Monday 13th April 2026
Blog Page 1119

Saïd blacklisted by Barclays bank

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The Saïd Foundation, the charity which has supported the Saïd Business School, has been blacklisted by Barclays Bank and has been barred from becoming a future client, along with its founding benefactor Wafic Saïd.

The Business School’s website explains that “Mr Saïd, through the Saïd Business School Foundation, remains a generous supporter of the School, having donated £70 million to date.”

According to an article in The Times, the Saïd Foundation have been using Barclays for over 20 years, and were told in December about the bank’s decision to blacklist the charity, with no possibility of an appeal.

The same ultimatum was passed on to Mr. Saïd and his family. William Heard, a spokesman for the businessman stated that “Mr Saïd was not being singled out but was part of ‘a wholesale cull’ of Barclays clients born in countries the bank now regards as high-risk.”

He added, “Mr Saïd was extremely disappointed that … he is being treated in this irrational and irresponsible manner.”

Oxford University and the Business School have been quick to allay fears regarding the School’s financial security following the blacklisting of the Saïd Foundation.

In an email sent to Oxford University’s Economics & Management students today a spokeswoman for the Saïd Business School stated, “There are no implications for the running of the school,” adding that “much of the article [published in The Times today] is speculative.” The Saïd Business School reinforced their ties with the Saïd Foundation, writing “we look forward to continuing our relationship.”

A spokesman for the University told Cherwell, “The operation of the Saïd Business School is entirely secure. The School is an academic department of the University of Oxford and its funding is derived from numerous sources which include research funding and student fees.

“The Saïd Foundation now provides charitable grants to support a range of initiatives to advance the School’s strategic objectives, including scholarships for students, awards for innovation in teaching, key School events and new approaches to career support for students. We are grateful to the Foundation for its support and we look forward to this continuing.”

The Saïd Foundation have been contacted for comment.

A troubling relationship: the UK and Saudi Arabia

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Over the last year strong claims have repeatedly been made that Saudi Arabia, the UK’s longstanding friend and ally, are guilty of committing war crimes in Yemen. This represents only one of the most recent manifestations of human rights abuses committed by the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, which are as ongoing as the UK’s continued friendship.

Since 2015 the Saudi Arabians have been leading a coalition of forces in Yemen aimed at defeating Houthis rebels, who it claims are being supported by neighbouring Iran. There have been approximately 6,000 deaths since the conflict began, and little recent territorial progress. This aside, it appears that the Saudi-led coalition has been paying scant attention to international human rights laws. A leaked UN report recently revealed that 2,682 civilians have been killed in air strikes, and that banned cluster munitions have been used by the coalition. According to the report there have been 119 strikes that have breached international law directly, with attacks being carried out on health facilities, schools, refugee camps, and most recently, a wedding party.

Given this, it may seem ludicrous to suggest that a large portion of the weapons used to perpetrate these crimes have been bought from the UK. However, since David Cameron took office in 2010 the government has licensed the sale of 6.7 billion pounds worth of arms, 2.8 billion pounds worth of which were sold since the conflict in Yemen began. Various organisations are beginning to question how and why the government has made itself complicit in Saudi Arabian crimes: a cross party commission has been set up to look into potential breaches of conduct, but the government also faces several internal investigations and a high court case. One such investigation comes from its own Department of International Development (DFID) who run an aid programme in Yemen, an area ironically now under attack from a military using UK weaponry.

The Chairman of the cross party commission looking into the issue said of the pending investigation, “The defence and security industry is one of the UK’s most important exporters. However, it is vital that its financial success does not come at the cost to the nation’s strategic interests.” This polished line reveals the selfish concerns the government are trying to balance, between financial reward and reputation. Trade with Saudi Arabia brings in money, but trade with them also looks embarrassing because of their status as an autocratic dictatorship ruling over a society built on oppression, inequality and one of the most barbaric penal systems in the world.

In a recent parliamentary debate on UK Saudi Arabian relations Conservative MP Tobias Ellwood began his speech with a lengthy articulation of the benefits to the UK the relationship brought, followed by an elucidation of the “deep, longstanding history of friendship and co-operation” between the two nations. According to Ellwood, it would appear that the lengthy amount of time Britain has been friends with a nation in which people are beheaded and crucified, helps explain and excuse this relationship, rather than making it all the more questionable. He goes on to say that “some 25,000 Britons are proud to call the kingdom their home”. If this is true, it’s a sad indictment of these individuals that they are proud of a country which deprives its female population of even the right to drive and systematically discriminates against its Shi’a minority.

Available on the UK government website is a document entitled: ‘Doing Business in Saudi Arabia: Saudi Arabia Trade and Export guide’. In it the country’s large economy and vast oil reserves are eulogised before it is proudly proclaimed that the UK managed to export 7 billion pounds worth of goods there in 2014 alone. It is only upon reaching Section 9: ‘Business behaviour’ that some of the less savoury features of Saudi Arabian society are mentioned, including the fact that ‘homosexual behaviour and adultery are illegal and carry the death penalty.’ It doesn’t, however, mention the 370,000 foreign migrants deported in the last five months of 2015, or the 18,000 placed in detention in order to free up jobs for Saudi nationals, and maybe help create the business openings they so enthusiastically recommend. In fact, revelations by Wikileaks indicate that it was the UK that assisted Saudi Arabia’s successful candidacy for the UN human rights council in 2013, making a mockery of the government’s list of countries of considerable human rights concern, in which Saudi Arabia places highly.

It may seem that the last thing a country which fundamentally opposes the death penalty would want to do is make a judicial deal with a nation that put to death 158 people in 2015, and that executed 47 individuals on a single day at the start of January 2016. Yet only last year plans were made for the British Ministry of Justice to provide 5.9 million pounds worth of prison services to Saudi Arabia. The Justice Secretary Michael Gove, who has in the past gone as far as to court with the idea of a return of capital punishment, ardently opposed the deal. However, Foreign Secretary Phillip Hammond apparently accused Gove of being naïve in his opposition, of not putting British interests first. The deal was eventually scrapped, apparently because the branch of the Ministry of Justice which provided some of the planned services no longer existed. No appeal was made to the mistake the government might have made in offering its services to the same prison system currently in the process of administering one thousand lashes to Raif Badawi, a liberal blogger who criticised the country’s clerics, fifty of which have already left him in bad health.  This deal was being negotiated in the knowledge that in 2012 the Saudi Arabian authorities had arrested three juveniles, Dawoud al-Marhoon, Ali al-Nimr and Abdullah al-Zaher, for taking part in pro-democracy protests. All now face a death sentence that has been upheld by both the appeals court and the Supreme Court. It is thought that al-Marhoon was arrested without a warrant and then tortured to produce the confession that was then used to convict him. Al-Nimr is facing crucifixion as punishment for his attendance.

These kinds of questionable associations do not wholly characterise the British government: this is the murkiest end of the foreign policy spectrum. But it is important to be aware of the extremes, to keep in mind the capability to overlook and ignore the value of human life in favour of protecting vested interests. These arms deals and potential prison contracts highlight a degree of national hypocrisy: on one level a supposed bastion of the protection of human rights, on another supplying the means through which those rights are violated abroad.

A Panoramic View of Morocco

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Few ethnomusicological studies are as broad in scope and bold in execution as this one. Conducted in 1959 by American expatriate novelist and composer Paul Bowles; the aim is no smaller than a cultural summation of the entire country of Morocco. Bowles noted shortly after decamping to the then colonial expat haven of Tangier (home to Bowles’ contemporary and friends, William Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg) that: ‘The most important single element in Morocco’s folk culture is its music. In a land where almost total illiteracy has been the rule, the production of written literature is practically negligible, but the Moroccans have a magnificent and highly evolved sense of rhythm which manifests itself in the twin arts of music and dance.’ Also increasingly aware that many of the distinct and separate cultures of Morocco were threatened in their untapped uniqueness by the technological advances of modernity; Bowles took it up on himself to preserve for posterity these cultures on a self-imposed mission with the backing of the American Library of Congress. When it came down to the question of what it was that ought to be preserved in order to protect the Arab, Berber, Jewish and Andalucian cultures that existed in the country; there was no doubt that it had to be music.

The logistics of Bowles’ trip were nightmarish – much of the country did not have electricity, requiring musicians to come to Bowles’ in some parts of the country, his wife was forced to remain in Tangier owing to her fragile health and the Moroccan government kept a perennially watchful eye on proceedings, mandating precisely what and where Bowles could record. One anecdote tells that Bowles found out from his wife; well into his recording forays from Tangier to other parts of the country; that he had in fact been sent a letter saying he was in fact not permitted to record, however as was his want, ‘Bowles reasoned that since he had not seen the letter himself, he could plead ignorance of this restriction, and so he decided to continue to record’. Using a borrowed Volkswagen Beetle, Bowles made 4 forays in total around the country, recording at an immensely prolific rate to create a ‘panoramic’ view of Moroccan culture and history.

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Morocco as a country served as an interesting snapshot – different regions of the country contained different intertwinings of societies and the differences and fusions of these societies were made manifest in the music. Thus, the Northern coastal regions of the country tended to, by and large, carry more of the placidity of the Arab influence which had arrived after the Arabic invasion of the region in the 16th century and as a result of its intrinsic Islamic religiosity had ‘the property of inducing a state of philosophical speculativeness’. In contrast, the more isolated, older Berber cultures of the south and the Atlas mountains maintained a more energetic, aggressive use of drums in the music. However, both styles are undoubtedly hypnotic; so much so that Bowles debated calling the first LP release of this music Trance Music. The melodic circularity of the music; the reliance on modes rather than chord progressions (as was first seen in Western music truly in Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue); disavows any notion of that ‘worst of all… a predictable end’ that Bowles so despised in Western music.

However, The Berber and Arab cultures have not historically enjoyed an entirely peaceful relationship. Though the Moroccan government has lately taken active measures to promote Berber culture and language, in the past they were a marginalized group of society consigned to economic insignificance, abuse and even a state of borderline persecution. To this day the topic of the Berber/Arab divide is so controversial that when a group of Moroccan Arabs came to my friends and I asking our opinion; we were told by our guide to stay silent. However, even though this divide is often recognized as the principal cultural schism of Morocco, there exists – or existed – yet more cultures within this incredibly historically rich country.

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Most notably, also contained within this collection are recordings of the old Moroccan Jewish music and of the Andalucian. Nowadays, one is more likely to be familiar with the Moroccan Jewish culture through either cuisine (such as shakshouka) or through the Moorish designs of many synagogues, most notably Park Avenue Synagogue, New York. However, until the 1950s and 1960s (when 200,000 of the 265,000 Jews of the country left, mostly for Israel), this subsection of the Moroccan culture was still highly visible and active. This Sephardic Jewish music was entirely vocal, as instruments were banned in the synagogue in which the two tracks were performed and recorded. Therefore each singer sung in a very different style as many aimed to mimic the instruments which were absent. In this reviewer’s opinion, these two recordings are amongst the most unique and objectively beautiful of the entire collection, the voices containing a clarity and a smoothness to the timbre lacked elsewhere, while the acoustics of the recording greatly facilitate the range of vocal styles used in it. These are tracks that linger in the memory because of their haunting beauty.

Elsewhere, Bowles himself registered his considerable surprise at being able to find the Andalucian music in the form that he found it, ‘The Andaluz repertory—a consciously preserved genre, the unvarying rules of its esthetic long since established—is the last living folk memory of the seven-century Moroccan occupation of Andalusia. It is extraordinary that medieval Iberian music, as it was heard and transformed by Arab musicians of the era, should have survived into the 20th century.’ The genre is intensely repetitive; using strictly circular rhythms and melodic lines. The recordings found here, however, were performed by the wealthy, aristocratic but crucially progressive Ouezzane family. This was a family wherein, much to Bowles’ conservative chagrin, many of them were aware of how to play Western solfeggietto. For Bowles, this represented much of what was going wrong with the advance of modernity, and provided an example of why he needed to act to preserve these musical forms as soon as possible – soon, he perceived, music such as the Andalucian Moroccan strain would become defunct at worst, or diluted at best, by Western (or yet more pernicious, in Bowles’ view, Egyptian) influences. This influence can be heard in the second of the two Andalucian tracks recorded by Bowles, where not only can the traditional instruments of the genre be heard, but also the piano and other Western instruments.

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This particular track represents to the modern listener a culture that was on the cusp of change. In 1959, Bowles was lucky enough to be there among a culturally rich expat elite in the colonial hub of Tangier, while also being able to record ancient forms of folk music which can be seen to define the history of Morocco before those forms became excessively corrupted by outside influence. Nowhere is this more obvious than in the contrast between the Zagora as seen, imagined and recorded in the ‘Third Sqel’ and the Zagora that can be seen today. This track offers musical backing to what essentially amounted to a choreographed swordfight. Indeed, one can even hear the clanging of the swords in the background and in the instrumental credits Bowles names ‘two swords’. Yet the modern Zagora reflects little of this ancient heritage. Going there now, one only sees the sights and sounds that, on some level, one would expect. It is as if the implicit expectation of tourism has forced the local culture into selling itself short, offering snake charmers and counterfeit saffron where they should offer the sqel and the brotherly, communal, touch-based dancing which would have gone on during track 4, ‘The Second Aqlal’. Maybe I was simply looking in the wrong places, and these kind of artifacts are not artifacts yet; still lingering behind some ornate dusty door. But somehow I feel that Bowles’ suspicions were correct – when you listen to this 4-disc collection, you are not just listening to music. You are listening to a set of cultures which have faded, from living memory, into recorded history.

Dust-to-Digital have just released this awe-inspiring project; included are four CDs in a silkscreened box with 120-page, foil-stamped, leatherette book, featuring extensive liner notes by Philip Schuyler; field notes by Paul Bowles; and an introduction by Sonic Youth’s Lee Ranaldo.

Corbyn coming to Oxford

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The Wesley Memorial church hall on New Inn Hall street is set to host a rally organised by Oxford Labour in the evening of 31 March. Labour MPs Jeremy Corbyn and Tom Watson will attend, though no details have yet been provided as to the issues addressed within their speeches.

Approximately 230 people have already signed up to join the rally taking place in exactly two weeks. This number is expected to increase rapidly to meet the full capacity of the church. For this reason, event registration is open only to members and registered or affiliated supporters of Labour, each of whom may bring a “Labour-supporting +1″ to the rally.

The current chairs of OULC, David Parton and Eleanor Ormsby, told Cherwell, “we are very excited to see Labour Leader Jeremy Corbyn MP and Deputy Leader Tom Watson MP in our fine city, and many of our members will be packing out the event to welcome them.

“We are very grateful to Oxford Labour for organising such an event at the Wesley Memorial Church Hall on March 31st, at 6:30pm, and have no doubt it will be a successful rally, with important and pressing social and economic issues, likely to be raised.”

Daniel Iley-Williamson, Labour city council candidate for Holywell Ward, recalled how “last summer there was an inspiring group of people who tirelessly campaigned to help get Jeremy Corbyn elected as Labour leader, and it’ll be very satisfying to see him here as leader.

Other Labour supporters among Oxford students have also expressed their enthusiasm regarding the rally.

William Nuttal perceives the event as a chance for Labour and Jeremy Corbyn to show that the public’s expectations are not unfounded. He told Cherwell, “Since Corbyn’s victory in the leadership election I have watched him be mocked and ridiculed, and yet still retain the support of his hardcore supporters. 

“I am going to this event to see the ‘man behind the myth’ speak for himself, and to help form my own opinion of his politics rather than one spoon fed to me by the mainstream media, or the vocal left who forever have a presence online.

“Hopefully it will reinvigorate me to action in the political sphere, or it may prove to me that my friends who frequent OUCA are right. I am going as a learning experience, and I expect it to be just that. Either it will restore my previous socialist beliefs, which after months of mockery from other students here have taken a beating, or it will firmly bury them forever.”

Distancing yourself from reality

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It’s a Saturday morning and you’re sitting at breakfast, surrounded by your friends, performing the typical forensic post-mortem of the night before. Many of the guys are proudly boasting about the girl they met, telling stories of how smooth they were, painting themselves as regular Don Juans. Opposite you, that newly-formed couple from the next staircase over are adorably yet sickeningly feeding each other breakfast and giggling incessantly, lost in their own little world of romance and happiness. Sheer bliss. As for you, you’re on your phone, anxiously waiting for a reply from the one you left at home, or who is studying at another university. Each week you tell each other stories about your individual nights out, filling your significant other in on yet another night that didn’t involve them. Being in a long distance relationship at university isn’t always as satisfying as one would hope.

When you find yourself, however unwillingly, in a long distance relationship, scenes like this are typical and perhaps that explains why so many people are so vehemently against them. Before I left for uni, and certainly during freshers’ week, as I informed everyone of my situation I was met with a mixture of pity, amazement and sheer bafflement. No one actually seems to believe it’s possible and I can’t count the number of times I heard variations on the phrase, “It’s never going to work. Don’t put yourself through that.” Sometimes these warnings were easy to disregard, as they came from people with little or no experience of dating someone several hours away, but when someone with bad experiences warns you, it gets harder and harder to ignore.

As I started out on this long distance thing I was terri ed, but my experience has been nowhere near as dire as I originally thought it would be. Okay, at times it can be lonely and frustrating, especially when the one person you need to to talk to just isn’t there. It can lead to absurd arguments and over-thinking, where you read a text saying, “Have a good morning” and scream, “What did you mean by that?” It can make the weeks drag on like no one’s business and it fills you with an uncontrollable bitterness, the kind of bitterness that makes you want to throw your cereal into the face of the new-found couple sitting opposite you at breakfast. This isn’t all they are, though. Let’s not forget that long-distance relationships open you up to experiences you never get when your girlfriend lives just down the road.

First of all, there’s the Skyping. Although Skype dates are not a touch on the real thing, it’s the closest you can get and allows you to be creative. So what if you can’t go out to dinner, the surreal experience of sitting down to a shared meal with your computer screen can sometimes be more fun than the awkward standoff as you try to decide on a place to eat. Now suddenly you can gorge yourself on a McDonald’s whilst your health-conscious girlfriend makes do with her three-leaf salad free from any conflicts of interest. More than this, conversations begin to sparkle. Naturally, the wealth of new opportunities university gives you affords you a plethora of things to talk about. You swap your stories, share your memories and compare your different experiences. As your dates generally tend to be you both sitting in a room focusing simply on each other, your attention rests more on the conversation and they do seem to improve.

Then, when you actually see each other, it’s always an event. Instead of growing complacent, used to the sight of someone you see nearly every day, you’re always inordinately excited. Standing at the train station and seeing that person stepping onto the platform, it’s like seeing them for the first time all over again. You find yourself filled with a hedonistic joie de vivre, so happy to be together that it becomes almost like a holiday. You eat out more, go to more places, do more in order to fully maximise your time together. Okay, they’re not perfect. Certainly they don’t come close to a conventional relationship but, should you find yourself in a situation where there’s no other option, try not to be put off. Focus on the little things, those things you never thought you’d end up doing. Just remember, if as a couple you can get through this then frankly you can get through anything.

I need to sort my shit out

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I think I made a breakthrough discovery yesterday about my own student psychology. I realised that, similar to some of my friends and all of my family, there was a direct correlation between how much of my shit I have together and the state of my room. Many of you probably understand where I’m coming from. Most of my time in my room is spent deep in essay crisis while cups of tea in different stages of being drunk, strewn around the room, sit there silently, mocking me. Hobnobs, half-eaten, are used as bookmarks for books that I definitely won’t get to read.

In summary, my room is a mess. On my days of confusion, stress or apathy, my room reflects my mood perfectly, like a strange kind of pathetic fallacy lifted from the pages of a modernist novel. Perhaps it’s intentional. In pockets of free time, especially when it’s a nice day, I will decide to clean my room. It manifests the ultimately unhelpful illusion that I’m on top of things. Then I’ll pace around proudly, purposefully walking with flat feet, enjoying not having to tiptoe around clothing and paper.

This was the way my mind and room operated in tandem for as long as I can remember. Then it all changed. I started sleep walking. It used to be a small family joke, where I’d do nothing of consequence. When I was three or four, I’d be found asleep downstairs with duvet and pillow on the kitchen floor, or in the hall, like some sort of teleporting toddler. This was all very funny. That was until I was in my late teens,and I became the subject of repeated anecdotes told around the dinner table, but I didn’t mind, I’d grown out of it, I no longer was to be found lying facedown on the ironing board, covered in laundry, or in the sitting room, having displaced my cat from the usual moth-eaten sofa.

Then it all started up again. Somehow, my brain decided that in the night I needed to become an intrepid explorer, the Indiana Jones of slumber, seeking new and hilarious places to be found asleep. After a few mishaps, I managed to sort of defeat this trait in me, firstly by locking my door and secondly by placing Lego on the floor. Nothing wakes you up faster. So it died down again. I felt quite triumphant, and, every time I woke up facing the Australian flag above my bed, I felt a sense of victory.

This year, however, it has come back, but in a new and totally frightening way. It resurfaced when, after feeling pretty confused and stressed after a difficult day, my room was far from tidy. Then, in the dead of night I woke up and cleaned it. Meticulously. Shoes in the shoe box, notes in the right sections of the right drawers, clothing folded and put away. When I woke up, I thought I’d been robbed. I jumped out of bed and in my state of delirium burst into my best friend’s room and told him to come and see, coaxing him as if Santa had arrived. Despite the obvious attractions of such an offer, he didn’t appear to be very interested and he rolled over to go back to sleep, ignoring my sleepy nonsense. I, on the other hand, was very confused, and very stressed. And above all of this, the most stressful thing was that my room was the complete opposite of my mental state, tricking me into believing that I was calm and on top of things when I most certainly was not. At first I thought it was my subconscious doing me a favour. My friends couldn’t see why I was complaining – I mean, come on, I woke up with a clean room.

Then in the holidays the opposite happened. In a state of calm and collected Saturday night bliss, I went to bed in the midst of a spotless room. When I awoke, my clothes were all over my floor. What was this madness? My subconscious was definitely waging war, undeniably trying to put me off my guard; it could no longer be said that it was helpful. So I read up on it. I got some probably dubious internet advice. I tried listening to whale sounds and classical music. I debated whether Tai Chi or meditation would help. I attended a mindfulness class. I watched a programme on Channel 4 called Freaky Sleepers, reassuring myself through watching it that yeah, I occasionally go walk-about, but that was probably my inner Australian bursting out; at least I’ve never tried to cook a Full English Breakfast like Trevor from Derbyshire or paint the kitchen purple like Meg from Dorset. Perhaps it was one of these factors, but it hasn’t resurfaced since. Now, my room is a reliable indicator of the level at which my shit is together.

Everyone say ‘Yah’ to a ‘Gap Yah’

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Arriving in freshers’ week on a dark and windy October day, it was obvious from the colourful array of 2015 leavers’ hoodies that the majority of people in first year had not taken a gap year. I was disappointed by the lack of anecdotes about overdosing from cocaine on the trail up to Machu Picchu or tripping so hard off magic mushrooms that Humphrey somehow transformed into a tiger and started biting into Horatio. These are but two examples of countless gap year stereotypes that abound throughout the first weeks of university, and I honestly don’t blame people for looking at such students with disdain – a lot of them deserve it. But despite the stigma, I can’t help but recommend taking a gap year; I didn’t ‘find myself’, but it was a valuable experience and even though I feel slightly older than the swathes of freshers that descend on Park End every Wednesday, it’s nothing that a double vodka and cranberry can’t fix.

August to December. These are the months where you wish you were already at uni. Applying for Oxford first time around was bad enough, with endless interview practice and revision for HATs and MATs. This time, you don’t even have the help of your old school teachers and with no lessons to go to, motivation to work is at an all-time low. For me, these months were characterized by a long and arduous FIFA 15 campaign where I managed to take Wycombe Wanderers from League 2 to the Premiership and frantically tried to remember who Tacitus was one week before my interviews.

As for interviews, it’s hard to say whether they were easier or harder second time round. You are a year older and that must count for something, but at the same time it depends on your situation. When I applied from school there was a lot of pressure to apply, even if you weren’t really keen on it. This put a lot of people off, and applying from my year out was easier, as I felt the build up to the interviews was more relaxed. Knowing your A level results is a plus as well, so long as they weren’t a complete disaster.

But rather than a gap year being a year of fun and games, it is possible to do something useful. The only other thing I was doing at this time was work, and I mean real work, not school work. Working at the NHS was probably one of the best things I did. The realm of clinical trials is a tornado of forms and spreadsheets and was an intense introduction to the world of work but it was rewarding. On a day-to-day basis, I met patients who lived locally and helped with the running of the hospital. I am not going to claim I was saving lives or go on about how working in a hospital really changed my life and that I now smile every time I see the sun – that would be bullshit. What it did do is give me a glimpse of what work is like, something that a lot of undergraduates have no real idea of until their first internship with Goldman Sachs or Credit Suisse. As great as those internships might look, they don’t give you the same experience of working somewhere for a prolonged time and are not reflective of a real job. I am not saying that because of four months of working at the NHS, I am far better prepared for starting work. It is just refreshing to know what having a job is like before you start your degree.

Cash in hand, I hopped on a plane to Florence and spent the spring trying to learn Italian. I was flying all the way to a foreign country, alone, knowing I would be without my family or friends for three months. Some kind people at the language school took pity on me and after a while I developed an interesting mix of friends. Some of them were European, originating from Paris or Copenhagen, and others were all the way from Mexico. After living in a bubble in England, it was refreshing to meet some people who were completely different to those I had grown up with. Living so far away from home was challenging, especially trying to explain to an Italian man that my washing machine had broken without knowing the word for washing machine and with water slowly filling my apartment.

Challenging though this was, it did make me more confident to be able to do things independently without needing the help of others. So when I got to Oxford, nothing seemed as daunting. I had done the living-away-from-home thing before and had met people from various different cultures – how hard could it be to introduce myself to other freshers? I was excited to go back into education. There is no doubt in my mind that this was the feeling I will remember most about my gap year. As fun as having a year out is, it does put everything into perspective and by the end of my time I was craving deadlines, essays and long reading lists.

Now, in my second term at Oxford, I am slightly less motivated, but if I had gone to uni straight from school, I know I would be craving a trip to Thailand by now.

No whine about no wine

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So we are in February. We’re hardcore February now; we’ve actually made a commitment to this month. February is a time to continue complaining about the cold weather, the dark mornings and to review our New Year’s resolution (if we’ve stuck to it, that is).

For me, it’s the month where I can finally drink. Yes.This year I did what’s better known as ‘Dry January’. An entire month without alcohol after all the festive indulgence. I was one of those annoying people everyone looks at like an alien when you announce you’re not drinking because of some kind of ‘detox month’.

“What are you thinking?” people would ask (or at least imply by their raised eyebrows…)

You’re probably thinking that, now it’s February, I am jumping for joy at the thought of having a drink again. I know of other people who couldn’t wait for their own ‘month of hell’ to end. The last days of their January were spent staring hungrily at a Budweiser. Yet in reality, I couldn’t care less. Yes. I said it. Dry January, apart from giving my liver a rest from what was possibly the worst New Year’s hangover of my life, has shown me you do not need alcohol to have fun. It has also done wonders for my levels of energy and my bank statement, which were additional benefits I wasn’t expecting. Now, before you roll your eyes and reach for a tequila, hear me out.

Dry January is actually a very popular phenomenon – perhaps not amongst students, mind. Last January, more than two million people took part in the tradition and there’s even a whole website dedicated to the month, where people can sign up and fundraise for the registered charity Alcohol Concern. It was quite fitting that my first time doing this was also after the release of the latest medical guidelines on drinking. Men should now drink no more than 14 units a week – the same as women – and both sexes should not drink for at least a few days a week. The announcements became the headline of the national newspapers, one way of making the public feel worse about their festive indulgence! Nevertheless, the timing of this news came as perfect motivation as I prepped myself for Dry January.

The first time I declined a drink was on New Year’s Day with my family. Not really a big deal since the day was going to be quite tame anyway (sorry, parents, but your parties just ain’t that fun). The next time was post-collections. That was harder. After cramming in the library for practically the entire of 0th week, a drink was exactly what (I thought) I needed. As a finalist, some- thing has to get me through. Especially as the fresher mantra eat, sleep, rave, repeat (or the Oxford equivalent, eat, work, rave, repeat) can be no more.

I thought, am I going to have a good time if I don’t drink? Will I be sitting there completely lost on my friends’ drunken jokes? And yet, the outcome was rather different. Without alcohol, I had a pleasant night. An added benefit was I didn’t feel so sleepy either (which was also quite depressing… feeling tired after wine is surely a sign of impending old age).

The next ‘test’ was a friend’s birthday meal. Again, I had fun. People actually thought I was tipsy, which was somewhat amusing to say the least. Proof you can be silly and sober! Then there was another friend’s big 21st in London, which was a glamorous occasion to say the least, with free, unlimited alcohol. How on earth could I resist that? Well, I did. And again, the conclusion was I had just as good a time as if I had not drunk (and much clearer memories the next day).

I’ve never been a massive drinker – my friends always tease me for being a number one lightweight – and I think now I know why. Because I can have a good time without the alcohol crutch. Maybe it’s because I’m a bit extroverted – I know some people drink to come out of their shell more. But if that’s the case, you’re probably wondering why, then, do I drink? Two reasons. 1) To be sociable. It’s not quite the same ordering a virgin mojito in a bar. 2) To survive the below-part Oxford club nights.

A brief disclaimer: no, I didn’t go clubbing during Dry January. Entering the sweaty Bridge corridor without a trace of alcohol would have given me nightmares. Kudos to anyone who does go to Bridge sober – I admire you! The other benefit from resist- ing alcohol for a month was that I had more energy in the mornings and a slimmer waistline. My bank statement also came back looking more promising than it had done in a long time.

So, has the experience meant I am going fully teetotal? Hell no. I’m a student, and student-life only lasts so long! Getting ridiculously drunk every once in a while is fun – after all, that’s why we do it. Especially on a night out. However, I am definitely go- ing to cut down when I know I don’t need it. I’m going to Christ Church formal tonight, infamous for its boozy, raucous nights. I’ll have a glass or two, but I’m no longer in a mindset which I think many of us are guilty of: If I drink more, I’ll have a better time.

Having said all this, the next time you do see me drunk, please don’t bring up this article and accuse me of inherent hypocrisy. If so, I may just have to take your vodka and coke right off you. Cheers to that!

Turns out I ‘reely’ cannot dance

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The other week I attended the Reeling Ball. Reeling, for those who are not Scottish aristocrats or didn’t go to public school, is an experience that I found I could only describe as ballroom dancing on speed and in kilts. As someone who had never reeled before, as I imagine many of you readers are, I was anxiously excited as to what the evening would have in store. Would all of the haggis-eating, whiskey-drinking stereotypes of Scotland hold true?

Was everyone in a kilt actually Scottish? How long would the free wine last? Alas, I should not have focused on such trivial matters as the ‘reel’ challenge was trying to learn the moves for each dance, whilst other people looked disapprovingly at my two left feet.

In all honesty, my friend who had invited me had recommended that I go to reeling practice. At the time, I didn’t appreciate just how helpful this would have been. As tempting as it sounded then, I quickly decided that I was too busy (an all too easy excuse in Oxford) and was floundering like a fish out of water from the outset.

The so called ‘Dashing White Sergeant’ was our first dance and this was the only one that I managed to pick up at all. I use the term loosely. I still wouldn’t attempt to perform it in public for fear of ridicule. Bustling with pride, we then began the next one which was where my reeling career, which up till this point had been close to stellar, went into decline. The first one was apparently notorious for being the easiest dance of the night and the rest would get increasingly harder, culminating in ‘The Reel of the 51st Highland Division’ which sounds more like a military exercise than a dance. The most terrifying thing about it is that you affect other people’s dancing. In Park End on a Wednesday my horrible dancing affects no one but me and maybe a few friends who have made the questionable decision to go to Park End. In reeling, everyone moves round the room and swaps partners every 20 seconds. I’m sure this is part of the fun – if you can reel.

However, if you can’t this is the most awkward part. Every new partner greeted me with a gleaming smile and an infectious enthusiasm for reeling. Unfortunately, I did not live up to their expectations; as a man, it was my role to lead the dance and as I had no idea what I was doing, nothing ever started well. Some of my partners took pity on me or offered a consoling laugh that relieved some of the tension. Others, however, did not see the funny side and were quite perturbed by my lack of reels.

About halfway through the evening I did in fact give up as not only was the embarrassment becoming unbearable but I was also exhausted from all the dancing. If there is one thing I can recommend about reeling, it is that it is a phenomenal exercise routine. Two avocados, a bunch of kale and an hour’s reeling are sure to keep the doctors away. Whilst I was sitting down observing the harmony of a perfect reel, I tried to console myself by reflecting on the shapes I could throw at a normal club. I then realised that in fact my normal dancing is probably worse than my reeling and that I essentially have one dance move to cover every type of music. The only difference is that my ‘normal’ dancing is usually complemented by the dark lighting of a club so no one can see it, whereas at the reeling ball I was practically an exhibit at the zoo for people to stare and pull faces at.

I have always found it odd that English nightlife is dominated by dancing. I have never been a keen dancer and I don’t know many people that love dancing, yet nonetheless thousands of people descend on Bridge, Wahoo, Plush or Cellar every week. So much alcohol is involved that people lose their inhibitions and before long a plethora of dance moves are hurled at the dance floor in a variety of ways. People such as myself stick with the tried and tested and rarely undertake new trends. However, the overriding feeling is that no one knows what they are doing on these anarchic WKD-fuelled nights, and even the best dancers don’t get to show their full arsenal of moves.

This chaos is not an environment I thrive in and this is where I missed a trick with reeling. If I had bothered going to the practices then I would have known the moves, which meant I would have actually been a good dancer. There are no surprises with reeling; the band is not going to fade from ‘The Dashing White Sergeant’ into an acoustic rendition of ‘Mr Brightside.’ You know what you are getting and this sense of security is something that is lacking from your usual night out. If I am ever invited back to the reeling ball, I will be sure to learn my reels.

Bestival 2016 set to be a winner

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The organisers of Bestival, which takes place in Robin Park on the Isle of Wight from September 8-11 this year, have announced the first lot of names for their line-up of ‘Mind-Expanding Music’.

Post-punk rockers The Cure are set to headline the Saturday night, returning after their 2011 Bestival debut. Formed in West Sussex in 1977, Robert Smith and his iconic band will take to the stage to shred through the tunes which have resulted out of some forty years of playing together.

After last year’s successful sixth album Why Make Sense? Hot Chip are set to headline the Big Top on the Friday. The London boys have played Bestival more times than any other band, truly encapsulating the eclectic spirit which runs through every year of the festival.

American EDM maestros Major Lazer will take to the stage on Friday night, mixing up their fantastic array of reggae/dancehall/EDM beats. With a festival curated by legendary DJ Rob Da Bank and his wife, Major Lazer are sure to revive the ecstatic dancehall roots of this festival, where electronic music really is the mainstay of the weekend.

The rest of the weekend’s line-up includes huge names all the way down the bill. Offerings include Wolf Alice, Skepta, Bastille, Katy B, Animal Collective, The Human League, Jagwar Ma, Loyle Carner, Craig David’s TS5, Years & Years, Ride, and Ghostpoet, amongst many others.

A DJ himself, curator Rob Da Bank can always be relied on to put excellent DJ acts on the bill. This year’s line-up includes Fatboy Slim, Krept & Konan, Diplo, The Black Madonna, Eats Everything and Tourist. David Rodigan MBE presents his Ram Jam, and choir-boy Aled Jones will (surprisingly enough) MC alongside Rob Da Bank as DJ for an exclusive History of Jungle & Drum n Bass set.

More acts are still to be announced. Find out more information and buy tickets here.