I feel slightly like a fraud when I confess that I never swore Bodley’s above oath, displayed on the entrance desk to Duke Humfrey’s Library. That isn’t to say that I would ever act against it.
It is difficult to think of a university more entangled with the idea of reading. The institution remains organised around libraries, primary texts, and tutorial reading lists that have become semi-mythological in undergraduate culture. Even maths students do not simply study maths; according to their Bod cards, they “read for” a degree. Entire pedagogies here rest on assumptions that students will disappear into novels, criticism, and archives before resurfacing with an essay and an original argument.
With all these sightings of homogeneous clothing, it seemed to me as though people spent more time in ‘uniform’ at Oxford than they would have done in sixth form or high school beforehand. But does Oxford really have ‘uniforms’? How might we define them? And what purpose might they serve?
Recently, I found myself curious about the behind-the-scenes process: how colleges receive dietary information, where and how it travels, and what care is taken to ensure that, by the time a plate lands in front of you, it is the right one.
"If we truly believe in equality, it’s time to hold up that same mirror to ourselves and confront what we see. Change begins when we stop making excuses."
Media literacy has its champions, including Education Secretary Bridget Phillipson, who has indicated that the ongoing school curriculum review will emphasise critical thinking skills relevant to media consumption.
How to explain the notoriously overworked Oxford student’s counter-intuitive desire for more time spent studying? The answer lies deeper than a simple enthusiasm for hitting the books.
The fiasco escalated when the extra time was not implemented, resulting in my exam finishing at the same time as everyone else's: I was locked out of my computer.