here is a lot to be said for blind positivity. On a good day, I’m a manifester, a big believer in my ability to speak things into existence. During my English A-Level, I had complete confidence that the crystals hidden in my bra would provide enough luck to snag me an A*. Today, I put great faith in words, relying on the same ‘I can do it’ that gets Olympic athletes across the finish line, to help me through difficult situations.
I’m now in my fourth year, and as such, must grapple with the reality of my Oxford days drawing to a close. Granted, this is something that every student must contend with, and I watched on as most of my friends bade a fond farewell to this city where our friendships began when they graduated last summer. Yet there is something about the fourth year that I’m certain makes the final year even more strange: a sense of something already lost, of living in a moment that has already passed.
Now, having exhausted myself with these relentless pursuits, the job has been passed on to a new bright-eyed Cupid, and in my retirement I’ve become fondly reflective, and decided to curate my insights into this list:
Shakshouka is the
ultimate comfort food. It is indulgent, filling and satisfying all in one!
It is uncertain where
the dish originated; some food historians argue it...
Returning to work after a three-month break would be difficult in any industry, but for the all-consuming nature of the hospitality industry, restaurants reopening and the prospect of returning to work must be additionally alarming.
CW: racism, police brutality
In all honesty, I don’t think I speak about race all that often with my friends...which is actually pretty surprising given...
Florence Given sells feminism as what it is: freeing and utterly delicious. She affirms and articulates precisely the points it feels so hard to put your finger on sometimes.
CW: Racism, antisemitism
Kes (1968) – Miner’s Working Men’s Club. Rhythmic close shots of faces, the pub is filled with big smiles and small chat. The...
Implicit in every catcall is a recognition that my existence in your world is limited to how much voyeuristic pleasure you can derive from my body. You are reminding me that by leaving my home I am apparently consenting to being sexualised by total strangers. It is symptomatic of a wider culture whereby female existence can be seen as a medium for male gratification.
The truth is that someone can be a nice guy, a soup kitchen volunteer, a stranger or a trusted female friend, and still inflict violence on another person.
TW: racism, police brutality, racial violence
The torrential online aftermath of the murder of a black man: posts mourning fallen black victims, names added to...