And guess what, they have also been voted as most unethical.

Flicking through the TV guide, I spotted a documentary titled ‘The Devil Wears Primark” showing that very night. I felt it was time to face up to the not-so-pretty side of my bargains. As I fine tuned the aerial and settled down, I was puzzled to discover that in the place of a nitty-gritty documentary was a “in a change to the schedule” apology, followed by a generic film.

It didn’t take much detective work to figure out that a company with such high turnover would have been less than happy too let such a documentary go ahead. However it made me angry to think that the truth was, effectively, being hidden from my eyes. Whatever content was in the showing, Primark obviously did not want us to see. Of course, what chance does a television station have against a multi-million pound company with more lawyers than sense? None at all, so it seems.

These people should be ashamed. Ashamed to use money as a weapon, ashamed to turn away from the truth with threats and lawyers, ashamed to be driven by nothing but disgusting amounts of profit. A televised program giving shocked viewers the truth about their £15 coat could easily make them think twice about another purchase. But isn’t that exactly what Primark deserves? Maybe then they would acknowledge the working conditions of those abroad who work tirelessly to receive absolute pennies. Better still, raise the price of my beloved t-shirt by a mere pound, put some profit back to the people who work so hard to help them make their precious money, and perhaps – just maybe – attempt to develop a conscience.

Where do you buy your clothing? How often do you think about the working conditions of those who make your garments? Should Primark have been allowed to stop the airing of a truthful documentary?

[photo courtesty of Burt Herman at daylife.com]

The Nintendo Wii has revolutionised the way we play, entertain and now how we keep fit. Forget a pricey gym membership and soggy tracksuit bottoms as you jog through endless muddy puddles, the most convenient – and fashionable – way to get fit is to get Wii Fit. There has even been a blog set up by an enthusiastic gentleman, dedicated to discovering the possibilities of weight loss in conjunction with daily exercise from the comfort of his living room.

Upon its release in various countries, Wii Fit has sold out in record time, much to the frustration of those who are in desperate pursuit of a copy. Despite the slightly steep price tag, the supplied board and range of mini-games coupled with fitness routines and personalised health information have proved a winner with individuals you would normally never find in your local games store.

It cannot be denied that the influx of curious faces thrusting money at Nintendo’s ingenious next gen console are helping line the pockets of happy games publishers, developers, manufacturers and retailers everywhere. Though through the rose-tinted haze of get-fit-quick transparency, are we forgetting about The Great Outdoors? Computer-aided exercise may require no more travel than a roll out of bed, but can you really say that twenty minutes of vigorous movement is as satisfying as a twenty minute cycle in the crisp fresh air?

Of course, I know this is fantasy. I know that for some jogging through quaint landscape or attending regular treadmill sessions is simply not possible. And for that, I have to admire the way in which the negativity associated with gaming has taken a subtle turn for the greater good.

Do you use a Wii to help keep you in shape? What do you think about traditional fitness methods vs digital methods?

Celebrities, campaigns, and informative guides have all tried to help alert the public to the dangers of additives and saturated fats, yet we’re still far from the natural and organic palate most of us are striving to achieve.

In particular, E-numbers have caused a stir for a good few years now. Despite the banning of some, there are still a great many present in our everyday favorite drinks and foodstuffs: candy bars, fizzy drinks, crackers, and more.

For example, E102 (also known as ‘Tartrazine’) is used to color jams, cereals and drinks. It also happens to be banned in Norway and Austria, as it has been linked to thyroid tumours, chromosomal damage and asthma. Worrying? I certainly think so.

Not all e-numbers are harmful to the human body, though whenever I happen to come by an E-number on a product I find in the supermarket, I will still flinch, and occasionally put it back on the shelf. In addition, a great many manufacturers are phasing out their E-numbers and replacing these with natural colors and/or flavorings (Nestle Smarties being a prime example). This can only be a good thing for both manufacturer trust and consumer health.

Unfortunately, more organic foodstuffs tend to be priced higher than their ready-meal counterparts, an obvious testament to the cheap cost of mass production. Although the special offer on ready-made lasagna may seem tempting at first, remember that even though your purse won’t pay for it in the long run; but your body certainly will.

For more information regarding food and cosmetic additives, I recommend visiting Explore E-Numbers and CureZone.com for a list of E-numbers, and their associated side effects.

It’s the start of a new week and already I feel haggard and exhausted. My moods are swinging like a particularly feisty pendulum and my breasts ache. It can only mean one thing: my good friend PMS is on the horizon.

The beginnings of some minor stomach cramps, an increased feeling of self-consciousness and a patience threshold shorter than my small toe surface like clockwork once a month, warning me of impending pain and the cycle of womanhood.

Thankfully I am not alone, basking in the dull glory of 90% of menstruating women who currently experience some form of Pre-Menstrual Syndrome. There are at least a hundred symptoms, though women experience a mix of just a few. The most common include irritability, loss of confidence, poor concentration, crying for no particular reason and the infamous mood swings, as feared by boyfriends and spouses the world over.

I myself am prone to similar experiences as mentioned above, along with an unpleasant notion of feeling like a beached whale and wishing my bedroom were the sea and my bed the sand, so I could waddle on my belly to bask in comfort and perhaps make a few guessed interpretations of what I would consider to be whale groans.

Treating such a varied problem is a tricky business; it is difficult to differentiate the factors which stem from the stresses of every day life to those blown out of proportion by PMS. There are treatments available, though it is suggested to increase your intake of vitamin B6 and evening primrose oil before considering something more invasive.

I’m lucky in the sense that I know my body well. I know when my PMS is flaring up, hence I can control it to a limited extent (such as warning those around me of possible temper tantrums beforehand!). A balanced diet also helps, as does a regular influx of water into your system which helps keep you hydrated. Peppermint tea also works wonders, as does camomile. Exercise – though it may be the last thing you feel like doing – also helps clear your mind and offers a rush of natural endorphins.

Despite the hassle of PMS, the one positive thing I have found is that you can get away with murder. Literally. And in a way, that almost makes up for the stresses and strains of being a woman. Almost.

What symptoms do YOU suffer from? How do they affect your everyday life, and how well can you control it? Let us know.

I don’t mind conflict of opinion, but notice a lot of people go beyond the reprimand of “If God intended you to have holes in your body, you’d have been born with them” and insist on inflicting their biased views upon the recipient in a selfish and unabashed demeanour.

Unfortunately that recipient often turns out to be me. I don’t particularly mind someone asking me about one of my body jewellery efforts, and with no shortage of studs to choose from (lip, tongue, navel, ears and nipple) I can understand the curiosity of the non-pierced wishing to delve into the mind of someone who thinks a few holes here and there are actually quite pretty.

However, when complete strangers start spouting mind-numbing ignorance such as “Was your tongue sore when you got it pierced?” or “Does that silver thing not hurt you?”, I feel like giving said ignorant individual a rather large shake whilst shouting “DUUUUUUUH!” and possibly crossing my eyes and drooling a little, just for effect.

To be honest, I find it hard to explain exactly why I find body jewellery so appealing. Maybe it’s a cross of aesthetic looks and individuality. And then, of course, there’s the sexual enjoyment – not to everyone’s taste, but having a mouth piercing here and there can sensitise things for the (lucky) recipient. Above all, doing so is completely safe as long as precautions are taken. I’ve never had any bad experiences of studs, bars or rings being ‘ripped out’ due to frenzied attacks on the opposite sex, nor have I developed any weird diseases, odd side effects, or hairy palms (oh wait, I’m getting that last one confused with something else…).

The difficulty with explaining the sexual part to someone – adults especially – is the assumption that because I have it, I’m going to flaunt it. Not necessarily. You’ll find I’m not one for constantly ramming my tongue down throats, and that I don’t discuss such things with many people, if any at all. Despite the statements I make with my body art, I’m completely harmless. Honest.

What do you think about body piercing? Do you have any? What do your parents think? Let us know!

Growing up, my knowledge on the classroom-rumoured Facts Of Life were always rather naïve; my Barbie and Ken dolls sometimes tried giving it a shot, but I could never stretch my imagination beyond yanking the trousers down/skirt up and wearing a puzzled expression as I placed one on top of the other and wondered if they were really enjoying themselves as much as the people on my mum and dad’s fifteen-rated (that’s R-rated in America) movies seemed to be.

It was only when my hormones began pumping that I finally began noticing boys in my school – one in particular – and let my mind drift off into the dangerous territory of wandering hands and possible intimacy. As it turned out, my first boyfriend was not the high school crush I had harboured for so long. However, it was new, it was exciting, and most importantly it was….actually quite a good-looking piece of apparatus. If this was The Thing that I was constantly told by parents, teachers and school nurses to stay away from, I’m afraid to say I was hooked.

Of course nothing lasts forever, especially in the way of young love. Back when I was sixteen I thought I was head over heels, but in reality I hardly knew what I was doing (though I loved every minute of it). The moment I realised my first proper relationship was over, I became stranded. I felt lost not having someone’s hand to hold, or body to keep me warm. I missed the secret smiles and endless daydreaming, I missed the butterflies in my stomach…and I missed the sexual education I was giving myself too.

By this time I was seventeen. The Internet had taught me things my mother would choke trying to explain, but I craved new experiences; I wanted to experiment.

My experimentation led me to aptly named AdamEve.com, a website dedicated to the needs of lusty human beings the world over – and no sexual partner required! From then on, I never looked back. These ‘toys’ as they were called gave me a whole new level of pleasure – and most importantly, they didn’t mind being stuffed in the back of a drawer, ignored all day then abused at 3am. They were cheap, reliable, long-lasting and – most importantly – available in every shade from skin tone to purple rainbow glitter.

Sexist remarks aside, I still see a place for men in the bedroom. A vibrator may buzz happily and light up like a spaceship, but it’ll never keep me warm at night, nor ruffle my hair until I fall asleep. The experience of making love to another person is one that can never be replicated by any form of man-made silicon. But for the price substitution of a first date, you can’t really complain!

For the majority of us, love won’t be rosy and full of references to the likes of Cinderella and Snow White. Conversely, the composite mass of emotional mess we experience is exactly what makes love so addictive.

Alas, it is this aforementioned “composite mass of emotional mess” that I am beginning to tire of. The thought of emulating Sleeping Beauty and spending my days snoring loudly seems to be a very attractive prospect – especially to be rewarded with love’s true kiss (and more importantly, a good-looking man) for doing practically nothing.

Perhaps there is a lesson hidden in all those seemingly idealistic Walt Disney movies which dictates that in order to meet the perfect spouse, we must learn to lock ourselves up in castle towers, make carriages from pumpkins, or eat rotten apples.

Unfortunately I gave up on fairytales long ago. I gave up when I realised that there were more responses than ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to a question, and more than two ways to do things. A relationship is not the simple one hour and twenty minute epic movie that fairytales make it out to be. If Belle had been offered the choice of a casual relationship then who is to say she would decline?

Not so long ago I decided – for these very reasons – to give up on love. The maybes, oohs and aahs, the unspoken words, the sporadic nature of humanity; it tires me. Which is quite a coincidence seeing as I quite fancy an undisturbed nap in a cold dark tower. I’ll get back to you when Prince Charming turns up…

Grown tired of society’s barrage of “romance”? Think fairytale endings really do happen? Let us know!

Fortunately this ailment is of the metaphorical sort, although admittedly it does make me want to bash my head against a brick wall. Repeatedly.

I’m talking about social networking: MySpace, Bebo, Facebook, Faceparty, Sitonmybook, Myfacebookspaceparty…all right, so the last couple I made up, but it wouldn’t surprise me if next week they’re reality.

The truth is that these websites are addictive. Experts on the subject (if such a person can really exist) claim that young people are spending more time multi-tasking online than they are reading, exercising and – in some cases – sleeping.

It doesn’t take an expert to uncover the reasoning behind this either: these are more than websites. They are interactive communities, virtual cities. A place to meet new people, rediscover old friends, nosey into other peoples lives and, most importantly, to sell yourself.

My personal migraine began when I realised I was sharing too much information with my friends. To some, listing Likes, Dislikes, marital status and personal blog entries may seem trivial, but I found that every time I happened to change something, curiosity amongst my peers aroused constant questioning and/or comments. And I was sick of it. I was sick of explaining myself when I felt aspects of my private life should remain just that – private.

Nowadays you won’t find out much about me if you happen to stumble across my MySpace. You won’t find out how I feel, because I won’t write about it. You’ll never know whether I got roaring drunk last night and happened to cling drunkenly to a similarly-stated male, because I won’t post the evidence. You’ll just have to do the unthinkable, and talk to me.

I’m not worried about future employers checking up on me (I keep my online profiles private), but I think that other people (primarily the age sixteen and under demographic) should start to take notice of how much information they post about themselves on these websites.

It doesn’t take a lot of effort to search out those rebellious teens who think that posting their personal sexual preferences, swearing and joining sickeningly false virtual ‘groups’ titled “xxFlawless Beautiesxx” and “Coolest Haircuts” make them superior to people who are perhaps not so extroverted, or as ‘aesthetically pleasing’.

A great proportion of today’s youth (and today’s adults, for that matter) will one day be forced to take a step back and look at the bigger picture. There is more to life than these selfish popularity contests. They will realise that no one wants to read their well-thought out paragraphs of self-indulgent tripe and no one enjoys wading through fifty-odd photos of the same person in a variety of what they suppose are ‘sophisticated’ poses (or worse still, amateur or otherwise “photoshoots”).

No one should care about ‘Top Friends’ (which is in my opinion the worst phrasing of selfish popularity nonsense I have ever heard). No one should judge a person by how great they set themselves up to be on a virtual medium, and personally I think some should be ridiculed for creating an over-the-top alias of themselves which achieves no purpose at all except to bloat their own inflated ego.

I can’t deny there is a place in this culture of Web 2.0 for the MySpace’s and Bebo’s of the world; they have been of use to me on several occasions, as well as serving as a good introduction to people who take interest in me. But let us not forget the pre-web era. Lets not forget how to revert back to the good old fashioned way of meeting people. Lets learn to ignore the growing trend of air-headed superficiality that dictates the best witty comments, hairstyles and clothing – it’s time we got our numb backsides off computer chairs and back onto the streets for a good dose of fresh air.

I like to think that the truly cool people of this world aren’t the ones with the highest profile views or the biggest network of friends; they’re in libraries, they’re in parks, they’re out taking photographs (and writing for CollegeCandy of course!). They’re in control. They balance a virtual world with a physical world, and that’s where I’d like to think real sophistication resides: in reality.