Lifestyle

I could not understand how so many people seemed to be having the time of their lives with people they barely knew

In a job interview, I could describe myself as "resilient”, “adept at multitasking”, and “highly organised”. What is yet to be a LinkedIn badge...

“Order of operations, vacuum first or last when cleaning your apartment?” The question comes sandwiched between a diatribe about a paper that is begging...

Don’t get me wrong, I love my college. I’d proudly defend it against most criticisms. But it does have one major flaw: the absence of Sunday Brunch. So, to overcome this tragedy, and in the hope of appeasing my hangover with some much needed sugar, I headed out last week to the Green Routes Café in Cowley.

Growing up, the loving companionship of animals had been a constant for me – a living, breathing reminder that life is worth treasuring and slowing down for. Yet, now separated by hundreds of miles, at university the happiness I had felt amongst my animals began to dissipate. That is, until I saw the cat tree in my college lodge and heard the tip-tapping of four paws across the wooden floor.

I kept noticing this decidedly cool bar a little way down the Cowley Road. With fairy-lights strung across its wooden terrace and ‘Bigfoot’ scrawled in playful letters across the glass, it seemed slightly out of place on Cowley Road.

We all know that Oxford can feel like a bubble. Every day brings new challenges and new deadlines, to the extent that a week can pass in an instant and there is just no time to peek outside of the blinkered existence of tutorials and the occasional pub trip. But this tunnel vision can become restrictive, and even self-perpetuating.

Like many people, I used to zone out when my parents started talking about family history.

Recently, I found myself marooned in that most demoralising of places, the NHS waiting list. I was soon falling down the rabbit hole of catastrophisation, after succumbing to the inevitable temptation of googling my symptoms (it wasn’t looking good).

Sourdough is a simple pleasure. A perfect loaf should have a chewy, light, tangy, and springy crumb. On cold days it’s a reliable and simple comfort – the kind that makes Hilary term feel a little less bleak.

Barely a month has passed since we made our flustered entry into 2026. But it seems like the verdict is already in: your honour, we’ve had enough. Bring back 2016.

During these cold winter months, in which – thanks to that pinnacle of British construction, breathable walls – I wake up in a freezing room, I find great solace in hiding beneath my blanket.

My best memories of gallivanting around Europe were of parks. They were found in the tranquility of self-reflection as I enjoyed the serenity of nature, clutching my too-expensive coffee and watching the ducks swim about in the river as the cold winter wind whipped the fallen leaves off the ground beside me.

On being accepted into Oxford, everyone warned me about the reading lists. “You’ll be reading eight hours a day,” they said. At the time, it sounded almost romantic.

It's Thursday night in New College's Long Room, and several dozen students are desperately trying to master The Plough Speed, which, for the uninitiated, is a mind boggling routine of side-steps, spins and shuffles.

l've moved cities enough times to know that leaving is never just about packing boxes. After spending eighteen years in London, I found myself applying to a number of different cities, including Oxford, for university.

As Michaelmas drew to a close, a dramatic conversation about Zohran Mamdani, the new mayor of New York City, finding his partner on a dating app prompted my friend and I to try a dating app for the first time in the UK.

Mirrors often occupy an uneasy place within the collective consciousness. A reflected replica of this world, not quite false, but not entirely real either.

All tours are fundamentally flawed. Though they might be detailed and student-focused, they are utterly incapable of expressing what it is like to love Oxford.

There is no place in Oxford that my muscle memory takes me to more reliably than the Alternative Tuck Shop. This happens regardless of my state – still half-asleep, perhaps slightly hungover, or already late for class.