On 7TH August last year, former Newcastle University graduate Cici headed home from her shift at a busy city centre restaurant. Cici hopped on a bus and headed to the West end flat she shared with her boyfriend, Kevin. Cici having enjoyed a complimentary meal at her workplace, pulled on her jacket, and bid her colleagues farewell.
On 9th August 2008, Police received an emergency call from a distressed Chinese man. In his broken English one of the few distinguishable phases uttered was, “come soon, I think someone might be dead.”
Investigating officers called to the scene at Clayton Road found no signs of forced entry at the property. Upon entering the front bedroom of the ground floor flat, officers found a body lying face down on the bed. The victim was gagged and bound, with severe injuries to the head.
In the back bedroom police found the blood soaked dead body of a man with numerous wounds to his face and his throat cut. The bodies were identified as Zhen Xing Yang and Xi Zhou. The pair of Chinese nationals were also known as Kevin and Cici.
The ensuing police investigation into the brutal murders was monumental in its scale. Spanning as far as China, Detectives engaged every resource available in order to solve the case which stretched out over months.
Police eventually caught 31 year old Guang Hui Cao who was convicted of the Murders and sentenced to 33 years in jail.
Nortumbria Police’s Senior Investigating Officer, Detective superintendent Steve Wade, believes that to this day there was no clear motive for the crime. During the complex case however, some unusual details did surface about the victims.
Police discovered large sums of cash had passed through the couple’s bank accounts. Upon further investigation, information was gathered indicating Kevin’s involvement in the production and sale of bogus university qualifications. It emerged Kevin had himself used a forged certificate to enrol at Newcastle University.
As the case concluded, alarm bells began to ring with admissions officers. Newcastle University became understandably concerned that some students may have been admitted on courses they were not eligible for.
After carrying out checks in November 2008, 49 Chinese students were found to have provided false qualifications. The University believed that many of the students may have been unwitting victims of bogus “agents” in the UK and China who are often paid to submit applications and documents on the behalf of international students.
UK Naric monitors these overseas applications. Policy chief, Tim Buttress confirmed, “The problem is gathering momentum. More and more fake qualifications are coming through.”
According to D/Supt Wade, it is possible that up to 30% of Chinese students at UK universities may have submitted incorrect or fraudulent data. Fiscally speaking, it may be in the universities best interests that these indiscretions remain undiscovered.
Border and immigration minister, Phil Woolas said, “International students contribute £2.5 billion to the UK economy in tuition fees alone”. With 30% less Chinese students, UK universities could stand to loose around £800 thousand per year.
The expulsions at Newcastle are not the first of their kind. In June 2001 police investigated a suspected bogus-student immigration racket after Derby University discovered a number of Chinese students had submitted fake graduation certificate.
Mark Eberhardt, Derby’s international admissions officer, had been approached by a recruitment agent hoping to place Chinese students at the university. After receiving faxed copies of certificates, Eberhardt checked the qualifications with the institutions they were purportedly from. The qualifications were confirmed as fakes.
It is believed students and agents submit fraudulent documentation as a means to obtain a quick and relatively cheap route into the country.
Clive Saville, Chief executive of the UK council for overseas student affairs, said, “It is clear that in China there are people who try to establish student status in order to beat the immigration system.”
A 2004 investigation by The Times Higher, exposed agents who had arranged university places for “hundreds” of unqualified students at UK institutions including Oxford Brookes.
The Universities and Colleges Admissions Service believe that regardless of the systems put in place to detect fraudulent applications, as many 480,000 could escape being verified. Many universities however, claim there is little more they can do to spot fraudulent applications
At the time, Barry Sheerma, chairman of the House of Commons Education Select Committee, promised to investigate the matter. He said, “It is essential that all entry to university is based on merit, not fraud.” Whether the investigation heralded any positive progress remains to be seen.
What is shocking is the notion that it would take two horrific murders and a global investigation for universities to take the issue seriously. Whether or not universities were aware of the problems in fraudulent admissions remains speculative. Hopefully, one outcome of the tragic case of Kevin and CiCi will be our UK institutions taking the initiative and putting procedures in place that mean only those who are genuinely entitled to places are admitted on courses.
Sunday 29 November 2009
Tuesday 10 November 2009
The Sun's Disgust At Drunken Students
The Sun is up in arms. The current bone of contention is bloody students making a bloody nuisance of themselves.
The paper has reported last week how a 19-year-old “lout” was caught urinating on a war memorial in Sheffield.
The over-zealous pee-er had been partaking in a pub-crawl organised by events company Carnage UK.
If the Sun are to believed these students are descending on our good nations city centres like a plague of Alco-pop fuelled locusts.
They then retreat to the greasy confines of Kebab shops leaving the streets awash with more vomit and bodily fluids than a bacchanalian orgy.
Mild mannered middle class girls become dreadful harlots; “One girl has the word "Enter" scrawled just above her knicker line with an arrow pointing downwards.” It reports, disgusted.
“Another proudly has the words: "I'll **** you any way you want" emblazoned on her back." I’m not sure what **** even means, but it sounds pretty shocking.
Concerned parents of British students can find reassurance however, by casting any eye over the Atlantic and checking out what students are getting up to in good old U S of A.
There is a whole slice of the sex industry dedicated to what students get up to when “letting off steam” during their spring break.
On the milder end of the spectrum we have girls flashing their breasts at beach parties in exchange for free shots.
After-dark things get a little bit seamier. Girls are caught on camera engaging in group-sex while hordes of drunken revellers gather round and cheer them on.
Anyone keen to investigate need only check out the fine motion pictures ‘Spring break virgins’, ‘Spring break orgy’ and the ‘Spring break sex party’.
In comparison it makes our students look like exactly what they are, 18-year-old’s let loose, hormones raging, looking to have some silly irresponsible fun.
So looking over to America, land of the free and home of the brave. I ask you to join in after me and sing, “O! Say can you see! By the dawn’s early light!”
The paper has reported last week how a 19-year-old “lout” was caught urinating on a war memorial in Sheffield.
The over-zealous pee-er had been partaking in a pub-crawl organised by events company Carnage UK.
If the Sun are to believed these students are descending on our good nations city centres like a plague of Alco-pop fuelled locusts.
They then retreat to the greasy confines of Kebab shops leaving the streets awash with more vomit and bodily fluids than a bacchanalian orgy.
Mild mannered middle class girls become dreadful harlots; “One girl has the word "Enter" scrawled just above her knicker line with an arrow pointing downwards.” It reports, disgusted.
“Another proudly has the words: "I'll **** you any way you want" emblazoned on her back." I’m not sure what **** even means, but it sounds pretty shocking.
Concerned parents of British students can find reassurance however, by casting any eye over the Atlantic and checking out what students are getting up to in good old U S of A.
There is a whole slice of the sex industry dedicated to what students get up to when “letting off steam” during their spring break.
On the milder end of the spectrum we have girls flashing their breasts at beach parties in exchange for free shots.
After-dark things get a little bit seamier. Girls are caught on camera engaging in group-sex while hordes of drunken revellers gather round and cheer them on.
Anyone keen to investigate need only check out the fine motion pictures ‘Spring break virgins’, ‘Spring break orgy’ and the ‘Spring break sex party’.
In comparison it makes our students look like exactly what they are, 18-year-old’s let loose, hormones raging, looking to have some silly irresponsible fun.
So looking over to America, land of the free and home of the brave. I ask you to join in after me and sing, “O! Say can you see! By the dawn’s early light!”
I wish I had…a gold house.
As a young man I found myself being wined and dined by the fat cats at mercury records.
After being regaled with salacious tales of clandestine industry homosexuality, we began to discuss the terms of the record contract that was being prospectively offered.
Being an over zealous 17 year old, drunk on hope and expensive wine, I informed the label boss, in no uncertain terms that as part of my contract I would like a house made entirely of gold.
The events that followed remain hazy. There was some talk of ‘bastards’ and ‘wasting my time’.
Needless to say, there was no longer a record contract being offered. And I certainly never received a gold house.
After being regaled with salacious tales of clandestine industry homosexuality, we began to discuss the terms of the record contract that was being prospectively offered.
Being an over zealous 17 year old, drunk on hope and expensive wine, I informed the label boss, in no uncertain terms that as part of my contract I would like a house made entirely of gold.
The events that followed remain hazy. There was some talk of ‘bastards’ and ‘wasting my time’.
Needless to say, there was no longer a record contract being offered. And I certainly never received a gold house.
The worst dressed in…UK Universities
Most students are scruffy bastards. That much we know. Across the UK’s university campuses there are a whole host of bizarre sartorial statements.
Note the strange unisex trend of the harem pant. This garment is often teamed with a sequined blazer, perfect for that ‘extra in a MC Hammer video’ look.
For the less adventurous the oversized beanie and jogging pant craze remains in full swing, useful if the desired effect is to look as juvenile as a Ritalin fuelled toddler.
If modesty is not a concern then ladies, may it be suggested you sport a pair of leggings as outerwear. Everyone will be able to see the contours of your most intimate parts but hey, fashion has never been for shrinking violets!
What will be adopted next is anyone’s guess. Perhaps Autumn/Winter will herald a return to regency finery? Or the more austere top hat and tails?
No doubt it will probably just be some joker wearing two different coloured trainers.
Note the strange unisex trend of the harem pant. This garment is often teamed with a sequined blazer, perfect for that ‘extra in a MC Hammer video’ look.
For the less adventurous the oversized beanie and jogging pant craze remains in full swing, useful if the desired effect is to look as juvenile as a Ritalin fuelled toddler.
If modesty is not a concern then ladies, may it be suggested you sport a pair of leggings as outerwear. Everyone will be able to see the contours of your most intimate parts but hey, fashion has never been for shrinking violets!
What will be adopted next is anyone’s guess. Perhaps Autumn/Winter will herald a return to regency finery? Or the more austere top hat and tails?
No doubt it will probably just be some joker wearing two different coloured trainers.
The Worst Pub's In Britain
-Big lils in Leeds is rumored to have once had the house policy of ‘a guaranteed nose breaking with every pint’.
Situated just off Kirkgate in the city, the bar should be approached with some trepidation.
Its exterior is much like its customers, Shabby and weather beaten. Bouncers control the door at all times, even at 9 in the morning, when ruddy-faced men queue outside, eager to get their morning nectar.
The inside of Big lils is decked out like a poor appropriation of a Spaghetti Western movie set, Complete with mounted saddles and hourly line dancing.
Lil, the longstanding publican serves behind the bar wearing a ten-gallon hat and cowboy boots. Lil is a no nonsense type of woman who the phrase ‘big boned’ could have been invented for.
Lils often states that her patrons are ‘salt of the earth’. She may be a little more accurate if she replaced ‘salt of’ with ‘total’ and ‘the earth’ with ‘scumbags’.
Situated just off Kirkgate in the city, the bar should be approached with some trepidation.
Its exterior is much like its customers, Shabby and weather beaten. Bouncers control the door at all times, even at 9 in the morning, when ruddy-faced men queue outside, eager to get their morning nectar.
The inside of Big lils is decked out like a poor appropriation of a Spaghetti Western movie set, Complete with mounted saddles and hourly line dancing.
Lil, the longstanding publican serves behind the bar wearing a ten-gallon hat and cowboy boots. Lil is a no nonsense type of woman who the phrase ‘big boned’ could have been invented for.
Lils often states that her patrons are ‘salt of the earth’. She may be a little more accurate if she replaced ‘salt of’ with ‘total’ and ‘the earth’ with ‘scumbags’.
Thursday 15 October 2009
Shorthand
As part of my Masters course in Journalism I'm having to learn shorthand.
Shorthand is fucking hard. It is a lot like learning a language. It is based on reinforcement and repetition. It requires patience and practice. It is very, very tedious. It takes up about 20 hours of your time a week minimum.
Well, sort of like learning a language, but without any of the benefits that spur you on to learn a language. Learning French for example, there are certain factors that can spur on your learning. You imagine to yourself what knowing the language will result in In your mind you imagine strolling round Paris with a beautiful French woman on your arm. She is intoxicated by your English charm. You stop by a cafe. You watch the tourists.
There can be no such aspirations with shorthand. The point is simply that you can write down somebody saying something.
On the riviera? in the Louvre? No, most likely simply to document the misdemeanors of a local shoplifter, or joy of joys the opinions of a smalltime local councillor.
Sample Phrase for dictation.
'Where was the girl in the office today?'- I don't know, and I don't fucking care.
I've said too much.
Shorthand is fucking hard. It is a lot like learning a language. It is based on reinforcement and repetition. It requires patience and practice. It is very, very tedious. It takes up about 20 hours of your time a week minimum.
Well, sort of like learning a language, but without any of the benefits that spur you on to learn a language. Learning French for example, there are certain factors that can spur on your learning. You imagine to yourself what knowing the language will result in In your mind you imagine strolling round Paris with a beautiful French woman on your arm. She is intoxicated by your English charm. You stop by a cafe. You watch the tourists.
There can be no such aspirations with shorthand. The point is simply that you can write down somebody saying something.
On the riviera? in the Louvre? No, most likely simply to document the misdemeanors of a local shoplifter, or joy of joys the opinions of a smalltime local councillor.
Sample Phrase for dictation.
'Where was the girl in the office today?'- I don't know, and I don't fucking care.
I've said too much.
Saving as perverse game
Sunderland is a pretty weird place. There's nowhere quite like it that I've ever lived.
On the surface things are on the up. Since moving back here after a few years in the wilderness, the landscape is largely unchanged with the exception of a number of upmarket looking bars and restaurants. Said restaurants remain resolutely dead most of the time. Often all that can be seen inside is a bored and absent-minded waiter staring out of the window while half-heartedly polishing a glass.
Now, my question is why are the bars, restaurants and bistro's struggling to keep afloat? And why the chronic under attendance?
So, lets investigate! One of the favourite pastimes of Sunderland folk is moaning. About all sorts. The weather. The council. The bairns. Whatever. It is pastime number one. However, the most popular cause of derision is, way beyond anything else, "There’s Nothing to do in Sunderland".
Ok, this riles me big time. That there are business folk out there, taking huge risks, to open these fine establishments, and no fucker patronises them.
It seems obvious surely; Town is rubbish. Nowhere decent to go. Nice bars/cafes open. Problem solved right? Wrong.
The reason? Well, the people of Sunderland are a rare and admirable breed in the simple ethos, 'Don't spend what you don’t have'. While the rest of the nation max's out it's credit cards on crack cocaine and hookers, Sunderland says 'no ta! I'm stopping in'.
Sensible one might say, in these economically turbulent times every penny counts. This is a time for belt tightening, for frugality, not for mindless squandering. All fine and well you might think. ‘We can learn from their attitude’ you may chirp guiltily between stuffing mouthfuls of hire-purchase caviar into your gob.
What’s really weird about the whole thing is that saving and being thrifty, is treated like a game. One person I know, mentioning no names, is on what would be considered a mint of a wage for anyone outside London. On a Friday night, while I am no doubt spilling overdraft funded drinks over casino gaming tables, he will get out £10 and challenge himself to survive 'til Monday on it.
This baffles me, the fucking nutcase. Taking some perverse pleasure from denying yourself things is just plain creepy.
He even boasts about how much he doesn’t spend. Don't get me wrong; it's preferable to the sickly over-indulgence you see in so many cities. It makes my piss boil to see some wanker making a show of buying some pissy bottle of champagne in a gaudy city centre bar, but it kind of the same thing no? Why not find a balance. Have a little fun. It's a cliché, but hey! You only live once buddy!
To these sensible folk who 'put a bit to one side', I am a financial leper. Scorn is openly poured on me.
Hey, can anyone lend me £20 to go to the pub?
On the surface things are on the up. Since moving back here after a few years in the wilderness, the landscape is largely unchanged with the exception of a number of upmarket looking bars and restaurants. Said restaurants remain resolutely dead most of the time. Often all that can be seen inside is a bored and absent-minded waiter staring out of the window while half-heartedly polishing a glass.
Now, my question is why are the bars, restaurants and bistro's struggling to keep afloat? And why the chronic under attendance?
So, lets investigate! One of the favourite pastimes of Sunderland folk is moaning. About all sorts. The weather. The council. The bairns. Whatever. It is pastime number one. However, the most popular cause of derision is, way beyond anything else, "There’s Nothing to do in Sunderland".
Ok, this riles me big time. That there are business folk out there, taking huge risks, to open these fine establishments, and no fucker patronises them.
It seems obvious surely; Town is rubbish. Nowhere decent to go. Nice bars/cafes open. Problem solved right? Wrong.
The reason? Well, the people of Sunderland are a rare and admirable breed in the simple ethos, 'Don't spend what you don’t have'. While the rest of the nation max's out it's credit cards on crack cocaine and hookers, Sunderland says 'no ta! I'm stopping in'.
Sensible one might say, in these economically turbulent times every penny counts. This is a time for belt tightening, for frugality, not for mindless squandering. All fine and well you might think. ‘We can learn from their attitude’ you may chirp guiltily between stuffing mouthfuls of hire-purchase caviar into your gob.
What’s really weird about the whole thing is that saving and being thrifty, is treated like a game. One person I know, mentioning no names, is on what would be considered a mint of a wage for anyone outside London. On a Friday night, while I am no doubt spilling overdraft funded drinks over casino gaming tables, he will get out £10 and challenge himself to survive 'til Monday on it.
This baffles me, the fucking nutcase. Taking some perverse pleasure from denying yourself things is just plain creepy.
He even boasts about how much he doesn’t spend. Don't get me wrong; it's preferable to the sickly over-indulgence you see in so many cities. It makes my piss boil to see some wanker making a show of buying some pissy bottle of champagne in a gaudy city centre bar, but it kind of the same thing no? Why not find a balance. Have a little fun. It's a cliché, but hey! You only live once buddy!
To these sensible folk who 'put a bit to one side', I am a financial leper. Scorn is openly poured on me.
Hey, can anyone lend me £20 to go to the pub?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)