The steel industry must be nationalised if private buyers aren’t found for Tata’s UK plants. The government’s current plan to part nationalise (up to 25 per cent) and debt finance to assist potential buyers is a step in the right direction, but falls short of securing the future of steel in the UK.

If the Tata plants were allowed to close, 40,000 jobs would be lost, while around half the UK’s production capacity would vanish. Britain is only the 18th largest steel producing country, but companies in our high value manufacturing sector, such as the Mini factory in Cowley, rely heavily on high-quality British steel for their products.

Opponents of possible nationalisation point out that steel isn’t profitable in the UK today, but there is a much more nuanced reality. While China floods the global markets today, making European production unprofitable, it does so at a cost. Last month China’s Dongbei steel company defaulted on a $131m debt. If China is ‘dumping’ steel at a loss into our market it makes sense for the UK to wait out the storm by subsidising or nationalising our production until the unsustainable glut of Chinese steel returns closer to equilibrium pricing.

In a few years’ time UK steel could well be profitable again. If we don’t save the industry now it simply won’t be there to take advantage of future profits. Unlike our more flexible services industry, heavy industry like steel takes enormous investment and time to establish. While companies like Tata lack the resources to keep unprofitable plants running until market forces stabilise, the government has resources and the incentives to do exactly that.

Hundreds of billions of pounds were spent bailing out the banking sector during the credit crunch, whereas Tata bought its UK plants for a comparatively tiny £6.2 billion in 2007. While the steel industry may not be as fundamental to our economy as the banking sector, the cost of saving it is so comparatively small that it is at least as valid an investment.

Furthermore, people employed in the services sector tend to have less specific skill-sets and therefore they can retrain with relative ease. This is not the case for steel workers. Last summer I did work experience in a Polish iron foundry and became aware that the skills and knowledge required to run a foundry take a long time to build and are incredibly specialised. It would be a considerable waste of skills if workers trained to make top-grade steel were expected to retrain and find work in unrelated sectors. It goes without saying that in the meantime the communities in steel towns like Port Talbot would be devastated.

In Poland, as I entered into Rzeszów iron foundry, it was like falling into hell. The air is hot and the dust from the inoculants catches the back of your throat, blackening your mucus. Every minute inside feels like an hour stolen from your life expectancy. The furnaces and crucibles glow bright orange and sparks from magnesium alloying seem to burn holes in your retinas. The casting cleaners work for six hours a day with only a 15 minute break – they leave work with hands, faces and lungs black as coke dust.

But these workers are producing some of the most advanced cast iron products in the world. This small Polish town is producing cylinder blocks for every single GE train in India using a casting technique only ever developed in that foundry. Their hard and seemingly unfair graft has made Rzeszów a very wealthy and clean town and has helped the local universities to progress.

While heavy industry may not always bring in money, it does create skill, pride and power for normal people. More than we can say for our elitist and often destructive financial sector. There is no future in which Britain is better off without its steel industry, even if it remains unprofitable for some time. Unlike the coal industry, which could be replaced with North Sea gas, nuclear and renewable power, the steel industry is indispensable.

There is not yet an alternative material and so in economic terms the failure of the steel industry is not creative destruction, but plain destruction. I’m sure the thousands of workers in British steel feel the same.

Oxford faces serious questions over its admissions policy and, given lower acceptance of BME applications (13 per cent vs 25 per cent for non BME) and private school influence (they comprise 7 per cent of students at secondary level but supply 50 per cent of Oxford entrants), rightly so. But both Oxford and Cambridge also possess a rich reserve of talented individuals ready to take on such challenges, as shown in a joint event held by OxPolicy and Cambridge’s Wilberforce Society last Saturday.

OxPolicy presented three studies; overcoming racial inequality, identifying the major access issues for applicants, and the desirability of contextual admissions. The first involved interviews with BME members of the university, half of whom felt ethnicity affected the administration process (although, notably, most were more concerned with the state/ private divide). The recommendation here was to increase outreach to socioeconomically disadvantaged areas, which tend to contain disproportionate numbers of BME students, whilst heightening support targeted at helping them once they arrive at Oxford.

The second study involved surveying a number of schools classified as disadvantaged by Ofsted, to work out what pupils thought of as the main impediments to access. Key problems included a lack of access to information about the complex admissions process, coupled with the deterrent effect of university accommodation and travel costs. Policy recommendations involved increasing the transparency of often byzantine applications and bursary programmes, whilst subsidising travel for those living far from Oxford.

The final study concerned contextualising admissions. This is already employed to a certain extent by Oxford, which flags applicants for recommendation for interviews on the basis of disadvantaging factors (such as care status and education). The problem, as diagnosed by OxPolicy, is that these students still need to have basic AAA predicted grades to receive an interview, excluding those who excel in especially poor quality schools.

Throughout these three studies, a running theme was the pernicious effect of the negative portrayal of Oxford as an elitist and unwelcoming institution. This message, delivered to students by both the media and teachers at some state schools, demands extensive outreach programmes to counteract it.

The Wilberforce Society, Cambridge’s own student political think-tank, rounded off the talk with two quick presentations. The first recommended instituting pre-16 access programmes and women’s only summer schools in order to encourage more female STEM applications.

The second proposed developing an informative guide to dispel myths about Oxbridge in order to give advice about how to practice for interviews and entrance examinations to those who are not fortunate enough to receive it from their school or social circle.

The event was at once sobering and inspiring. On the one hand, it set out the significant challenges that still lie in the path of genuine equity in admissions. But on the other it showed students refusing to merely sit and shake their heads from the stands, but coming in to bat for their less fortunate counterparts themselves. For this, and much else, OxPolicy and The Wilberforce Society must be commended.

The title of Tobias Jones’ book The Dark Heart of Italy perfectly captures one side of his journalistic and literary interest. He has written several works of both fiction and non-fiction on the often corrupt and provincial world of Italian politics and crime, and his most recent contribution to The Guardian’s ‘long read’ detailed the unfolding of a complex murder case in a small town near the Italian Alps.

However, Tobias Jones is also the author of A Place of Refuge, an account detailing the establishment of Windsor Hill Wood: the communal refuge he and his wife set up in Somerset, with an open door policy to those experiencing crisis in their lives. It is here that he has lived for almost seven years now with his wife, three kids and half a dozen troubled visitors at any one time. “It’s been wonderful, rewarding and joyous, but it’s also been gruelling,” he tells me on the phone.

“It’s taught me to be far more empathetic and understanding of people, and yet to be far more sceptical and suspicious of people at the same time. I suppose it also just kind of reinforced something I knew already, that human nature is just endlessly fascinating and unpredictable.”

People who set up communes are often pigeonholed as naïve idealists who want to escape the grit of reality in favour of something better that doesn’t exist. Jones rallies against this stereotype, “I think if you’re living with ex-offenders and soldiers with PTSD and anorexics, then really you’re closer to reality.”

If Windsor Hill Wood is closer to reality, is there something especially illusory about modern life, I ask. “I think it seems to be predicated on escapism really, and that a lot of what constitutes entertainment is really escaping realities.”

“But I think the other aspect of modern life is that we have less and less in common. Everything becomes very atomised and privatised and isolated. There are fewer and fewer common spaces and things that are shared. It’d be unthinkable a hundred years ago that we’d have almost a third of households with only one person living in them. That degree of isolation is extraordinary.”

In a recent article Jones wrote for The Guardian he detailed the increasing destabilisation of longstanding rural communities. His comments to me on the causes seemed to continue a more general critique of the world we inhabit. “The problem is rootlessness. The problem is endless mobility. I’m all in favour of people being able to move and I’m not advocating that we always stay in the same home we were born in.”

“But the idea that anyone can move where they want and anyone can buy property anywhere in the world. So, the fact that the richest can buy their umpteenth house in a Cornish fishing village when actually the people that grew up there can’t even afford to live 10 miles away is just destroying the social fabric of these communities.”

He mentions our idealisation of cosmopolitanism and travel as an aspect of the increasing rootlessness that seems to be eroding the basis of these rural communities, pushing droves out of the villages they grew up in and causing village shops and pubs to close at a rapid rate. I ask whether he doesn’t see certain benefits to travel and cosmopolitanism, despite the effects it might be having on the countryside.

“Of course there are. The trouble is that it’s only the positives that are promoted and it’s just become another huge leisure industry. And actually any notion of being rooted or settled or having links to the place you’ve grown up is seen as yokel or backward or inbred. So, it’s not that there aren’t positives to travel it’s just that travel has become like a one night stand. It’s not a long-term faithful relationship. It’s a go there take a photo in front of some iconic building and move on” he remarks.

Is rural communal living then, the only way out of this shallow and rootless existence? No, Jones says. He’s realistic about it not suiting everyone, and is aware there are many other approaches. “But I think it does just answer so many of the questions. I do think that sharing more things, including a roof, is the way forward.”

For many, it’s hard to conceive of Jones the advocate of a stable rural community existence as the same Jones who writes stories on the murky world of Italian crime and politics. I wonder what binds these two seemingly diverse interests. “I’ll tell you what the common denominator is; it’s is just fascination with human nature.”

“Crime shows you the very darkest depths of humanity, and often the higher idealism of the grieving families and the investigative forces that try and bring truth and justice to a case. The two are comparable in the way that they concern human nature and a story,” he says, towards the end of our chat.

Jones and his wife always only planned to run Windsor Hill Wood for seven years, with this time almost up they’re looking to move on, and are in the process of setting up a non-residential commune on donated land elsewhere. Will anyone take over running the woodland commune they’ve called home for so many years now? “I don’t know. I keep putting the word out there. It’s hard to know… I hope so.”

Oxford, wake up! We are a town under occupation by coffee shops in the same order of magnitude as actual ‘coffee shops’ in Amsterdam, or trap houses in the favelas of Rio.

As each day passes, the sandstone colleges’ reign over the cityscape is further eff aced by the sterile gleam of these mass-marketed menaces, pushing upon us a substance as dangerous to the sleep-deprived student as Jack Daniels to an alcoholic.

Being able to function only after hitting your local ‘dealer’ isn’t as cute and cosmopolitan as we imagine. None of us are tux-wearing George Clooneys in the Nespresso advert, sipping a beverage to pass idle hours. We are red-eyed wretches, stumbling to Exam Schools while clasping a scalding Nero cup to our bosom. We are the fools at the front of the Pret queue, looting the depths of our bag for the pound coin that stands between us and our fifth filter coffee of the day.

Caffè Nero exerts the same control over our lives as its eponymous mascot. (Emperor) Nero, along with his cronies, Paul, Starbucks, Costa, Pret and Taylors have colonised the highstreet, subduing us with this modern-day opiate of the masses, disguised in all its delightful forms and flavours.

Aged 20, did you really think you’d already undergo Sunday withdrawal? Each Sabbath you enter that terrifying purgatory between the hours of eight and 12, a world made bleak without 200 mg of the good stuff coursing through your veins.

Face it, Oxford has become a blazing inferno of capitalism and caffeine and the only thing that can save us is the second coming of Christ.