The Oxford Guild responds to last week’s resignations
Review: Horseplay
I feel like, at this point, provisos about the hit and miss nature of student comedy are cliché enough to be taken as read. If the attendance of the opening night of this show was anything to go by, Oxford at large is far from convinced that just because a show has the Revue’s stamp on it, it will necessarily be a guaranteed night of laughs. Watching bad comedy is genuinely painful, in a way that bad acting can never quite manage to be – the public in general knows what good comedy looks and feels like, in a way that is much more difficult to discern than good vs good dramatic performances. Added in to this mix is the fact that plays are very rarely written by the people performing them, whereas in sketch comedy we are not only judging the people on stage for their performances, but we’re judging the very premises that they are presenting to us. In this way, comedians are actually considerably braver than actors – with all this in mind, let’s get down to the business at hand – the new show, ‘Horseplay’, from the handpicked new generation of the Oxford Revue.
The sketches themselves had, for me, a hit rate of roughly 60%, however the overall tone of the show was surprisingly coherent – the sketches had a unifying voice which was surprising and impressive given the relative inexperience of the cast. If I were characterise the prevailing tone of these sketches, it would be massive, constructed, dense set ups, incredibly intricate worlds created and then paid off with incredibly simple punch lines– sometimes just puns. To describe some of the set ups, the audience was treated to a (shoddily accented) Australian spelling bee, where two of the judges were feuding divorces, all for the pay off of ‘you didgeri-did my wife’. I think these ludicrous experiments in world creation, which take an enormous amount of effort and time for these laughs founded in very simple and mechanical humour owes something to the meteoric popularity of improvisation – which has gone from strength to strength in recent years. This show really relies on an audience which will say “yes, and” to increasingly convoluted and dense sketches – Dr Seuss at the Pharmacy, someone dissecting a rat in the Missing Bean, and a completely surreal office environment with some astonishing character acting from Derek Mitchell, who quite literally had me gasping for breath.
Other standouts included Kathy Maniura’s pretentious Marina Abramovich devotee (who reminded me of several people I know) and Alistair Inglis’ Oscar nominated bishop. The problem with such vast and intricate sketch comedy is that when it falls flat, it really does fall flat – I would like to think of myself at relatively intelligent, but there were some sketches I simply didn’t ‘get’. Maybe the problem was that I did ‘get’ them, but the pay offs were so mind bogglingly simple, that I refused to belief that we’d spent quite as long as we did getting there. The one sketch that really frustrated me was set in an audition for the show, under the premise that fart jokes are unfunny, but if we present them in a knowing way, as bad comedy, then they will become funny – it’s a copout, and I am so tired of self awareness. Moreover, the changes between sketches were often choppy, and the shifts in subject matter so erratic as to make the whole thing quite disorientating at points. Overall, this was an impressive opening for this new generation of the Revue – there were plenty of faults to be ironed out, but I mostly think it’s a shame that there weren’t more people there at the opening night.
Is Oxford still a posh boys’ club?
Going to Oxford University from an inner city comprehensive school is like living on another planet, one populated by strange people in bow ties with no concept of what it’s like to live in the real world. Before you arrive you hear the stories of the Bullingdon Club, lavish dinners and champagne receptions, but until you actually live here you don’t realize that all the rumours are true, and in the worst possible way.
The first thing that shocks you when arriving is how everyone seems to know each other already. We used to fight our neighboring school at the train station, but these guys have been wining and dining each other since the age of 11 (even if the wine arguably came slightly later). People seem surprised in Freshers’ week that you haven’t met their mate Tarquin from St Paul’s, or you didn’t know about Humphrey from Eton’s gap year excursions in Goa. Although it does help your rep a little that you are able to provide some context to the Chip vs Bugzy beef, due to your days in the playground sending low quality grime instrumentals via Bluetooth on your Sony Ericsson. This public school network is real, and it affects your life as a student from a state school.
Oxford’s famous drinking societies are where this network comes into its element. The most famous of is the Bullingdon, but Keble College have the ‘dissolved’ Steamers, whose misogynistic antics arguably earned the college the chant: “We are Keble, we hate women”. There’s nothing wrong with a couple of lads going out for a meal, but when these lads all went to public schools, and meet in an all-male dining club, it projects an image of exclusivity that the university is keen to distance itself from. Yet this exclusivity is real, and is perpetuated by the students themselves, dishing out invites only to those who went to the top public schools, leaving those who were not fortunate enough to attend searching for where we fit in this posh puzzle.
I have experienced first hand some of the attitudes the members of these societies hold towards people such as myself. From snide comments about dropping my T’s when asking for the ‘water’ at meals, to having my accent laughed at by a member of the Bullingdon on a football pitch, it leaves you having to adjust the way you speak to avoid confrontation. The street-onians may attempt to sound like they’re from Tottenham, but when you’re actually from there it’s suddenly not as cool, and leaves you embarrassed about where you come from. If you’re Northern it’s even worse, with constant references to ‘graaaavy’ and ‘Bistooo’ forcing them too to adjust their mode of speech. I’m personally not keen to come out of here sounding like a 1942 Pathé news reel. Accents are a reflection of where you come from, and if you didn’t come from Kensington & Chelsea it seems like you’re doing something wrong.
Oxford University has made attempts in recent years, to extend access to the university through talks in schools and visits to various colleges. There is, however, a systemic bias towards those who can’t afford to actively participate in social activities. With some black tie dinners costing around £35 a go, and the yearly ball at Keble College costing £89 for college members, and £99 for guests, the social events provided by the university are undeniably expensive and thus exclusive. Everyone around you is all too keen to remind you that this ball cannot be missed, and is cheap considering the comparative £200 price tag on other college balls. When you had to get your ticket for your birthday, but those around you are asking for your guest place so they can bring a friend from another college, it becomes clear that this is not an equal playing field. The role of money in this university is so profound that they won’t even remove the statue of the colonialist Cecil Rhodes for fear of benefactors withdrawing their financial support.
Although this is a dire portrait of the University, there are some signs of hope. The Rhodes Must Fall movement has got people talking once again about the true nature of this university, and this will hopefully lead to positive change for BME students as well as those from state schools. I also do not wish to tar all public school students with the same brush, as many are accepting of state school pupils and make huge efforts to ensure they feel welcome. What is undeniable, however, is that this university will allow you to thrive if you have come from a public school, and leaves those from the state sector often feeling ostracized because of it. I may just be one Jack, swimming against a tide of Randolph’s and Montague’s, but with more and more pressure being applied, hopefully one day this will be a university that is more reflective and accepting of the state of our country today.
Cambridge’s Cecil falls
Cambridge’s Jesus College has confirmed that a statue known as Benin Bronze, which previously held a place of pride in the college’s dining hall, will be taken down following students’ protests that repatriatiation of the statue was the moral course of action.
Though the college’s decision has been met with criticism by academics and others, a spokeperson said, “Jesus College acknowledges the contribution made by students in raising the important but complex question of the rightful location of its Benin Bronze, in response to which it has permanently removed the Okukor from its Hall.
“The College commits to work actively with the wider University and to commit resources to new initiatives with Nigerian heritage and museum authorities to discuss and determine the best future for the Okukor, including the question of repatriation.
The College strongly endorses the inclusion of students from all relevant communities in such discussion.”
The move follows activist efforts by some students. In February, Jesus’s Student Union Committee proposed a motion which argued that repatriation would be “both intrinsically and instrumentally good”.
But the college’s reaction has also been seen negatively. Professor Alan Smithers, director of the Centre for Education and Employment Research at Buckingham University, has said, “Students always look for things to protest about and at present universities seem to be making the mistake of taking these protests too seriously.
“We can’t be in the business of trying to re-write history. How a cockerel can make some students feel bad amazes me. It’s something that they are projecting on to it, not something that it signifies in itself.”
Jesus College’s removal of the statue coincides with Harvard Law School’s recent decision to change its crest to remove references to Isaac Royall, Jr., an especially vicious slaveowner and a march just yesterday by Rhodes Must Fall in Oxford.
Review: Sketchy History
Okay so first I have to make some concessions – I do not have the work ethic, the raw talent or the drive to put together a comedy show like this, I’m not really qualified to be passing judgement on this, and my position as a critic stems from a totally unfounded sense of self importance. With all of those caveats in place, I have to be honest and say that I didn’t particularly enjoy this show, which is a shame. I really wanted to enjoy Sketchy History, the premise seemed to fit me to a tee – I’m a tireless history nerd with a deep love of self-deprecating student comedy, and yet this show really failed to connect – I laughed, but more out of a sense of obligation than genuine joy.
Alarm bells started ringing for me when I saw a teaser for this show at the Keble Arts Festival comedy night – the sketches felt for the most part a little bit too obvious – its never particularly reassuring when you can see punchlines coming from several miles away, and even worse when you’re pretty sure you’ve heard some of the individual jokes before, in other pieces of comedy. That’s not to say that this was a complete disaster – not by any stretch of the imagination. There were some genuinely original and hilarious moments in this evening of entertainment – kernels that promised great things from this act. Particular highlights included Martin Luther King’s Freudian psychoanalyst or little asides such as “mashed up Samaritans… not the good ones”. There was a certain joyful allure in the silliness of the language – “we’re going to fumble with history’s bra in the dark until she gives up on us and goes back to her ex David Starkey.”
And yet for all the promise that was stored up in occasional flashes of earnest comedy, the whole show failed to cohere for me. The belly laughs came too few and far between to truly lose yourself in the narratives – there was an oddly disjointed element to the show as a whole, compounded by sloppy changes and an eclecticism of tone which I found distracting. It would be unfair to describe the less fleshed out sketch ideas as half baked; it more felt like they’d been cooked to perfection, but were lacking that little bit of kick – vanilla extract, Tabasco – whatever the culinary metaphor requires. This was further compounded by the performances, which were far too reliant on bemusingly broad-brush characterisation and hesitantly fell back on excessive swearing if the laughs started to dry.
This review is not particularly kind to Sketchy History – and I think the show could have been considerably worse, and I might have ended up being less critical as a result. It is because I could see occasional glimpses of something great that I became more and more frustrated with the show for failing to live up to its potential. I earnestly hope that these comics continue to ply their trade, and find a way to fully realise their latent talents. I also have to concede that a lot of people went to these shows, and seemed to laugh quite extensively – so what do I know?
Review: Rape of Lucretia
Making the trek from LMH to St Peter’s on an otherwise uninspiring Thursday evening, I really had no idea what to expect from The Rape of Lucretia. I was familiar with only the barest details of the plot, and, I have to admit, somewhat of an opera newbie. Despite my rather stunning ignorance, this was a production that succeeded in creating an admirably disquieting atmosphere. From the very first note, an overwhelming sense of eeriness filled the suitably darkened chapel, and I never felt quite comfortable in my seat, was never truly able to shake of a mounting feeling of disconcerted apprehension. This was largely thanks to some very clever staging. Atmospheric though it is, St Peter’s chapel is not what you would describe as cavernous. Restricted stage space was, however, all to the good, and added to a sense of uncomfortable, claustrophobic oppression. There was also little to adorn the stage, and this added an appropriately stark feel, as well as keeping attention focused on the cast’s magnificently mesmerising performance.
It was, in fact, in the moments of quiet anguish, of simmering, bubbling tension, that the cast’s skill was most evident. Sure, everybody likes a bit of bombast and there was certainly no shortage of stunning, shocking drama to be had. Yet, I was never more captivated than when we were afforded a slight pause, when the action was allowed to breath. The scene in which Lucretia first appears was particularly impressive, and it was hard not to be utterly drawn in by her desperate wait for her husband’s return home from war. Indeed, the all-important moment when Lucretia’s virtue is violently robbed was a largely well-handled affair, and managed to steer clear of the sensational. (Although if weren’t for the otherwise supremely classy nature of this production, I would be tempted to call the red lighting during this scene a little heavy handed). Indeed, with a story concerning such overwhelmingly dark themes, it can be hard to find the correct balance between tiresome moralising and ghoulish overemphasis. Yet the all-pervasive sense of doom never overstepped its mark, and the cast judged their roles perfectly. Lucretia was vulnerable without being melodramatic or pathetic, Tarqinius dark and menacing without slipping into any kind of pantomime villain mode. So good was this production, that I had real trouble leaving behind my troubled disconcertion, even after leaving the eerie confines of St Peter’s chapel.
RMFO march takes to the streets
Rhodes Must Fall in Oxford staged a protested march this morning, continuing their accusations that Oriel College has caved in to donor demands.
The march was scheduled to begin at 11.30am at Oriel Square and continue through to four other sites in Oxford: All Souls College, the Old Indian Institute, Rhodes House and Wellington Square.
All five locations were chosen because of perceived links to colonialism and racism, with All Souls home to the Codrington Library and Wellington Square the location of the university’s central administration. All Souls’ library is named after Christopher Codrington (1668–1710), a Fellow of the college who amassed his fortune through plantation slavery and was a Colonial Governor from the Bahamas.
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZY0TD6hznYA]
At one point, as the march entered High Street, the crowd of protestors already numbered several dozen.
The group wrote in their description, “We will march peacefully to various sites, and issue new demands for the fall of racist symbols, decolonisation of the white curriculum, reparatory justice, and greater black representation at all levels of the university.”
OULC: “ugly, intimidating and vaguely cultish”
Oxford University Labour Club (OULC) passed a motion last night at its termly general meeting (TGM), which will continue tomorrow evening, to limit voting privileges at TGMs to just those members who uniquely support the Labour Party or its aims.
Though it passed by a two-thirds majority, the motion has caused outcry from some who see it as means of further isolating OULC from the rest of the Oxford community.
Concerns with the tone and direction of debate were also raised, with some OULC members stating that a confrontational air made the meeting inhospitable to attendees with differing opinions. This comes at an uncomfortable moment for OULC, who were recently subject to a Labour Students investigation into alleged anti-semitism.
Proposed by Aydin Osborne Dikerdem, the motion resolves that for future general meetings, voting rights will only be held by “OULC members who are also Labour Party members, Co-operative Party members, registered supporters, affiliated supporters, or those who support the aims of the Labour Party and are not members of any other political party.”
The text indicates that those who belong to other student political organisations, like Oxford University Conservative Association (OUCA), will be unable to vote in OULC general meetings moving forward unless they also are members of Labour Party or Co-operative Party. The rule change did not apply to Monday’s meeting.
Dikerdem told Cherwell, “I was very happy to see OULC pass by an overwhelming majority a measure that basically upholds the right of Labour supporters, rather than members of other political parties, to determine the future of their club. This was simply a matter of clarifying an existing but vague article of the constitution – making clear that it would be fairly absurd for people who openly support other political parties to be allowed to vote on issues relating to the policy of the University Labour Club.”
He also reiterated the view expressed in his motion that “politics is not a game,” saying that Oxford has “a long tradition of this public school culture, that sees university political clubs as pally debating societies, more to do with networking and careerism than the furthering of political ideals. Many of us in the Labour club are sick and tired of this, we come from communities that are being ravaged by Tory cuts and have family members struggling because of government policies.”
Dikerdem also pointed out that non-members were not at any point barred from entering the meeting, for instance citing the fact that “a student from Manchester University who was not a member of the Labour Club was allowed to pace around angrily at the back of the room for three hours uninterrupted.”
But despite the strong support the motion received on Monday, several have disagreed with its deeper implications. Louis McEvoy, OULC treasurer, called the decision “extraordinary” and “unique,” noting that it strips “pre-existing, fully paid-up club members of some of the advantages of membership – for instance, debating and voting in general meetings.”
McEvoy told Cherwell that it epitomised a degeneration by OULC into “something ugly, intimidating and vaguely cultish.”
“OULC is regrettably moving fast towards greater insularity in its quest to rid itself of any stray Tories. Indeed, those arguing in favour of the motion repeatedly disparaged a number of OUCA members present, demanding to know why they were there. It was a thoroughly unpleasant atmosphere; whenever the few of us opposing the motion tried to speak up, we were jeered at,” he added.
This sentiment was echoed by William Rees-Mogg, an attending OUCA member, who referred to the atmosphere as “incredibly aggressive, with much comment about OUCA infiltrators (there were two of us and we weren’t infiltrators).”
This latter claim differs from one made by Dikerdem, who said “a large OUCA delegation turned up.” Cherwell can confirm that at least two members of OUCA attended Monday’s meeting; whether those attendees were also non-members of OULC remains unclear.
About the meeting’s atmosphere, Rees-Mogg told Cherwell that “the term ‘blairite’ was thrown about with abandon, as a term of abuse. OUCA was repeatedly described as ‘objectionable’ by [OULC co-chair elect] David Parton. There were also attacks on several people in attendance, who were not members.”
Another attendee, Redha Rubiae, who is a member of both OUCA and OULC, spoke of a “malaise” that characterised how a “significant proportion of OULC members” viewed OUCA.
He told Cherwell that “crewdates involving OUCA were described as ‘distasteful’ and Conservatives were seen as some victimising evil with no capacity for compassion,” adding that “democratic cooperation and mutual respect” did not appear to be in the vocabulary of some OULC members.
The atmosphere was reportedly enough to bring Izzy Corbin, who was invited as a guest by Brahma Mohanty, an OULC officer for both Hilary and Trinity terms, to the point of visible distress. She told Cherwell that she felt that “Certain [OULC] members hold extreme hatred for all Conservatives, and OUCA members in particular, and seem to want to systematically remove anyone from OULC that does not share this hatred.”
Mohanty was disturbed by proceedings as well. In a statement to Cherwell, he said, “Yesterday OULC passed another controversial motion demonstrating complete disregard for the democratic process and a clear desire not to engage with other members of the student community.
“This motion will now be part of OULC’s constitution and isolate the club even further from the rest of the Oxford community. I think this is representative of members of the far left’s efforts to purge the Labour Party of anyone who doesn’t adhere to their ideological agenda.”
He added that “given how the comments so clearly encouraged division and not cohesion, it was perfectly understandable that [Corbin] wanted to leave by the end of the meeting and had been shaken up to the point of being visibly upset.”
Parton has not yet replied to Cherwell’s request for comment. The current OULC Chair, Noni Csogor, has declined to comment.
Review: OUDS New Writing Festival
Momina Mukhtar on ‘Playwright’ and ‘Cold Warm’
Playwright by Maria Czepiel: it’s a GCSE English student’s dream. It ticks all the boxes. Clichéd metaphor and similes go hand in hand with the timeworn tropes of unhappy wives and even unhappier husbands. There are classical invocations to Penelope (the faithful one) and to Diana (the frigid one), and in case you’re really not on the ball, the seductress is the one wearing red. This is where I have to stop though, I’m afraid. Because, to coin an A-level English student’s expression, the play is meta and wonderfully so.
Playwright is a lovely piece of theatre with strong performances from all members of its ensemble cast. Its play-within-a-play premise allows for an exploration the boundaries of authorial control and the responsibilities of the writer who wields it. As for the audience, we are lulled into complicity and complacency by the familiarity of the play we see take shape before us, only to be shocked, at the last moment, by the “reality” underpinning it all.
And yet the production is never pretentious, though sometimes a little obvious. Good writing keeps it sharp and funny, as well-executed lighting allows the audience to snap in and out of the play-world at the snap of the playwright’s fingers. While I felt more could have been done with the vast scope its plot offered, this is a piece of theatre that’s entertaining as well as engaging; culminating alongside the deeper, thematic issues Playwright tacklesis a murder mystery waiting to be solved, and at the end of the day who doesn’t love a good who-dunnit?
The second play of the night is Cold Warm by Florence Read. Set in a council estate whose tenants are being evicted one by one, again, on paper the show is in danger of appropriating the classic student drama tropes: suicide, mental illness and poverty.
And yet this is one of the most intelligently written pieces of student drama I have ever seen. Centring on the experience of one man clinging to his home and to his handle on reality, most of the dialogue is delivered as a stream-of-consciousness. The acting of the play’s protagonist, however, stops the audience from getting lost in the meandering diatribes of the human mind; his performance is nuanced, varied and exceptionally well-paced. As the play moves towards its heart-breaking conclusion, we laugh at his childhood memories and we feel every bit of his suffering.
Cold Warm is described as ‘a play about the creeping influence of capitalism’ and indeed this is its beauty; it creeps up on you. The plot is revealed to us slowly, as the insidious forces that have robbed these characters of their homes and their lives do so one by one. And growing alongside it is the audience’s emotional entanglement with the characters on-stage and the poignant stories they present. But it is all too late. As the protagonist says in the play’s closing speech: ‘It’s over’.
All in all, Playwright and Cold Warm are student productions I would urge you to go and see, and if the other plays on offer are up to the same standard then the Oxford University Dramatic Society’s New Writing Festival is shaping up for an exciting run that are definitely worth a watch.
Georgia Reddington on ‘Island People’ by Jack Clover
Water, an age-old symbol used throughout literary history surfaces again in Jack Clover’s fluid and lyrical creation. Island People, written as part of the OUDS New Writing Festival and set on the distant Isle of Lewis focuses on the personal lives and hardships faced by the isolated island community. Clover addresses one of the most controversial issues dominating Europe today, the refugee crisis. Through the reactions of the native islanders who are faced with the prospect of sharing their home with these ‘foreigners’, Clover gives us a touching but disturbing insight into how we feel about this pressing matter.
The performance opens with the gentle melody of a guitar mingled with sounds of the sea. This creates a tranquil ambience, framing the narrative both literally and metaphorically. As such, the performance owes much to its talented lighting and sound manager for creating this atmosphere. We are soon drawn further into an almost mystical world by the opening monologue performed by Imogen Allen as Molly. This, along with the many other monologues in the play, are both beautifully written and presented, especially through Allen’s sensitive and endearing recital which flows like a delicate stream.
The scenes involving Seamus Lavan as Rory alongside Allen ground the play in realism: although their somewhat asexual relationship seems forced and confused at times, the two actors portray entirely believable roles.
The effortless multi-rolling of Rebecca Hamilton and Joe Peden was one of the highlights of the show. Both switch between a variety of characters ranging from enthusiastic models of the community to a grieving mother and a (questionably) Scottish mechanic. They need only a small costume change and impressive theatrical dexterity to convince us of their change. These characters provided much needed range to an otherwise static plot.
Despite a faultless opening, and a sustained level of professional acting, it was hard not to grow weary of the long sections of speech that became verbose as the play progressed, creating a stasis in an already slow moving plot. This somewhat ironically highlighted the issue surrounding the refugee crisis – that by continuing to debate over how we should act in this situation, we fail to act in any effective way. The speeches made by the characters displaying contrasting views over what should be done were not only polarised and therefore unrealistic, but they only worked to add rhetoric to an already extensively discussed issue, and as such, achieved nothing.
Overall however, the performance was comprised of many well-choreographed scenes by director Chloe Wall, intersected by moving yet controversial soliloquies conveying issues facing the islanders, both on a personal level and relating to the wider issue of the integration of refugees into their/our own society.
Georgia Reddington on ‘Canon Warriors’ by Hannah Greenstreet
“What do you call two feminist puppeteers about to be evicted from their beach hut home in Thanet?” This is the question on the lips of both the audience and the characters of Hannah Greenstreet’s Canon Warriors presented as part of the OUDS New Writing Festival. What begins as a light-hearted comedy brimming with witticism and quick one-liners soon develops into a tense and emotional performance that sets out to tackle a number of social issues ranging from homelessness and sexuality, to the philosophical conundrum that pits art against the bitter realities of life.
The cluttered but cosy stage is dominated by the presence of lead actors, Livi Dunlop and Daisy Hayes, playing struggling ‘artists’ Punch and Fleur with incredible energy. These two contrasting characters are brought together by their shared need for escapism, found in the form of puppeteering.
Fleur, although younger, is obviously the more responsible of the two, taking on an almost parental role over the immature Punch. Hayes’ performance really held the show together, through Fleur she provides the voice of reason that forces the plot to its crises and as a skilled actor she sustains this persona throughout, smoothing over any stumbles made by Dunlop’s enthusiastic portrayal. We empathise with her struggle as a young woman thrust from her family into the real world, dealing with parents unwilling to accept her sexuality and finding her home and relationship now under threat yet again.
Dunlop’s performance began rather tentatively, her childish behaviour was certainly entertaining but appeared unrealistic and at times, exasperating. However, the development of her characterisation from whiny man-child to a jealous and delusional adult meant that her final scenes as Punch stole the show, creating a tense and gripping atmosphere that took the whole audience by surprise.
Credit must also be given to Matthew Shore who portrayed the loveably awkward council worker, Aidan, providing us with a comic relief to the increasingly uncomfortable performance.
Despite some unintentional awkward pauses and mistimed lines that created confusion in parts, this was a well-choreographed production, owing much to the direction of Ell Potter, and a clever piece of writing by Greenstreet, incorporating comical meta-theatrics juxtaposed with serious undertones that work to get across her message. All in all, it did not disappoint.
Bexistentialism: HT16 8th Week
Forgive me, for I have sinned. I have received at least one whole complaint at my absence last week, and for that I apologise. I can only imagine how hard it must have been. All I can say is that the life of a finalist is a traumatic one. But it does at least present me with a musing for this week’s column.
For it is with trepidation that I prepare to attend Finals Subject Dinner. In first year the dinner was, well, a little rogue. Small talk may be painful, but big talk, we learned, is worse. A fellow student, after inhaling a little too much vin au rouge, proceeded to spice up the conversation. We had been talking about tutors’ research for evidently long enough. It was time for a bit of spice. And thankfully DreamGirl had a solution. I call her DreamGirl, not because she is my one-and-only, but because of the nature of her spice. You see, DreamGirl, after a conversational trigger that to this day we struggle to track down, began to narrate a dream. With wild gestures, and passionate phrasing, DreamGirl laboriously narrates how each vital organ one at a time is violently and poetically expelled out of her mouth. She concludes: “and then, and then, my liver just POPPED out, right into my hands!”. She looks up in nostalgic awe, and finally acknowledges our expressions.
The tutor to my right, who had been discussing his recent book until the dream began, sits silent. His mouth is slightly open, displaying what I later try and convince DreamGirl to be sheer admiration. Not disgust, nor shock. No no.
But things have loosened somewhat since first year. Nowadays hesitant banter is encouraged. And as students in the presence of elevated figures pretending to be our friends, we of course love it. Soon I am being directed up to the SCR toilets, for if we have to pay £30 for this shitty meal, a tutor suggests we should at least be able to experience the ‘real deal’. Soon we learn that by real deal, they mean ‘fancy ass shit that is far from reality’. I nervously twist the crystal door knob, opening the door to a polished, swanky and relatively absurd haven. Newspapers in all languages deck tables. Distracted from the need to pee, I explore. Strange wooden dolphins sit on a side, bowls of apples mark each metre of the room (I swiftly disprove allegations that they are plastic). The SCR is a strange world, and it scares me. We return to the table, my friend waddling behind me, a monogrammed towel newly underlining her dress.
I contemplate returning upstairs to pinch a wooden dolphin, but a tutor quickly protests – “No no no! Not the dolphins!”. It turns out that these aren’t any ordinary wooden dolphins. (Is there such a thing as an ordinary wooden dolphin? Perhaps in the SCR there is). Each morning tutors gaggle around the dolphins, flocking to communally slot them together in order to create different shapes and towers. Apparently that is not a euphemism. Oxford bubble? It seems being a student is mere child’s play. We don’t even have fucking wooden dolphins.