, the more seasoned team-members demonstrate the art of rough-weather eating. This entails a one-armed plate hug, which not only ensures your dinner doesn’t slide away from you, but also leaves a hand free to ensnare forkfuls.

The rest of the evening is spent in the lounge sinking beers and swapping stories. A veteran cameraman recalls an incident when an Action Team was stealthily approaching a chemical plant. After crawling on their bellies and scaling fences, the cameraman turned to the slightly rotund TV researcher to ask if she engaged in this sort of filming often. “No, I only left Songs of Praise last week,” came the shaky reply.

The crew is a cosmopolitan bunch with eight different nationalities and ages ranging from early twenties to over 50, with a mix of backgrounds including military and medical. Most insist that they are not hippies. The cabins are surprisingly comfy; the bathrooms boast power showers and there is even an onboard sauna. Reading material in each toilet is a booklet lashed to a pipe entitled, How to Survive at Sea. With the seas still choppy at bedtime, I feel like I’m being rocked to sleep by an over-enthusiastic, slightly vindictive older sibling.

“Trawlers coming together, we need the boat away now,” Sarah’s urgent Tannoy announcement echoes around the entire ship. It’s break time on our third day at sea and the crew in the mess hastily abandon cups of tea and toast, and cigarettes are stubbed out as everybody scrambles to help lower the “ribs” (rigid inflatable boats) into the water. Two French trawlers have popped up on the radar and are about to haul their nets. Part of the Greenpeace philosophy is based on the old Quaker principle of bearing witness, so as well as talking to the boats’ skippers, it’s imperative that the ribs reach the trawlers quickly so they can witness them hauling.

Down on the poop deck, in the wet room, the Action Team, campaigners, cameraman and photographer are all scrambling to pull on cumbersome, bright orange boat suits, wellies and life-jackets. Then the pilot door on the port side of the Esperanza is opened and the wooden ladder extended down towards the sea. The African Queen, one of the ribs, is bobbing alongside the door ready for action. One by one, in quick succession, like skydivers leaping out of a plane, myself and the Michelin-suited activists exit the ship via the ladder.

I’m joined in the “press” boat by a Greenpeace photographer, a cameraman, Duthie and two other crew members who are responsible for driving and navigating the rib. On board are sandwiches and flasks of hot chocolate essential for long trips. “Last year we were out in a rib for 11 hours,” Duthie tells me. Our boat roars off towards the trawlers and is closely followed by Greenpeace’s second rib, carrying members of the Action Team. The sea is choppy and the boat bounces over waves, smacking back down and leaving me momentarily suspended in the air. As I land back on my seat, a cold spray of seawater is slung into my face. It’s undeniably exhilarating, but the Greenpeace team are ready for a more serious high-adrenalin encounter.

“When you go out in a rib into the middle of the sea, and all you have are waves and birds around you, climbing in a boat suit up the pilot ladder and on to a trawler is not easy to do,” says Sarah, “especially if you have a big swell. You never know what sort of reception you are going to get. The first time I did it, I got half way up the ladder and thought, ‘God, what am I doing?’”

When we reach the French trawlers I’m surprised at how small they are – around 15 metres. But they are smooth operators and have already completed their haul by the time we arrive, so we turn back.

A day later, one of the journalists on board spots a dead dolphin floating in the water. The crew haul it out of the sea and examine its injuries. These are consistent with the creature having died in a fishing net.

The main responsibility for organising operations from the Esperanza lies with Frank Heweston, 39, the Action Team coordinator. “A lot of what I do, whether it’s action at sea or on dry land, is planning, researching and getting the right people. Establishing when to make our move and how to gain entry to wherever it may be. There are certain fads that go through direct action. Sit-down protests with locked arms used to be the thing but the police have got on top of that.” Frank has been with Greenpeace for 14 years and cites his previous experience in organising warehouse raves as an excellent training ground in logistics.

As he talks about the numbers of Greenpeace widows left at home, it becomes apparent that working for the organisation is not just a job, it’s a way of life. “I couldn’t do this without the support of my wife, Nina, and two children. This is the second time I have missed my son Jo’s birthday and that hurts.”

Leaving family behind is not the only sacrifice; being arrested is also a real possibility. Nena Osmers, 29, is on board as a deckhand, but as a trained nurse she also doubles as the ship’s medic. Osmers was arrested while on an action in Alaska, against a logging company. “It does bother me but I am in the lucky situation where it might not affect my professional career. I do not like to be arrested but sometimes you cannot avoid it. You reach a point where you have to decide it is morally right to insist on certain opinions, even if that involves civil disobedience.” She first started working with Greenpeace in Germany and this is her third campaign. Others have seen her climbing on to cranes and hiding deep in the forest, clad in camouflage gear, for Greenpeace’s anti-logging campaign. “It is good to have women in these situations,” she says, “because they can defuse situations, especially with a male crew.”

Nine days out from Falmouth, the team sees its first action, against the Scottish trawlers Ocean Star and Ocean Crest. They drop two swimmers in the water in front of one trawler, waving banners emblazoned with the slogan, “Stop killing dolphins”. The swimmers, clad in dry suits, are swept away by the ship’s wake. Duthie remains on the Esperanza’s bridge explaining over the radio to the boats’ skippers why they are taking action.

“The Government has an obligation to protect dolphins under the EU Habitats Directive,” she says later, “The time has come to shut down the fishery. They can’t just go on researching the issue and trying out mitigation devices like the separator grid [a device designed to allow dolphins to swim upwards and out of the net].”

With six weeks of the campaign left it will not be the last time Greenpeace put swimmers into the water. “I think change happens slowly,” says Sarah. “You have to look at the little steps along the way. It’s a waiting game,” she shrugs, “but we have all the time in the world.”

A week after arriving back on dry land, I drive to Plymouth docks to meet Brian Tate, the owner of both the Ocean Star and the Ocean Crest. His stumpy blue trawlers are moored next to each other and the crew are bustling around re-fuelling, getting ready to begin fishing again.

He explains that his boats have been trying to address the dolphin by-catch problem. For the past five years, they have been working with the Government’s Sea Mammal Research Unit – they have allowed independent observers on board and are trialling a separator grid. “We don’t want to catch dolphins,” says Tate, “we had the grid in last year and this year we’ve had the camera working and we’ve seen dolphins swimming out. I’m not saying it is 100 per cent, but we are getting there.”

Alice Mackay, from the Sea Mammal Research Unit adds, “We can reduce the numbers of animals being caught. Unfortunately with by-catch it is unlikely ever to be brought to zero, but it looks promising and we are on track to find a solution.” Both Tate and Mackay will not reveal the numbers of dolphins caught this year. Tate and his rotating crew of eight fish for sea bass seven months of the year, and with loans out on both of his boats a total ban would bankrupt him.

“I used to be proud to say I was a fisherman,” Tate’s voice trails off as he looks down, shaking his head. Although Tate was not on board when Greenpeace put the two swimmers in front of the Ocean Star, he was in radio contact with them. “The skipper on board was shaken,” says Tate angrily. “He had no idea that they were going to do that. It is very intimidating when our boats are followed.”

Meanwhile, out in the Channel the Esperanza’s nautical game of cat and mouse is set to continue.

http://www.independent.co.uk/environment/rainbow-buccaneers-529912.html

At 4 am, snow falls quietly on a dilapidated ware-house in Philadelphia. It’s raw inside, freezing cold and grubby but nobody cares. The music’s pumping and the bodies are tightly packed — everyone’s waiting for a show. This is the underground ball scene, which is experiencing a revival across the United States. Here, gay women and men—predominantly African-Americans—band together in ‘houses’ named after fashion designers such as Givenchy, Chanel and  Balenciaga. They even take the name of their house as their surnames and compete in deliciously camp catwalk shows.

“Cue music: five, six, seven, eight.” It’s earlier in the day at rehearsals in a dance studio. “Work it, girls!” shouts Blahnik. “Serve it like an icon!” Even though this is not the Blahnik of Sex and the City fame, he’s still a legend. Jay Blahnik, 30, real name Damien Humes, is the father of the House of Manolo Blahnik. Blahnik House has around 65 members in Philadelphia, New York, Chicago and Washington. “I named my house after him because he’s an incredible shoe designer,” says Jay.

“A house is just like a traditional family,” says Jay. “There’s a mother and a father and then the kids. A lot of the kids get thrown out when their parents discover they’re gay. We make sure they have good role models and stay in school.” The houses have regular meetings where members can discuss anything from the latest Prada collection to seeking advice about HIV. The “family” isn’t connected by blood line, explains Jay, “but we all have a bond. It’s a community taking care of itself.”

The ball scene came out of Harlem, New York in the early eighties. “Back then it was all about big hair and Diana Ross,” explains Jay. “But then we moved into the whole fashion model era. With Naomi, Christy and Tyra around, everybody wanted to be a supermodel.”

Enter “vogueing” in the early 90s. Madonna popularised the dance through her 1990 video ‘Vogue’, showing members of the House of Extravaganza striking posts like fashion modes. There are now two types of voguing: the old way and “dipology,” the new. With dipology, voguers involves throwing yourself on the floor backwards and battle it out in a no-holds-barred dance-off. “Now that we’re in the hip-hop era, everybody wants to be like Eminem,” says Jay.

“When I’m out there, it’s the attention and the adrenaline rush that drive me,” says Milan Blahnik, 23, mother of the House of Manolo Blahnik. “I’ve been walking balls since I was fifteen. As a mother I’ll cook for the kids, talk about drugs and sex, STDs, anything that affects our culture. I try to keep them away from things that harm them.” Milan recently put up one member affected by Hurricane Katrina and also helps get members into shelters and through support programs. HIV and Aids have affected the ball community and many house members are HIV positive—one of the balls’ aims is to raise awareness of HIV/Aids in the community.

Tonight, the Blahniks are competing in a ball. They’ll be up against the House of Revlon, the House of Evisu and the House of Balenciaga among others. Balls are held every month and hosted by a different house in turn. Tickets are around $30 and purchased in advance largely by house members but also by members if the gay community not yet in a house. The judges are legends on the scene, people who have been around for a long time and are well respected.

Just after midnight, the Blahniks descend en masse upon the warehouse. The line-up snakes around the block. Inside, tables line the runway. “Your diamonds are blinding the crowds,” a shouts the MC into his mike his comment aimed at a guy in the crowd with über-bling. Fur is a big look tonight, reflecting its dominance on the current catwalks—and designer sunglasses are ubiquitous.

‘Your walk is deadly, your attitude is sinister and your look is everything,” proclaims the event program. Houses compete or ‘walk’ in a number of different categories, such as Urban Streetwear Fashion, Runway Legend and Butch Runway. Butches are women who have transformed into men, some have trans-gendered other still on the journey—they look like men and have even grown facial hair. It’s all about looking real—can they pass as women? Can they walk the catwalk like Naomi or Daria in Paris or Milan? The eight judges, from a  mixture of houses, line the end of the runway, armed with air horns. They’re ruthless; if they don’t like your look the air-horn sounds and then you’re out, baby.

The MC announces that the competition starts. A big roar goes up in the crowd as Ashley Icon, 33, a transgendered male from the House of Icon, makes her grand entrance. Dressed in a clingy black scoop-neck top, super-tight black trousers, and black and red animal-print boots, she gets a standing ovation. The music is pumping, the crowd is craning their heads to get a glimpse of her, holding their arms high above their heads, clicking their fingers in appreciation as she walks the runway. Ashley is a success story of the ball scene.

“I grew up in the Bronx—my mum was a junkie running the streets,” reveals Ashley. “At 18, when she realised I was gay, she threw me out. At 22, I knew I was never comfortable as a man. I was always fascinated by my grandmother and the way she wore her clothes and put on her make-up. I discovered the ball scene through a friend and I loved the creativity and the energy of the show,” she says. “They accepted me and gave me the support to get out there in the world and not be ashamed of who I am.” Ashley has been in the scene so long that she really is an icon. In this subculture, winning trophies earns you the titles of star, statement, legend, icon progressively.

That night the Blahniks win the competition. In the end though what most people love about the balls is the creativity, the fashion and the possibility of being discovered. The ball scene is attracting the attention of trendsetters like Patricia Fields, the stylist for Sex and the City, and Kill Bill Hollywood actress Vivica A. Fox. In this world, the look is everything, fake or real. Whether it’s Dolce and Gabbana, Louis Vuitton, Vivienne Westwood or Sean Paul, the idea is you don’t just wear to be seen—you’ve got to be top queen!

©LizScarff2011

They’re not homeless or unemployed, yet they scavenge in bins for discarded food. Freegans, shocked at the extent of consumer waste, are changing the way they eat. Liz Scarff joins them for dinner.

Under the cover of night, I stealthily lift the lid of the dustbin and shine in my torch. It’s below zero and my hands are shaking as I rummage inside. I’m on the hunt for food. But I’m not homeless and I could certainly afford to go to the shops if I wanted to. So, why am I doing this? Quite simply, I’m living as a freegan.

Dining on food from a dustbin may once of been the preserve of tramps but for many it is now becoming a lifestyle choice. Freegan-ism, a combination of the word “free” and “vegan” is a movement whose devotees take responsibility for the impact of their consumer choices and find alternative ways of meeting their everyday needs.

This includes housing, clothing and, most surprisingly, food. An estimated seventeen million tonnes of food are buried in British landfill sites every year, four million tonnes of this food is edible. Sometimes disposal is the cheapest option available to the food industry.

The freegan movement is popular in America, particularly in New York, where people regularly meet up to hunt through bins together on ‘trash tours’. The man credited with popularising this movement is 28 year old Adam Weissman, and eco-activist, sometime security guard and founder of the website www.freegan.info. ‘Freegansim is a reaction to the amount of waste,’ he says, ‘but also to the injustices like sweat-shops and the destruction of the rainforests that go into producing the goods in the first place. I realised that as a purchasing consumer I was complicit in that exploitation. By consuming waste I’m not supporting these practices.’

Weissman, who lives in New York, says he has never gone hungry, ‘People assume that food in the bins is spoiled or insanitary but really they are just bags of food. There is so much waste it is easy to do it.’ And it’s not just food, ‘I’ve found designer clothes, stereo systems and computers, VCR’s and TV’s. In our culture we need newer shinier things.’

So just how easy is it to live off discarded food scavenged from bins? And will it catch on in Britain?

I meet up with London Freegans Ash Falkingham, 21 and Ross Parry, 46 for a crash course in Freeganism.

‘‘We call it the express lane,’ explains Ash as we stand in a multi-storey car park that accomodates the bins for both Iceland and Tesco in South London. It’s five o’clock and dark enough for us to be fairly inconspicuous. Ash and Ross march confidently over to the Iceland wheelie bins, lift the lid and get stuck into sorting what’s inside.

Clear plastic bags contain frozen meals like Chillie Con Carne and Chicken in Tarragon Sauce. The packaging is still intact and the sell by date is today. Underneath the frozen meals are about ten tubs of Haagan Daaz ice-cream, sell by date today. Nestling at the bottom is a tray of eggs. The ‘best before’ date is next week, they’re intact and the only thing wrong is that one egg is missing, ‘We get a lot of eggs,’ says Ross, ‘Sometimes if one breaks they just chuck out the whole tray.’

After loading the first haul we turn to the Tesco bins. They’re full to the brim with more frozen foods, popadoms, crisps, and a tray of seven jars of Bon Mammon marmalade.  One jar has smashed making the others slightly sticky. But even though the sell by date is January 2007 rather than just wipe the jars the whole lot is thrown away.

‘Growing up, we always used to eat things if they were a couple of days past the sell by date,’ explains Ash. ‘We would test it to see if it was off. But many people have a different mentality and believe if it has come from a bin then it’s no good.’

Ash and Ross live entirely from ‘urban foraging’ and say it has never made them ill. They visit markets after closing and the bins of supermarkets and high street stores. A trip to India inspired Ross to adopt the Freegan lifestyle. ‘In India they don’t waste anything. People go through the garbage and re-cycle everything. That’s how they live. In the West everything is going to landfill.’ They forage about once a week and find enough food to last them for the whole week. Ross even manages to maintain his gluten free diet. Any spare food they have is shared among friends. ‘Most of my friends will take Freegan food, even my parents have taken some stuff,’ adds Ash, who wears a perfectly good pair of boots and jumper liberated from a wheelie bin.

Food is usually always in clear plastic bags and the trick is to identify a good bag and then take it away to sort out. ‘The less people see you the less questions are asked and it won’t come to the attention of the manager,’ explains Ash. ‘They know what you are doing but many turn a blind eye.’

Back in their van after sorting the booty we tuck into some chocolate mocha slices while Ross and Ash tell stories of legendary hauls. Like the time a group of freegans found a bin full of two hundred frozen chickens and another with a flat screen TV. Or the two wheelie bins full of bananas and Brussels sprouts they found on Christmas Day. Ash emails me a few days after we meet to tell me he has found a MP3 player, with a slightly damaged screen but usable, in a music shop bin.

Armed with a fistful of Freegan, ‘How to,’ tips, my challenge is to see if I can live as a Freegan for three days in Brighton. Too embarrassed to grub around in bins on my own I’ve roped in my friend Dave.

Armed with a fistful of Freegan, ‘How to,’ tips, my challenge is to see if I can live as a Freegan for three days in Brighton. Too embarrassed to grub around in bins on my own I’ve roped in my partner Dave.

Monday

As we set off to see what Brighton has to offer it’s freezing cold and the wind is biting. Ash warned me that places like Marks and Spencers and Morrisons lock their bins away and after an hour and a half of searching we haven’t found one shop that has accessible bins. Eventually we find a Co-op bin. I open the lid and take a look inside. Bingo! There is a clear plastic bin full of veggies, but it’s right at the bottom. So while Dave holds the bin lid open I jump up, balance on the side and reach in with my hands. A couple of people walk past and give us a pitying look. The sealed bag is full of leeks, potatoes, apples and carrots and there is nothing wrong with them. As we triumphantly bag our booty we discuss the menu potential and decide on leek and potato soup – if only we could find some bread.

A subversive peek inside a Budgens bin reveals a loaf ripe for picking – snag is it’s right outside the train station and it’s rush hour. We’re too embarrassed to grab it so head of to the more secluded Iceland round the corner. We’re starting to warm to this free food lark and score ourselves a loaf of white Kingsmill bread. The packaging is perfect and the sell by date today – bonus.

Any qualms I had about eating food from a bin start to fade when I inspect the veggies closer at home. The leeks are firm and the bread still soft. After scrubbing all the veggies we cook up a delicious hearty soup, which James, my flatmate, politely declines. Desert is baked Freegan apples with cinnamon, almonds and sultanas. Delicious.

Tuesday

I don’t feel ill – a good start – so we both tuck into our Freegan breakfast of avocados given to me by Ash and Ross (from the express lane market bin check-out in Wood Green) and the remains of the bread from last night. We decide to visit a different Co-op and again find lots of vegetables – potatoes, salad, cauliflower, spring greens, peppers and a melon – thrown out in clear plastic bags. The sell by date of some of the produce, like the ripe melon, is today and the salad is on the turn but if it were in your fridge you’d eat it. Other sell by dates, like the spring greens, are not for another week. I don’t understand why they’d be thrown out. Food waste costs Britain around 18billion annually, which is especially disturbing when you consider that four million people in Britain can’t afford a healthy diet.

After a lunch of left over leek and potato soup, subsequent searches at bakeries and patisseries prove fruitless. I even feel quite cheated when I spot someone else making off with a clear bag of what looks like frozen foods and yogurts from a Budgens bin but we found enough food this morning for dinner and breakfast.

We’ve decided that using a few herbs, spices and other store cupboard ingredients like noodles is permissible. On the menu tonight is a spicy noodle soup with green peppers, carrots from yesterdays foraging, noodles and some tender steamed cabbage on the side. For desert we plump for another baked apple.

Wednesday

The only downside to being a freegan is that you can’t plan what you are going to eat. Today, after a breakfast of melon, we head off to check the bins in the vegetable market, which are malodorous, compared with supermarket refuse.

I procure my first Freegan lamp and inspired by Ash’s MP3 discovery Dave wants to check the back of some electrical shops.

For dinner tonight we have sausages, greens, swede, fennel cooked with lemon and roasted onion. Although three days is a pretty short time to live as a Freegan I have got a better sense of how much food is condemned to landfill when it could be put to much better use. I’m tempted to continue with my Freegan lifestyle because the food we found was packaged in clear plastic bags and after a good wash was really no different to buying it in the shop. Except of course it was free!

Top Ten Freegan Tips

1.    Don’t pass a ‘No Trespassing’ sign.

2.    Share what you get with others

3.    Use discretion when choosing what to eat. If in doubt, throw it out.

4.    Always leave the bin as clean as you found it.

5.    Take gloves and a torch.

6.    If the bag is ripped or any goods exposed leave them behind

7.    Just because a bin is no good one day, doesn’t mean it will be like that every day.

8.    In general small to medium shops are probably best. Larger chains have their bins locked away.

9.    Wash all items you find before consuming.

10. Don’t waste the money you have saved by not buying food

On a cold evening in December 2003, the founder of Israeli fashion label Comme Il Faut, sneaked illegally from Jerusalem into the Palestinian territory of Bethlehem. Armed with nothing more that fabric samples, Sybil was on a mission to unite women from both sides of the conflict.

Even though it is extremely dangerous to cross the border (particularly since the Israeli government erected an 8m-high wall around the west bank in 2002), she was determined to create a fashion collection that would be designed in Israel and embroidered in Palestine.

Once she had successfully entered Bethlehem, Sybil was met by a peace activist called Mary and was taken to her house. “I was shocked by their surroundings,” she says. “I’d been to Palestine before and it was beautiful and full of life. This time there were bullet holes everywhere and whole streets had been destroyed.

Sybil and Mary talked about Palestine’s traditional embroidery techniques and how the venture would work. “When our meeting was over we embraced. I feltwe were united as women and as human beings who want to libe peacefully. When I launched my fashion label Comme Il Faut (which means ‘As it should be’) 17 years ago I saw it as a way to support women, whoever they were,” says Sybil, who is bit like an Israeli Anita Roddick – a businesswoman with a conscience.

Sybil and Mary’s clandestine meeting marked the beginning of Project ‘Shalom Banot’ or ‘Peace Women’. Comme Il Faut is one of Israel’s most exclusive fashion houses with six shops in Tel Aviv selling clothes, accessories and bath products. Yet it revels in shaking up Israeli society with its blend of fashion and politics and found itself in trouble on more than one occasion, especially when one of its controversial catalogues featured models posing in front of the dividing wall.

“When peace activist Manuela Diveri came to me with the idea of working with Palestianisn, I knew immediately that I wanted to do it. Then my designers Maya Arazi, 33 and Limor Dianna, 33, came up with the concept of the border crossing shirt.” Maya, who trained at London’s Royal College of Art and has designed in Italy for Valentino and Max Mara, says:” It was an opportunity to bring the east and the west together in one stylish piece. We wanted to design a shirt that would then be embellished with traditional Palestinian embroidery.”

On paper – no problem. In practice, Maya and Limor were obviously not allowed to go into Palestine. However, after negotiations with the Israeli army, Hanna Al-ama, the woman appointed as the projects Palestinian co-ordinator, was given a permit to attend a meeting at the American Colony Hotel based on the Israeli side of the wall.

“We found out that the Oslo peace plan was first discussed in the hotel room where we first met, which felt symbolic,” explains Limor. “We had no translator and communicated with hand signals and drawing – fashion really bridged the language barrier.

The taxi driver who had brought Hanna spoke a little Hebrew and it was funny to see this man trying to explain about patterns and threads. He knew Hebrew but not the language of fashion.

“I wish we had been able to talk more of the Palestinian women,” she adds. “We never meet them and I didn’t realise how restricted their lives are, or that because of their religion (Islam) they have to work from home.”

It’s been an education for Limor, but not always an easy one. “Of course many people disagree with what I’m doing. My brother says He’s never do it and I’ve fallen out with a friend over it. But we are proving that it is possible to work in harmony with Palestinians and that is what’s most important to me.”

But perhaps what’s more important to the Palestinian women working in Shalom Banot is that it’s providing them with an income. The dividing wall makes it very difficult for Palestinians to work in Israel, so salaries are scarce. “With no money for food my life is very bad,” says Erma Babish, a 28 years old embroiderer and mother of three. “I heard about the Shalom Banot project through friends and approached Hanna for some work. It’s been a lifeline and that money now supports my family.

Embroidery is taught at school here and is part of our heritage,” Erma and her family live in a small but homely rented house. A few pieces of furniture sit against white walls and a spotlessly clean white-tiled floor. Every day she look s out from her balcony at the row of modest concrete homes- lining the roads while bombed-out buildings barely stand against the skyline.

For Erma, being involved in the project was risky. “One woman warned me not to work for the Israeli’s,” she explains. “She said I was a traitor to the Palestinian people and I was betraying my country.” It didn’t deter her: “She was wrong – this project has a peace message. Israeli’s or Palestinians, we’re just the same people trying to work and provide for our families. We’re all hoping for peace and want the border to open – and I hope that one day to meet the Comme Il Faut designers. At the moment with the wall, we’re living in a prison without a roof. Sometimes peace comes from the little people. Not Sharon or Bush or Blair but when people begin working together.”

Idit Nirel, from the Peres Centre for Peace in Tel Aviv, agrees: “Peace-building projects such as these are important because they encourage communication and cooperation between Palestinians and Israeli’s.

Today Maya is scouting Tel-Aviv for a suitable location for a fashion shoot. Happening upon an old building daubed with political graffiti Maya steps inside to chat to the owner. It turns out the building is owned by the Young Guard, a mixed-sex political group similar to the Guides or Scouts.

On hearing the name Comme il Faut one young man launches into a loud tirade in Hebrew, ‘Why did you shoot that catalogue in front of the wall?’ he demands. ‘You are just exploiting the Palestinians’ situation, using them for cheap labour to make clothes they could never afford.’

Although Maya is a little taken aback it is criticism she has heard before, ‘We wanted to raise awareness of the wall to get people talking about it,’ Maya replies calmly. And with global coverage including the BBC and CNN, talk about it they did. The catalogue ‘Women across frontiers,’ sparked fierce debate about their motives but with global coverage really drew attention to the issue.

Many felt that Comme Il Faut was exploiting the wall’s controversy and the Palestianina situation to spark interest in its collection. Although Comme Il Faut will not reveal its wages, Sybil insists its fair and 10% of the profits go to Palestinian families. Eventually the Young Guard agrees they can use the building for a photo shoot.

“That particular catalogue prompted people to come into the shop and start talking politics,” explains Sybil. “They said, ‘Why do you have to spoil it ?’ We have notebooks in the shop to allow everyone to express their opinions, but not everyone respects those. People have come in and shouted things like, ‘Why don’t you do a photo shoot ina bombed-out-bus? Or use models that have lost limbs as a result of suicide bombing?’ We thought about getting guards but so far nobody has been violent towards us. We’ve received lots of angrey letters and one member of the Israeli parliament went on television and radionto ask people to boycott our clothes.”

In addition to a chain of shops throughout the Tel Aviv, Comme il Faut also run a café, attached to their flagship store.  As well as grabbing a juice you could also attend a lecture on feminist issues, or just pop in to debate the politics of the day.

The Café is nestled in between designer shops located on the tree-lined Dizengoff Street, Israel’s equivalent of Oxford Street. Today Nirit Tayas, 25, and Noa Barer, 23, have come for a spot of lunch. ‘It is nice to see clothes on a normal women,’ explains Noa, a statuesque medical student, ‘Everything always looks great on these skinny women and it makes you feel a little jealous. But Comme il Faut is more than just fashion, I couldn’t afford the clothes if my mum didn’t treat me but I really support their political edge. The conflict in Israel is a reality you live everyday. I am a student and have to take the buses that are often targeted by suicide bombers. I am nervous and watch everybody getting on wondering, “are they terrorists”?

‘I have lost a lot of friends because of the bombing,’ adds Nirit, a therapist, her eyes betraying a mixture of sadness and defiance as she stirs her cappuccino and reflects on life in Tel Aviv. ‘Life here is very intense; you can feel it in the air that there is something going on. I have switched on the news and seen friends of mine who have been caught in bomb attacks and it is not nice – but you learn how to manage. Everybody hopes that there will be peace and it’s important to know that while I am shopping, in a small way I am doing my bit.’

©LizScarff 2011

In 2008 the brilliant public relations team at Marie Curie Cancer Care gave me an incredible challenge. Design and implement the media strategy for Sir Ranulph Fiennes Everest Challenge.

To date Sir Ranulph Fiennes has raised a staggering £15 million for charity. His goal was to not only reach the summit of the world’s highest mountain in the world, but also to raise £3 million for Marie Curie Cancer Care and highlight the essential end of life care the charity provides.

It was an ambitious and challenging project that involved strategic planning, project management, editorial production including video, pictures and copy, sourcing major sponsorship deals and producing and directing editorial coverage from basecamp.

I secured sponsorship from satellite provider Thuraya who gave me unlimited airtime and the equipment needed to file daily video reports, pictures and copy. I commissioned a microsite for the community to follow Sir Ranulph’s progress and also learn more about Marie Curie Cancer Care. A media partnership was also secured with The Daily Telegraph.

I set up a newsroom at Everest base camp and worked with cameramen David Carter and Rob Casserley, filing daily video reports, photographs and blogs direct from the mountain to the vlog www.everestchallenge.org.uk (NB: this site has been changed and updated since I worked on implementation) and to the media partner The Telegraph.

The blog charted Sir Ranulph’s daily progress and the community followed with baited breath. They left hundreds of comments, and most importantly donations.

On the day of his summit push,  just after midnight, Sir Ranulph turned back due to exhaustion. But even though he didn’t reach the summit the challenge was a huge success because he reached his £3million fundraising target, and the media and digital coverage brought the work of this fantastic charity to many more people.

Thanks to Marie Curie Cancer Care, all the sponsors, those who helped at basecamp (in particular the incredible sherpas) and everybody else involved in the project – it was a privilege to work with you all.

And to Sir Ranulph Fiennes – Sir, we salute you.

Photo: copyright Liz Scarff 2011

While detractors put Stella McCartney’s success down to her famous parents and celebrity connections, the popularity of her collections on the high street, the catwalk and the red carpet say otherwise.

Stella McCartney has cultivated the image of a modern style icon who you could easily image sitting on a sofa wearing her tracksuit pants and an old – but cool T-shirt watching Pop Idol; She likes to come across as “ordinary” one of us. There is, of course, the billionaire Beatle father and the A-list lifestyle so it would have been easy for Stella to become another spoilt millionaire’s kid.

“I guess I am quite honest with myself and I try to put that into all my products,” says Stella, munching her way through a plate of sandwiches whilst sinking casually into a squidgy black leather sofa in a pair of towering shoes – her own design – which she swears are totally comfortable – despite their skyscraper qualities.

The designers ability to move fluidly from couture to the high-street is a recurrent theme in both her work and her personal life. When her 45-piece collection for H&M was released to the public at 9am on 10^th November 2005. It sold out in minutes. The collection, which the fashionista calls her ‘greatest hits’ included her classic designs such as the chunky cardigan from 2001, 1980s style narrow zipped jeans and tailoring influenced by her Saville Row training. The pieces can now only be snapped up for inflated prices on e-Bay.

“I used to buy high street all the time,” Stella explains, her accent a mixture of estuary English and Transatlantic twang “I remember the first time I saw my stuff copied I thought it was mad, I couldn’t believe it. I thought, ‘No it must be a coincidence.’” She talks purposefully; her answers considered and peppered with slang such as ‘like’ and ‘so-not’ at one point she declares, “I am so-not confident in everything I do.”

“I can’t forget when I used to buy all the knock offs, there is nothing wrong with it; really life is too short. When we did the H&M thing it was an acknowledgment of that, it was sort of saying I don’t know anyone now who, if you can afford a Stella McCartney couture jacket, who doesn’t have a pair of shoes that cost $20. That is how people dress now and you are allowed to do that.

“I think it is good that there is so much choice out there and that people are really making their own decisions. When I design it is all about you can take this top and you can put it with any trousers or if you want you can wear this skirt with any old top, it could be from the charity shop, it could be your grandmother’s, it doesn’t matter. That is the way I design because that is the way I dress. It is not about ‘you can only wear this jacket and those shoes and that bag’. I don’t know anyone who dresses like that anymore.”

This mix-it up fashion philosophy is inspired by her mum, Linda, who died from breast cancer in April 1998. “She wore the coolest clothes. She was so ahead of her time,” Stella has said, “I loved her clothes. She used to wear these beautiful ‘30’s tea dresses, with a pop t-shirt, a pair of boots and maybe some piece of couture, or just a pair of jeans. That is exactly what I do, and lots of girls do now. Mix it all up. It’s become my philosophy, too.”

That combination of fabulous clothes on a high-street girl was something that McCartney chose to be known for right from the start when she graduated from Central St Martins in 1995. Famously her graduation show was modelled by her supermodel friends. This, combined with her parents sitting in the front row, saw her appearing in the national newspapers (clearly something that made her stand out from her fellow students).

She must have realised that choosing Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell and Yasmin Le Bon to walk down the student catwalk would court controversy, but showed a devil-may-care-attitude. The collection itself was subsequently snapped up by stores such as Browns, Joseph, as well as in America.

Possessing the McCartney surname could be seen as a ‘VIP fast-forward.’ Not an interview, collection, or perfume launch goes by without reference to it. Does she deserve her success? Was it all handed to her on a plate?  Is she actually any good at designing clothes? I first meet Stella at a press conference. A journalist asks a question about her father, she moves the microphone from her mouth and her curt answer is inaudible, but she is clearly not happy, as she exits the launch.

She memorably complained in January 1999, “I’m so sick of this ‘my parents’ thing. It’s not my fault. It’s been this way my whole life. When I would make a good drawing at school, it was because my Dad was a Beatle. Or if I got a part in the school play, it was because Dad was a Beatle. What do I do? Do I become a smackhead and live off my parents’ fortune, or do I have my own life?”

McCartney shoe to ignore the accusations of building on her well-connected parents and decided to pursue her own career, as did her other siblings: Heather a ceramicist, Mary, a well-known photographer, who was chosen to do the official Christmas portrait some years ago, and bother James a musician.

In 1997 she got her big break when she was appointed Director of the House of Chloé bringing with her design assistant and friend from Central St Martins, Phoebe Philo (who later went on to succeed Stella’s position as Creative Director). Karl Lagerfeld was succinct in his opinion about his replacement, “I think they should have taken a big name,” he declared, “They did, but in music, not fashion.” Despite a poorly received first collection Stella, who was twenty-five at the time, increased sales five-fold.

In 2001 she launched her own fashion house, under her own name, with backing from Gucci. A women’s sportswear collection for Adidas, designing Madonna’s wedding dress and costumes for her re-invention tour has followed. There were plenty of other celebrity commissions too, inclueding the outfits for singer Annie Lennox’s 2004 world tour and the wardrobe for Gwyneth Paltrow and Jude Law for the film Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. McCartney also dressed her friend Gwyneth for the 2005 Oscars.

Something of a tom-boy as a child and always the one to make people laugh; today it seems that the fashion–leader brings an element of this masculinity to her work. “I do this contrast thing that I can’t seem to get away from. If I do a design and it’s in chiffon with a lovely print, I’ll put a heavy hem on it or something, it’s like I can’t help myself. Or, if I do a pretty little delicate blouse I always have to put a bespoke men’s tailor jacket on top.  It’s just the contrast there is with me. It’s in everything with my life, my home and my furniture and very much, I guess, in my personality.”

She goes onto explain: “I don’t think that a lot of women today are feminine, feminine, feminine,” she explains, “I think most women have both sides to them; they are forced to. Because we’re working, and we are not only mothers and girlfriends and wives, we identify with all of that; I think men do too. It is a false myth that women are this and men are that; I think there is a balance in everyone.”

McCartney finds her own balance by dividing her time between the Worchester estate and the London house she shares with husband Alasdhair Willis, 36, and their two year old son Miller and baby daughter Bailey. Willis former publisher of interior style bible Wallpaper and now director of Established and Sons a contempory furniture design company, married McCartney in 2003 on the Island of Bute. At the time the happy bride was quoted as saying: “I’ve never felt like this in a relationship before…it’s just a dream.”

Next year marks 10 years since the death of her beloved mother but she has staunchly kept Linda’s principles alive, never using leather or fur in her designs. She is also a patron of the Vegtarian Society and member of PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals).

“Everything I do is inspired by my Mum and my Dad and the way I grew up, but more directly where I grew up, in the country, aware of crystals, nature and flowers.”  Her childhood, she says, was normal, “To me I had a normal childhood. I had normal parents. I had a mum who was at home, who picked us up from school in her old mini and cooked us our tea. We watched telly and went to bed. Normal.” What’s not quite as normal is coming home and finding Stevie Wonder in your lounge sipping tea.

Alasdair, former publisher of interior style bible Wallpaper and now director of Established & Sons, a contemporary furniture design company, married Stella

Normality is clearly important to Stella, who freely admits to being a slob, when asked how often she gets dressed up, but adds, ‘I just don’t let anybody see me. I rarely ever wear make-up and I don’t go to work to get papped, I go to work to work. I try and look halfway decent like anyone would.” But don’t let the earth mother image fool you – this McCartney has got wings.

©Liz Scarff 2011

Lobster Bob fits in perfectly here. ‘I don’t usually take people for rides,’ he continues, ‘but I’m gonna make an exception for you British girls.’ Lobster Gary, the owner and driver of the motorized crustacean sits in the cockpit with my companion, Rachel, while I perch on the back with Lobster Bob. With a jerk we scuttle off across the desert.

The arid area in question is the Black Rock Desert in Nevada, USA. For one week a year this usually inhospitable place plays host to the unique Burning Man project – and it’s the surrealist motor show on earth.

Imagine an experimental community cocooned inside a giant snow-globe. Substitute snow for sand, add thirty-five thousand people, several hundred Art Cars, shake it to wake it and prepare your mind to be blown away.

At four thousand feet above sea level the daily temperatures exceed one hundred degrees and sand is regularly whipped up into dust storms so ferocious you can’t even see your own outstretched hands. Those making the pilgrimage have to bring enough water and food to survive, as there’s not a sniff of civilisation for miles.

Burning Man began in 1986 when a guy called Larry Harvey set fire to a wooden man on a small beach in San Francisco, apparently to appease his broken heart. As the event grew, Harvey moved it to the desert in Nevada. The event bills itself as an art festival and experimental community and it’s this that sets it apart from any other event in the world. No acts are booked  – music, art and performances are all organised by participants. Art Cars, like the Lobster car, are an integral part of the event – and we’re not talking simple paint jobs, more motorised fluffy rabbit slippers and sailing boats.

The mid-day temperature is pushing ninety as we drive into the dust bowl, a huge flying carpet floats past us, it’s closely followed by a life-size Viking ship – the ship in turn is being pursued by a naked man alternately running and cocking his leg as he tries to board the moving ship.

Each year the circular Black Rock City rises up to become the seventh largest city in Nevada. It has its own newspaper, post-office, pizza-delivery, even its own airport. In the middle of the city is a huge open expanse used for building art sculptures and driving Art cars. The centrepiece is the wooden Burning Man sculpture.

The city is an urban tentopolis. Billowing fabric covers geodesic domes and enormous shade structures stretch as far as the eye can see. RV’s and trucks have transported everything each camp needs from solar power showers to cocktail bars. The streets are full of people strolling or riding bicycles and anything goes. No, really – anything goes. Granted the drive-by shooting range went out of business when they banned fire-arms but if you want to launch fireworks from your head or cycle naked with a six foot cuddly rhino strapped to your back – then welcome home.

The Playa is like an intergalactic waiting lounge; characters dressed in other-worldly fashion mingle around unfamiliar structures and art installations. Art Cars float surreally by – an un-choreographed waltz of pirate ships, motorised zebras, living rooms, sofas and other outlandish creations.

A three-wheeled bike roars across the playa. The driver is lying face down, his head concealed in a clear plastic dome and his legs stretched out towards the enormous single back tyre. The bike’s designer and owner, Mark Christensen from LA, raises the dome’s shield and dismounts. As well as restoring and selling vintage sports cars Mark is a part-time sci-fi film director and he built the bike – called ‘The Horizontal Hammer Head’ – for his latest film.

‘I found the rear 1927 Dodge truck wheel in a junk yard in the desert,’ explains Mark, ‘It gives the impression the bike is going faster than it is actually is. It has a VW engine, Harley suspension and the body is foam that I shaped and painted. It took two months solid to build.’

Top speed is over 100mph but with The Playa speed limit of 5mph he hasn’t been able to put her through her paces. ‘This is my first time at Burning Man. I thought it would be a real heroin trip, but it’s not at all. It’s a euphoric, creative community. Everybody is really friendly.’

Art Cars are the only vehicles allowed to be driven around the city and they all have to be licensed by the Department for Mutant Vehicles (DMV). A strict vetting process decides whether they qualify. Many, like the Lobster Car are built around modified golf carts. But just draping a golf cart with a few flags is not going to cut it. Cars fall into three categories: interactive/community based like mobile dance clubs, whimsical/stunning like the Lobster car and performance orientated like the pyrotechnic fish. What makes a good Art Car? According to the DMV its all down to the WOW! factor.

‘Burners’ travel thousands of miles to take part. It took Captain Mojo Gaddamit and Chief Engineer Sir Fixalot two days to haul their pleasure cruiser all the way from Seattle. Captain Mojo is sitting up front with his ladies. ‘We took a 1988 Compass Quad,’ he explains, while Sir Fixalot is in the back of the boat fixing ice-cold margaritas, ‘and we pretty much cut everything off and just lowered the boat right down on the top.’

Even though there are 35,000 people here the city is so expansive it never feels busy. Although nobody really discusses what they do for a living, participants are from a variety of backgrounds, lawyers, accountants, students and artists. The community is based on sharing and all around the site people set up bars with free drinks, theatres, maze’s, clubs, trampolines, game-shows you name it and it’s probably here.

During the day the glare of the sun and reflection from the sand makes the city look like a faded seventies Polaroid. At night Burning Man bursts into colour.  ‘Geez it’s dirty on Uranus,’ shouts a man passing our camp, dripping with glowsticks he looks like Bertie Bassett on acid. ‘Has anybody seen our ladders, there are short people in our camp who need the ladders to reach the dinner table – they are getting hungry,’ shouts a passer by into a megaphone

‘In the distance a batch of cupcakes are twirling and dancing in the dust. ‘They were baked from scratch,’ explains Lisa Pongrace, ‘Mine is a blueberry muffin and my partner Greg’s is a chocolate cupcake.’ They are accompanied by a vanilla cupcake with pink frosting and sprinkles, bran muffin and a milk chocolate cupcake with fluffy pink frosting. Lisa and Greg are old-hands at Burning Man. ‘The city is so big that we started making art cars as a really cool way of getting around. Our first Art Car was a motorised couch that we built in 1996,’ explains Greg, ‘then we built a couple of pink fluffy rabbit slippers. The cupcakes are new for this year.’

‘I’m not sure where the idea came from,’ ponders Lisa, a graphic designer from Berkley, California, ‘I love the shape of cupcakes and I love pop art and scale – underscaled or overscaled things.’ The cupcakes are all slightly different but all are made from electric motors from wheelchairs or electric golf carts.  ‘Ours are chain drive,’ explains Greg, a software engineer, ‘the motor is attached to the forks which means that you can turn the handle bars 180 degrees and go backwards,’ ‘We can spin and do muffin dances across the Playa,’ interjects Lisa.

‘Burning Man is like the final exam for your creativity,’ explains Greg. ‘You want to produce something really cool and you work your butt off to get it finished but then driving around is such fun.’ ‘We never made it more than 15ft without people stopping us to chat or to take photos.’ Lisa adds, ‘I love the creativity of Burning man, seeing other people’s art. I like the gift economy and just the fact that I can walk around in my pyjamas all day if I want to.’

The climax of the week is the burning of the Man on Saturday night. For the first time you can get a sense of just how many people, and Art Cars, are there. Fireworks blast into the air and as the man topples the crowd rush forward like moths to a flame and run, whooping and hollering, in a frenzied circle around the fire.

After a night of hard partying the exodus back to reality begins. ‘Leave no trace,’ preach the event organisers. This time next week the barren, inhospitable environment will be deserted and you’d never know this microcosm of madness ever existed.

‘I’m not sure where the idea came from,’ ponders Lisa, a graphic designer from Berkley, California, ‘I love the shape of cupcakes and I love pop art and scale – underscaled or overscaled things.’ The cupcakes are all slightly different but all have electric motors from wheelchairs or electric golf carts.  ‘Ours are chain drive,’ explains Greg, a software engineer, ‘the motor is attached to the forks which means that you can turn the handle bars 180 degrees and go backwards,’ ‘We can spin and do muffin dances across the Playa,’ interjects Lisa.

‘Burning Man is like the final exam for your creativity,’ explains Greg. ‘You want to produce something really cool and you work your butt off to get it finished but then driving around is such fun.’ ‘We never made it more than 15ft without people stopping us to chat or to take photos.’ Lisa adds, ‘I love the creativity of Burning man, seeing other people’s art. I like the gift economy and just the fact that I can walk around in my pyjamas all day if I want to.’

The climax of the week is the burning of the Man on Saturday night. For the first time you can get a sense of just how many people, and Art Cars, are there. Fireworks blast into the air and as the man topples the crowd rush forward like moths to a flame and run, whooping and hollering, in a frenzied circle around the fire.

After a night of hard partying the exodus back to reality begins. ‘Leave no trace,’ preach the event organisers. This time next week the barren, inhospitable environment will be deserted and you’d never know this microcosm of madness ever existed.

Copyright Liz Scarff 2011

As the lights dim in the theatre, burlesque dancer Satan’s Angel builds to her explosive finale. Shimmying to the front of the stage, she dips her nipple tassels in a bowl of petrol, holds up a match, strikes it, and whoosh – they burst into flames. At that moment, she starts bumping and grinding to music by Santana. “Oh my God!” shouts one shocked audience member, mesmerised by the two swirling beacons on the darkened stage. The crowd goes wild. Even in the anything-goes atmosphere of modern-day burlesque, flaming nipple tassels are still pretty spectacular.

Satan’s Angel is one of more than 120 performers taking part in Exotic World Weekend in Las Vegas. And tonight, the 12 finalists in the Miss Exotic World 2007 Pageant are pulling out all the stops in a bid to be crowned queen of burlesque. Best described as the “art of striptease”, it’s a titillating, saucy and sexy performance that takes care not to tip into straight stripping.

In the days leading up to this year’s pageant, sweeping hot-pink tail feathers, trapeze swings and suitcases stuffed to the brim full of elaborate costumes have been trundling around Sin City’s airport baggage carousels. For burlesque dancers, the pageant is their night of nights. “We were looking for a way to let people know we are here, as well as celebrating what burlesque is all about,” points out Laura Herbert of the Burlesque Hall of Fame, which organises the event. “These days, people tend to think the term applies to just about every form of adult entertainment, but that’s a misnomer. Sure, most burlesque is a little risqué, but it’s also sassy, surprising and even a bit silly.”

Burlesque’s roots can be traced back to the early 19th century, at the height of the stuffy Victorian era, when dance troupes of women wearing flesh-coloured tights titillated (mostly male) audiences. Slowly growing in popularity, performances peaked in Europe in the transgressive period between World Wars I and II, when beautiful showgirls kicked up their legs at Paris’s Le Moulin Rouge and the Les Folies Bergere, creating a firecracker atmosphere of sexual tension and licentiousness.

In recent years, contemporary stars such as Dita Von Teese and the Pussycat Dolls have taken burlesque back into the mainstream. From an inauspicious start in a goat shed in the Mojave Desert, Nevada, the Miss Exotic World has grown over the past 17 years to become a three-day spectacle, where performers like Dixie Evans mix with lithe newcomers. “Miss Exotic World is really important in preserving the art of burlesque,” explains Dixie. “In 1990, we held a burlesque reunion at my ranch in the desert and five girls showed up. I said, ‘Why don’t we hold a contest? That way, we’ll get new girls.’” The highlight of the weekend is the pageant at the Krave nightclub, where women from around the world (there are no Australians) vie for titles including Best Debut, Best Duo, and Miss Exotic World 2007. The whole event ends in suitably glamorous style with a rooftop pool party.

One of the contestants, Ophelia Flame – aka Laura Libby, 38, a full-time mother – performs with the Lili’s Burlesque Revue, a sell-out cabaret club in her hometown of Minneapolis. At 4.30pm, on the night of the pageant, she’s crammed into room 615 at the Golden Nugget Hotel with other glamorous girls from Lili’s, who are helping her prepare for her big performance. “I have a traditional dance background, but when I was 22, I took up dancing in topless bars,” she reveals, as the other girls fuss around her. “When I came to Miss Exotic World in 1999, I realised I had found my tribe.”

The Lili’s costumier, Heidi Wheeler, is on hand to help Ophelia into her jeweled matador costume for her Spanish-influenced performance. Rather than focusing on keeping Ophelia in her dress, Heidi works hard to produce the kind of wardrobe malfunction that got Justin Timberlake and Janet Jackson into so much trouble at their 2004 Super Bowl performance. “We actually look for wardrobe malfunction,” laughs Ophelia.

While a make-up artist creates a dramatic Spanish look, Ophelia draws on her experience as a topless dancer to explain the distinction between stripping and burlesque. “That’s the million-dollar question,” she muses. “The girls don’t want to be thought of as sex workers; they’re performers. [Issues around] sex and sexuality are always evolving, and it’s empowering to see women in control of their bodies and sexuality. Women generally run burlesque clubs, and men generally run strip clubs.”

As she slides into her first costume for the evening – a strapless, orange, full-length gown – Ophelia confesses to feeling a little nervous. “I know it sounds a bit worthy but I’m not thinking about winning – it’s the taking part that counts,” she smiles, before announcing to the other women in the room: “But if I do win, you guys are all going to be carrying all my crap back home!” Meanwhile, outside Krave nightclub a red carpet has been rolled out ready for tonight’s stellar performance. Emerging goggle-eyed from the famous Caesars Palace Hotel & Casino across the road, tourists stare at the glamazons starting to emerge from sleek limousines. Inside, the club is packed.

The look is overwhelmingly old-school glamour, with everyone in the audience dressed to impress. Impossibly tight-looking corsets elevate cleavages to exaggerated voluptuousness. The men are attired in impeccable suits. “Let’s get this show started,” announces one of the comperes, Miss Astrid, in her fake and deadpan German accent. Retro bump-and-grind music starts thumping from the loudspeakers, the crowd cheers, and Renea Le Roux, the Southern Belle from Hell, bursts on to the stage. In a pink and black Louisiana-style dress, complete with parasol, Renea is an immediate hit. Teasing the audience, she peels off layer after layer of clothing with impeccable timing until there’s nothing left but her pasties (nipple covers) and briefs. At this point, she turns, winks at the crowd, swings her parasol over her left shoulder and sashays off stage – to a standing ovation.

However, burlesque isn’t just about the tease, although that’s definitely a significant part of it; entertainment and glamour, with a touch of comedy, are equally important. With names like Harvest Moon, Desiré D’Amour and Jailbait Jenny, each performer has just four minutes to tantalise and entertain the judges and audience.

An impressive 250 girls have applied for 12 places in the final, so competition is fierce and everyone wants to up the ante. “It doesn’t matter if you’re tall, thin, short, or fat, burlesque is for everybody,” shouts Miss Astrid. Backstage, British contestant Amber Topaz, 33, is similarly inclusive. “You can be whoever you want to be,” she explains. “When I discovered burlesque, I felt for the first time that I fitted

in. In the mainstream, you have to be a size zero or a size eight and have this bag or that bag … how boring is that?  Burlesque is a real celebration of women. Where else do women get to be sexy, funny, powerful and intelligent on stage, and be loved for it?”

This evening certainly has it all: striptease on a hoop lowered from the ceiling, a hilarious homage to the film Titanic, and showers of glitter and diamanté. But excitement really reaches fever pitch with the arrival of Immodesty Blaize, 29, from London, the performer tipped to take the crown. She steps onto the stage in a dazzling full-length, fake-fur coat; a white, widebrimmed pompom hat; and a corset that frames her hourglass figure. With every thump of the drumbeat or clash of the cymbal, she teases off another piece of clothing with immaculate timing.

Judging by the ecstatic response of the crowd, her performance is a standout. For the next few minutes a low, excited buzz fills the room as the audience speculates on the winner. Then, silence descends as comperes Miss Astrid and El Vez, the Mexican Elvis, take to the stage to announce the result. “And the winner is … Immodesty Blaize!” they roar. In the backstage chaos after the show, Immodesty is flushed and breathless. “I was performing as soon as I could shimmy my tits and ass,” she grins. “I blossomed at the time of the super-waif and I didn’t fit into that mould, in any shape or form. So it suited me to adopt the style of the ’50s bombshell.

Then, about 10 years ago, I decided burlesque was something I wanted to try.” Having opened shows for the late James Brown, performed for Dior and headlined a burlesque show in London’s West End, Immodesty has ridden burlesque’s new wave of popularity. Like Ophelia, she believes it’s empowering for women. “The whole theatre of burlesque appeals to me – and, obviously, the erotic undertone – in that it’s an expression of my female sexuality. These days, we’re all given the impression that we have a look a certain way. But burlesque embraces the fact that we’re all different.”

©Liz Scarff 2011
Photographs ©DanHallman 2011

Queens, New York: The buffed-up candy orange convertible pulls up alongside a grubby green family station wagon. As the car comes to a standstill so do the spinning engraved chrome and 24 carat gold spinners. The bass is booming from the gold amp in the boot and the sun ricocheting off the engraved chrome and gold air tanks. Such ostentatious bling on the block has passers-by scrambling for their camera phones. ‘What is it?’ one guy drawls. At the flick of a switch the car hisses loudly and its body judders downwards.

Hooked up rides are big news. ‘Everybody has a Honda so you gotta take it to another level,’ explains Gopie Ramsook, the car’s owner. ‘How much of the original Honda is actually left?’ Gopie pauses, his eyes drift upwards for a moment, ‘um….the dash,’ he offers laughing. ‘Those rims cost $5,800 – they’re the only ones in the United States.’

Ramsook is a member of ‘Low Mentality’ a lowrider car club based in Queens, New York. The club members chop, weld, upholster, chrome and gild their cars until they’re the ultimate in excess.  This car started life as a $2500 four-door hard top 1994 Honda Accord. Over one hundred thousand dollars worth of customisations later it’s a two door convertible with upward lifting Lamborghini style scissor doors, DVD player, opulent upholstered interior and a Lexus front end. Old school hydraulics have been passed over in favour of an air set-up with three chrome and gold engraved air tanks visibly mounted behind the back seat. Gopie is a man that likes to engrave everything – that includes his golden gearstick.

‘It’s like crack,’ observes another club member, ‘once you start you want more and more.’ Like crack it’s an expensive habit with most of their cars pushing the $100,000 mark.

Kasma, who runs a garage from his yard, does much of Low Mentality’s hydraulic work. Inside his workshop a white Escalade has been completely stripped in order to install remote controlled air-suspension. A boot lid is painted with gravestones and names is leaned up against the wall. I it reads, ‘this is for my hommies  – rest in peace.’

Kasma jumps in his hopper, a 1964 Cadillac Impala and with the flick of a switch the car hops up onto three wheels. It’s rush hour and as he takes a leisurely cruise around the block – the front left wheel up at forty-five degrees. ‘You should see this street at night,’ says Kasma as he is elevated over the raised wheel, arm casually out the window, ‘everybody hangs out and the whole street is filled with hooked up cars.’

Low Mentality’s twelve members are all are vying to build hip-hop’s illest ride and will be trying their luck at the Annual Funkmaster Flex Celebrity Car Show in Atlantic City. Funkmaster Flex, an NYC hip-hop DJ, and he carries a reputation as the tour de force in the celebrity customised car world. His own car club Team Baurtwell boasts members such as Justin Timberlake, Queen Latifah and Radio 1’s Tim Westwood.

It’s nine am in Atlantic City, New Jersey, and the over-zealous security team are keeping the loose-trousered guys and barely dressed women at bay. ‘You gotta let me in,’ a guy brandishing a bag of tools begs, ‘I have to finish the jacuzzi in Wyclef’s truck – I’ve been working on it all night,’ ‘Yeah – let me in too – my bitch is in there,’ shouts another.

The show opens two hours late. Inside is a smorgasbord of sound: over fifty sound systems bellow out ear-blistering hip-hop, each system distorting to the point just before the speakers blow. Who has the loudest system? The bets are on and money is already changing hands.

In the back of his electric blue Ford F150 pick-up truck Wyclef’s taking a fully clothed dip in his jacuzzi. He emerges from the bubbles, pushes himself up on the blue leather trim and stands in the middle of the tub. Rather than watching his plasma screen TV – or the scantily clad women draped around the edge – he surveys the thronging vista of bass, boots and booty. Water drips from his dreadlocks and now see-through white shirt. A flunky places a microphone in his outstretched hand. ‘I was waiting for the competition,’ he announces to the tightly packed crowd, ‘but nobody showed up.’

This year Wyclef had to up the ante. Outdoing his H2 Hummer with a 140-gallon salt-water aquarium complete with two sharks was never going to be easy. Today he has brought a Mercedes G5, made especially for him, complete with two aquariums and goldfish, Spiderman Chopper, a Pagina Zonda and an F1 McLaren. The whole display is set off with a massive waterfall and koi carp.

The car show is a mix of celebrity cars and eighty or so non-celebrity customised cars. The two day event is being judged by Bobby Trends who together with Flex runs the ICCA (International Celebrity Car Association). Trends awards points in eight different categories: exterior, interior, motorwork, sound and media, creativity, wheel packages, lighting and display. And it’s quality not quantity that will impress, ‘Somebody could have installed twenty speakers and screens,’ explains Trends,  ‘but if somebody else only has four but they’re installed really well – that is what I am looking for. It also helps if the person is a bit of brown noser,’ he adds, laughing, ‘I don’t wanna be opening the hood – they should be runnin’ round opening it for me.’

Impressing the judge with his Toyota 4runner has meant that Low Mentality’s Ansar Khan hasn’t slept for three days solid – it took him two days just to lay the marble floor. ‘I’ve been working on this car now for five years but have recently re-done it all again,’ Ansar explains, ‘Yeah we’re not talking about vacuuming we’re talking mopping his floor,’ interjects another club member.

The car has eight TV screens, DVD player, two Sony playstations, a push button gear box, remote control Lamborghini style doors, a spy-camera above the back window, chromed wheel rims, a speaker wall with chrome speakers, a Louis Vuitton and Gucci interior, grey marble tiled floor, chromed air tanks and is painted a custom metal-flake blue.

It cost around $80,000 to build, a dedication appreciated by a couple leaning in to have a look, ‘you guys are celebrities and you don’t even know it,’ says one, looking at Khan.

The convention centre is bursting with supersize accessories, supersize burgers and supersize bikini clad women selling car wax. David Basala is hoping that the quality and creativity of his two Escalade cabs welded together in a ‘push me/pull me’ style will impress the judge therefore opening the market – he has six identical ones at home. Tony Martinez, an old hand at car shows, has brought along his everyday vehicle, a Ford E150 with wooden floor, undercarriage stereo system with six marine speakers, 13 TV screens and seven cameras. ‘It’s the same surveillance equipment the FBI use,’ he explains, and it wouldn’t be complete without the x-box and disco ball.

Flex displays his cars, not far from 50 cent’s Impala, in the middle of the arena. His customised cars sit alongside classics like the Ford Gran Torino, of Starsky and Hutch fame.

In the age of crews you’re nobody without an entourage. Ashanti smiles sweetly posing in front of her cute pink Jaguar while her crew shout in vain into their headsets. Tyson Beckford, an American supermodel, sashays past flanked by policemen and several girls in butt skimming red hotpants. Rumour has it he hired his Bentley in Miami just for the show.

Buying a car straight from the showroom, no matter how much it cost, does not cut it in the world of hooked up cars – it’s simply not enough. ‘You gotta have this,’ says Gopie, thumping a clenched fist on his heart. And the sharks and jacuzzis are all a bit passé. ‘Fitting a jacuzzi in a car is not a big thing to do – it’s simple. Not like chopping off the roof and the front and back of the car.’

‘We’ve been exposed to hooked up cars all our lives,’ adds Danny, the club’s vice-president, ‘Growing up we watched people in the neighbourhood adding under lighting and hydraulics to Hondas and classic lowriders like Impala’s. Sometimes when we’re out cruising in the neighbourhood, a Lamborghini will drive past but if we are going down the road on three wheels everybody is looking at us.’ Last time Danny broke down in his 1964 Cadillac Coup de Ville he made the headlines, attracting a national news helicopter.

‘The kids look at Lamborghinis and they think “wow”,’ says Gopie. ‘Then they look at our cars and they think, ”that’s a Honda,” I could have done this to my car.’ Some car clubs are more like gangs, say Low Mentality, but that is not their bag. They describe themselves as a family and cruising is important, ‘oh my goodness when we go out forget about it,’ says Danny, ‘It’s a show in the street,’ but at the heart of the club is a passion for cars.

Periodically industrial sized dusters are produced and run over immaculate paintwork. And periodically Flex and his crew whisk around the building in a frenzy of hip-hop fists and appreciative nodding and pointing. The rumour that Missy Elliot is turning up proves to be just that  – a rumour.  So after the raucous bikini contest Flex announces the prizes. Low Mentality clean up, best car club, best domestic classic. But the most prestigious prize of all ‘best in show’ goes to Gopie. Nothing is understated in this game and the six foot plus trophy towers above his head.

‘Coming to the shows is inspiring; you get a lot of ideas, see new things. But then you have to go one better,’ says Danny. ‘The Lamborghini up-doors are definitely the big thing this year. But for next year I want to chrome and engrave the undercarriage of my Cadillac.’ He’s not the only one stepping up a gear, ‘For my next show,’ announces Wyclef,  ‘I’m bringing a Spaceship.’

©Liz Scarff 2011 not to be reproduced without permission

Photographs ©RachelPalmer 2011 not to be reproduced without permission

We’ve always been a fan of Jamie Oliver. And now Debate Your Plate has teamed up with him to bring you our stories on his website.

When other chefs look as if they might drown in the importance of their own jus, Jamie is one of those rare celebrities whose not afraid to get on a soapbox and stand up for what he believes.

And he’s made a lot of great changes. Think school dinners; turkey twizzlers and Ministry of Food to name a few.

Recently, we had the pleasure of meeting Jamie’s website editor, Danny McCubbin. He manages the whole site (no mean feat!) – as well as running several of Jamie’s other charities.

Danny has asked if we would like to share and write for Jamie’s website.

Of course, we’re delighted!

Read a Q & A we’ve just done with Danny and keep your eyes peeled for more of our latest stories.

And don’t worry, although we love Jamie, we promise not to “effing pucker!”

Find out more:

Visit Debate Your Plate

If Dastardly and Mutley were to take a holiday this would be it: attempting to cross the Sahara in a car that is so appalling you wouldn’t even drive it to the scrap heap. What’s the challenge? Buy an old banger for £100, fix it up for just £15 and then drive it – with your fingers crossed – nearly four thousand miles from Plymouth down the west coast of Africa to Dakar in three weeks.

The rally, in aid of charity, begins on Boxing Day. The dubious vehicles disembarking from the overnight ferry from Portsmouth to Le Havre, France include an Ice-Cream van complete with working freezer, a replica A-Team van that’s already sprung an oil leak, the universally despised Austin Princess, a tiny £20 Fiat Panda and perhaps the worse British car ever made, an Austin Allegro.

Alongside this roll-call of rust buckets is ‘The Lady,’ a 1994 red Lada Riva saloon driven by Rachel Palmer, 29, and myself, Liz Scarff, 28, aka the Lada Ladies. With steering as heavy as a tank and gears like treacle, driving her is a truly awful experience. Unlike the Paris to Dakar this wacky race is completely unsupported. If we break down in the Sahara Desert we’ll, well, cross that bridge when we come to it.

Anyway who needs support vehicles laden with spares and luxuries like GPS when you’ve got a roof rack, fashioned from a length of old skirting board found in a local skip, ten metres of quality carpet, to be used as sand ladders, some gaffer tape, small tool kit and the spare wheel that came with the car.

This attitude of ‘winging it,’ can be applied to all the motley crew taking part. The cars quite frankly are rubbish.

The rally is (un)-organized by Julian Nowill a stock broker from Exeter with a penchant for Lada’s. Having driven a £25 Lada to St Petersburg in 2001 Julian dreamt up the rally to satisfy a mid-life crisis. Now in it’s third year the entrants have jumped from an initial fifty to over two hundred. He says, ‘If you have lots of money and a sense of adventure then the Paris/Dakar could be your cup of tea. If you have a sense of adventure but relatively little cash then the Plymouth to Dakar challenge might be up your street.’

Rally drivers are aged between nineteen and sixty-five (only seven are female) and from a variety of different backgrounds: what unites everybody is a passion for cars and adventure.

This unique rally boasts the slogan, ‘No money, No worries, No sense.’ No sense comes into play in France when one team’s homemade roof rack slips forward pinning all the doors shut with occupants inside. Later two rally cars crash in the Pyrenees. No worries? You must be joking!

Neil Scudder, 36 and Chip Wilson, 37, anticipated problems crossing the Sahara in their Bedford Ice-cream van but not on day one, just a hundred miles into the trip. Dejectedly they tuck into strawberry cornets before the van is taken to a scrapyard. Unable to let them go home so early in the game we re-arrange our equipment to create more space. Chip hitches a ride with Team Vantastic while we christen Neil an honorary Lada Lad and head for the icy Pyrenees.

The bracing snow and gale-force winds exaggerate the slack in the Lada’s  steering, making her impossible to drive in a straight line. With 2,499 miles of potholed roads ahead for the first time it crosses our minds that the Lada is completely unsuitable for the terrain. But for the moment our main concern is getting through the Moroccan border. Rumours of corrupt officials are rife and the group is nervous.

‘Another team member came flying through customs towards us hissing, “get rid of your CB radio,”’ explains Brett Tapping, 26, co-driver of a £20 Fiat Panda with his brother Ellis, 32, ‘Clive’s team had interrogated at the border for three hours because the Moroccans thought they were spies,’ continues Brett, ‘So Ellis distracted the guards while I ripped our CB out, stuffed it in a carrier bag and nonchalantly strolled over to the waste-bin to drop it in.’

It takes most of the day but eventually all 34 cars get through safely. Misa from the A-Team re-attaches our loose exhaust pipe with speaker wire and everybody heads along the beautiful Moroccan coastal road for the city of Rabat.  The Moroccans have their own particular brand of driving. It does of course involve high speeds, blind corners and lots of horn action. But most notably the ‘Moroccan Middle’ – the art of driving straight down the middle of the road seemingly oblivious to other traffic.

Stef Pickles, 39, and George William, 31, from Wales discover the Moroccan penchant for speed when they blast through a police check point at 80mph in their £10 Montego Estate, ‘George didn’t see the police,’ explains Stef, ‘so he skidded into a ditch at eighty mph in front of two very bemused policemen. We climbed out the car in a cloud of dust spluttering, “pleased to meet you we’re British,” The police seemed to think this was fairly normal behaviour and took us for breakfast.’

Our second day in Africa brings our first serious problem – a gearbox that won’t stay in gear. Luckily we are travelling in convoy with a mechanic, Mike Rogers, of Team Vantastic. ‘Keep heading for Marrakech until you conk out and then we’ll tow you,’ is his advice. Mike owns a garage and co-driver John Ward works for an oil company. They are both from Southampton. ‘I read about the rally in a car magazine,’ explains Mike, ‘we both own classic cars and go driving together at the weekends. This rally seemed like a real challenge and I’m just itching to drive across the desert.’ ‘And we’re hoping to still be friends after three weeks in a car together,’ laughs John.

Driving our Lada soon becomes a two-person job; one pair of hands to hold the car in gear while the other wrestles with the heavy steering. Most visitors to Marrakech wander the Souks, we scoured the scrapyards looking for a second-hand gearbox. Without it we’d be on the next plane home. Tension mounts as Ahmed, our local mechanic, goes from scrap dealer to dealer. Our hearts sink as time after time he emerges shaking his head. Finally, after an hour and a half our man in Marrakech comes up trumps with a four-speed gearbox to replace our previous five-speed. We must be the only people to have ever paid £100 to downgrade a Lada.

The gearbox takes two days to fit leaving us two days’ drive behind the rest of the convoy. We cover 600 miles in one day, and although the Moroccan police constantly stop us for speeding, being an all girl team suddenly becomes an advantage as an amiable chat secures our bribe-free passage across the country. By now bush bodges have become the norm. Starter motors have been removed in favour of push starts, fuel tanks bypassed with plastic tubing and a jerry can on the roof; and a baked bean can is patching up the Allegro’s exhaust.

The fast-paced driving is exhausting. We only have time for one meal a day and rarely reach a destination in daylight. By now the group has split into smaller mini convoys. We stick together for safety – if one car stops we all stop, be it for a toilet break or puncture. Most evenings we meet at the designated campsite. From civil servants to solicitors and engineers the group is a mixed bunch. Beers, spare parts and tales of the day are enthusiastically shared whilst everybody mucks in with repairs.

Crossing the Mauritanian border involves negotiating two wooden shacks in the middle of nowhere. Not only is this stretch of land corrugated and unmarked it is also a live minefield. The Western Sahara territory is the subject of a long running dispute between Morocco and the Polisano, a movement who want independence for Western Sahara. Although there has been a cease-fire since 1991 the mines remain. The route through is not clearly marked and we are instructed to follow the tracks of previous cars.

We pick up the statuesque Ahmed Salim, our desert guide, let some air out from our tyres to prevent punctures and push on in our mini convoy for the dusty, windswept town of Nouâdhibou, Mauritania – our gateway to the desert. Our exhaust is causing problems: the middle is melting through the handbrake cable and the end is falling off. We pull off the end, tie it to the roof rack and keep going.

Ahmed guides us through the flat desolate landscape with a complicated series of frenzied taps, hand wiggles and screams, (we can only assume this is delight at our driving). ‘Allez, Allez,’ he shouts, bashing furiously on the dashboard as he anticipates a thick bit of sand approaching. We drop down into second; rev the engine and fly across the sand as the back skids out. We drive in our groups of five, sometimes in line, sometimes racing each other, sometimes bumping into other mini convoys. Desert etiquette dictates that if another car becomes stuck in the sand you keep driving until the ground is firmer and then walk back to help push.

Sand dust suffocates the air, penetrating everything: clothes, hair, car engine, boot, even our food is served a little gritty. A herd of camels strolls past as we pull up to a sand dune for the second night of desert camping before heading for Senegal the next morning. Senegalese law states that cars older than five years cannot enter the country. We are begrudgingly given an armed escort to ensure we don’t sell our cars whilst in the country and instructed to reach the Gambia in two days.

Thirty-five cars left the UK and thirty made it to the Gambia (we actually go a little bit further than Dakar but Plymouth to Dakar has a better ring to it than Plymouth to Banjul). We have crossed six countries, 3699 miles, in nineteen days. Our Lada may have no rear exhaust, a melting handbrake cable, a downgraded gearbox, a bodged fan, vibrating propshaft and a slow puncture – but she and her mechanically incompetent drivers made it.

A charity auction is arranged for all the cars; the Allegro makes £220, and the money is donated to Gambian charities. We have fallen in love with the Lada’s quirks and even through a local Gambian has bid a staggering eight hundred and forty pounds, for her we can’t help wondering… would she have survived the drive back to the UK?

©Liz Scarff2011

Photographs©Rachel Palmer2011

Recording of Netroots UK workshop session on social media and campaigning. Filmed by Dave Carter.

I was thrilled to be asked to speak about social media at the first Netroots UK conference held at the TUC.

So on a cold Saturday morning I joined the five hundred online activists who turned up for a day of workshops and discussion.

I was honoured to be speaking amongst such good company for my workshop session, ‘Working with social media’.

The other speakers were Anna Nolan, Robin Hood Tax campaign, Chris Coltrane, UK Uncut, Andrew Walker, Tweetminster and Simon Collister, We Are Social.

I spoke about #Blogladesh – I could talk for hours about the project but with only five minutes I stuck very specifically to the subject of telling stories using social media.

Check out the video of our session. You can find videos from the day on the Netroots UK website. I’ve also pasted the internet security session from Chris Coltrane at the bottom as it was particularly brilliant.

This presentation was aimed at activists who know nothing about internet security, but wished they knew more. Chris Coltrane is a protester, IT specialist, and stand-up comedian.

Take one magazine, add politics, documentaries and the sharpest food writing. Blend with eco resources and campaigning zeal and you have Debate Your Plate.

Susan Tomlinson and I, fuelled by coffee and an unfeasably large pile of Portugese custard tarts, have created Debate Your Plate from a couple of laptops on our kitchen table.

Both journalists, we met at the London College of Printing and immediately recognised each other as a couple of opinionated gits with a passion for story telling.

We’d rant at each other: why was half the world obese while the other half starved? Did organic really cut the mustard? And did we believe the environmentalists who claim GM companies want to own the world’s seed supply?

We began to realise just how intertwined, on every level, food is in our lives and it doesn’t take a genius to work out there’s SOMETHING up with our food chain. We were determined to get to the bottom of it.

We also like eating food (very much).

So welcome to Debate Your Plate – there’s sharp writing, engaging films, top recipes, local food producers, people power, campaigns and all things foodie.

There are lots of exciting projects in the pipeline and the site will be evolving – so sign up to our newsletter to make sure you’re one of the first to know.

But above everything else we’re dedicated to stirring things up.