Following closely in the wake of Michael Winterbottom’s film The Road to Guantanamo comes Moazzam Begg’s autobiography Enemy Combatant, which provides yet another shocking account of life in the infamous Cuban detainment camp. No doubt in the years to come there will be a growing proliferation of such testimonies, each offering their own catalogue of criticism against the political leaders which cast them into a “black hole of detention”, as the English court of appeal put it in a judgment on a November 2002 case that went far in highlighting the plight of the Guantanamo detainees.

Director: Ron Howard
With: Tom Hanks, Audrey Tautou

Runtime: 149 min

Every year a few films are hyped to the high heavens prior to their release. Such excessive trumpeting is often treacherous because it raises expectations which inevitably far outstrip the film’s capacity to deliver. Unless the film is phenomenal, it will fail to live up to the media circus. This has been the case with The Da Vinci Code which has promised so much, but has massively failed to deliver.

Director: J.J. Abrams
With: Tom Cruise, Philip Seymour Hoffman

Runtime: 126 min

The Oscars are done and dusted, and Hollywood is back to doing what it does best. This year promises a bumper crop: Superman Returns, X-men: The Last Stand, Poseidon, The Da Vinci Code, even the ‘instant classic’ Snakes on a Plane. It seems fitting that the biggest of the lot, Mission: Impossible 3, should lead the way.

Director: Debbie Isitt
With: Jessica Stevenson, Martin Freeman

Runtime: 119 min

The CVs of the actors in Confetti read like a list of British cringe comedy: to name but a few, there is talent from Green Wing, Spaced, The Office, Peep Show and My Family and Other Animals on show. Expectations for such an ensemble are deservedly high, and Confetti makes excellent use of its resources, but it is also tinged with a certain disappointment.

Buck 65 - Devil’s Eyes

If we had a single of the week, this would be it, especially for the b-side ‘Blood of a Young Wolf’. ‘Devil’s Eyes’ is a dark and haunting slice of Nova Scotian hip-hop, with a sinister string section. Buck 65 is a rapper of some sophistication, not only able to rattle off lyrics at speed when the occasion calls for it, but also able to produce poignant arrays of images to tell his backwoods stories.

Blackpool is rough as hell. Walk down the promenade, and you’ll be confronted with drunken stag parties cavorting with similarly inebriated slag parties - bits hanging out and all - set against the backdrop of lap dancing clubs and sex shops. Not a pretty sight. But the Empress Ballroom provides a remedy: its beauty (barrel-vaulted ceiling complete with chandeliers), combined with a support set from the excellent Willy Mason, creates a sense of calm in the venue. The crowd seem friendlier and happier than at your average gig, but why wouldn’t you be when you’re about to see the best band in the world in such an intimate arena?

Tilly and the Wall are, as a concept, brilliant: five stylish Nebraskans, playing happy summer songs about boys and girls, with a tap dancer as percussion. This gig should have been fantastic, and, on record, many of their songs are excellent, especially ‘Bad Education’ and ‘Reckless’. Notably, these songs, available on their website, were easily the best on the night. 

The Tillys started well, coming on stage chanting “T-I-L-L-Y! We don’t give a fuck!”

Neil Young’s latest album comes with a sense of urgency in tow, arriving hot on the heels of his last, Prairie Wind. It was written in two weeks, and released over the internet before the CDs began to shoot off the presses. Let’s be clear: this is as anti-war an album as you could hope (or fear) to find.

Self-consciously polemical, Young is also clear about the album’s place in the history of protest music: ‘Flags of Freedom’ refers to Bob Dylan in both its lyrics and title.

The US government should reconsider their choice of music for use in torture: instead of Metallica, Serena-Maneesh would be far more effective. Each song sounds as if it could potentially be good, but good beginnings are dragged out to last at least six minutes. Add to the boredom of that off-tempo, distant vocals, random sounds issued from various different instruments (also out of time), and off-key guitar solos, and after three songs (or less), one begins to feel as if someone is scraping their nails along the inside of your skull.

Mellowed by the gorgeous summer sunshine the Bar and Restaurant team decided to diverge from their normal Which? method of making it up as we go along. Instead, we assembled a motley crew of testers, all on a mission to gorge themselves on premium ice cream. Seven girls, one boy, four pints of ice cream and fifty plastic spoons later, we were able to draw some conclusions. Here’s how we got on…

Vanilla Black does not serve your typical student fodder. The dress code is business-casual, reservations are recommended, and the prices are quite high. The setting is small and cosy and the staff are attentive, if a bit over-eager. The use of seasonal produce and regular rotation mean that the vegetarian menu (with vegan options) does not have a great range of selection.

Deciding it had been a while since our last roast dinner, my friends and I turned our backs on town and went to Fulford to sample the Sunday Carvery at The Bay Horse.

This was a meal wracked with indecision: firstly, out of a choice of beef, pork or turkey, which meat to go for? Then came the Yorkshire puddings, one or two? What a ridiculous question – as these were going to be my first Yorkshire puddings in Yorkshire it was always going to be two.

Like Tiffany’s, nothing bad could ever happen to a girl at the York Assembly Rooms. The pillars of rose coloured marble are easy on the eye, erring on the side of kitsch elegance rather than imposing grandeur.

One can imagine Jane Austen types going to balls here, getting all flustered because they had just danced with Colonel Shennanagins and he dared to glance at their ankle. Going on this assumption, a prospective diner might expect teeny tiny parcels of smoked salmon surrounding an ernest guardsman of asparagus, Black Forest gateau for pudding - you get the idea.

When roaming the network of snickleways, desperately attempting to escape the hoards of tourists that have suddenly decided to descend on York, I stumbled across Alley Cats. Tucked secretly next to Barley Hall in the aptly named Coffee Yard, this café-bar is the ideal retreat at the heart of city.

Offering a wide selection of snacks and meals, Alley Cats is open between 12 noon and 11pm, with seating inside and out.

Andreas Masoura spurts his satirical love juice over the week’s events

Bars. Well, not for much longer.

Due to missed profit targets (since overall bar profits were positive), bar opening times have been significantly reduced, in a move that will inevitably pave the way for complete closure of some college bars. Apparently York is a university. Rather than catering for students, this fiasco has reinforced the idea that the university exists primarily as a profit maximising business rather than as a provider of a suitable environment in which to take a degree.