Wednesday, May 21, 2025
Blog Page 1471

An Open Letter to Katie Hopkins

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Dear Katie,

Earlier this week, I was amused to follow a friend’s link on my Facebook wall that led me to your recent interview with the Cherwell. Here, you were invited to talk on what appears to be your favourite topic at the moment: how to read into a name.  You seemed to suggest in the interview that Oxford admissions are rightly reserved for a social elite; the pinnacle of a ‘hierarchy’ fortified by the class system. You also made it clear that if you were an Oxford admissions tutor, you would always choose a ‘Cecil’ for your tutor group and would never want a ‘Tyrone’. 

Now I don’t believe we have ever met before (and you might want to prepare yourself for this), but my name is Tyrone Zachery Steele. I am a young, mixed White and Black Caribbean male from a working class background. And in fact, as the only Tyrone studying at the University of Oxford right now, I think it’s down to me to respond.

Now I didn’t know who you were before a quick search and I guess that, even now, I don’t really care. You’re probably not stupid, but perhaps a bit of an attention seeker (as your ‘unplanned’, dramatic swooning in The Apprentice suggests).  I guess that’s fine, if not a little sad. It’s especially sad for all the other Katies who don’t want to have their name associated with a woman who tries to make a name for herself by picking on children and laughing at the plight of the poor. 

In any case, I don’t think it’s particularly necessary to say why you’re wrong about the plight of single mothers, or why nepotism might just be a bad thing. 

Instead I want to come back to the issue of names. Perhaps you don’t like my name because someone called Tyrone just can’t be intelligent. You clearly think a lot about this, as one of the things you said in your This Morning interview earlier this month is that, “children with intelligent names are more likely to have intelligent parents.” You also made known in this interview your strong dislike of either “footballers’ names” or “geographical locations”. In light of this latter criterion, however, having a daughter called ‘India’ perhaps brings your own intelligence into question, doesn’t it Katie? Or at least your ability to read a map.   

But the real issue here isn’t just your snobbish attitude, whether it’s simply an attention-seeking pretence or not. It’s rather those who are hearing it. By all means, avoid me and my fellow Tyrones in the street. You’re welcome to continue being small minded (although I despair for your children). But when you start vocalizing your vitriol, you damage the self esteem of many working class applicants and aspiring students who might actually believe that the things which you say are echoed behind the doors of, for example, university admission professors. Oxford is trying incredibly hard through access schemes to shed the elitist image you seem to revel in. I myself have devoted a number of vacations to running access workshops in deprived areas of East London. You may think your social ‘shortcuts’ are the best way of putting the right people in the right positions in our future society, but I think it’s more important to show young kids that, even if you are called Tyrone or Charmaine, you still deserve a chance. It’s precisely this which seems to demonstrate how divorced you are from reality. True, Oxford has a large number of private school students – but increasingly it diversifies and this is a testament to the University’s strength and continuing success. 

So perhaps you should just go away, keep your unsavoury opinions to yourself, and try to find something useful to do, instead of making a career out of being offensive and cruel, and, from what I can see, utterly bigoted. As the Rev’d Dr. Andrew Teal – the tutor who actually did give ‘Tyrone’ a chance here – put it, “everyone who can and has competed for the rare places available at Oxford deserves encouragement and respect”.  

Oh and, by the way, I checked: there are no Cecils at Oxford.

Interview: Octavia’s Brood

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“We believe it is our right and responsibility to write ourselves into the future.” This is the powerful mission statement of Walidah Imarisha and Adrienne Maree Brown, the co-editors of a forthcoming anthology of radical speculative fiction written by social justice activists.

Social justice and science fiction initially seem to have little common ground. There is no overt relation between radicalism and a genre perceived as the preserve of overweight white men in Cheeto-stained slacks. Women are objectified in wallpaper roles, while colonial parallels emerge in narratives of space exploration.  The editors recognise that science fiction has reacted to minority writers “through a lens of hetero-normative white male supremacy, even when there has been curiosity or good intention.”

The anthology, entitled Octavia’s Brood, exists in part to redress a historical bias toward white male writers. In the 1960s, a poll to find the greatest science fiction novel of all time featured not a single female author.  The editors position themselves “among a community of writers and editors uplifting new voices which don’t fit the mainstream sci-fi demographic.” 

Since the sixties, the situation has improved. Science fiction “has responded to minority writers as society has responded- slowly.” This is thanks in no small part to the female African-American science fiction pioneer Octavia E. Butler who is commemorated in the title of the anthology. Specifically, the editors name-check the “Octavia Butler scholarship, an Octavia E. Butler Legacy Network, and all the work the Carl Brandon Society has been doing since 1997” as examples of science fiction’s slow progress toward equality across barriers of gender, race and sexuality, of which Octavia’s Brood forms a part.

However, this anthology is more than an exercise in equality. The co-editors feel that “speculative or science fiction [is] really speaking about the present in the context of… future generations.” Science fiction is here understood as the ideal literary platform for social activism, as both are concerned with the future of the human race. “All social justice is an act of speculative fiction, as we work to envision and create and organise for worlds we have never seen,” Brown tells me.

“Whenever we try to envision a world without war, without violence, without prisons, without capitalism, we are engaging in an exercise of speculative fiction. Organizers and activists struggle tirelessly to create and envision another world, or many other worlds, just as science fiction does… so what better venue for organizers to explore their work than through writing original science fiction stories?”

Imarisha and Brown “met through the internet”, and are crowd-sourcing the funding they need to publish and promote their anthology online: support their campaign here. Our transatlantic interview is conducted via email. Given that this forward-looking project was born online, it seems surprising they are publishing a traditional, physical anthology rather than exploring new media.  However, the editors make it clear that whilst “the media is instant… the issues are not.” 

“[Questions of social justice] have deep roots in history and they are our responsibility to figure out with more focused attention than a sensationalised 24 hour news cycle allows. We chose to collect short stories that could be read quickly but ask important questions that stick with our readers. Where is home? What is justice? What makes life worth living and fighting for?” Speculative fiction interrogates current societal values through its portrayal of alternative paradigms and social structures, and the editors feel that traditional narratives allow for these complex parallels to be developed to their fullest.

There are parallels to be drawn between the field of science fiction writing and the University of Oxford. Both were historically dominated by hetero-normative white males and have some way to travel toward a condition of equality, despite recent advances. However, just as science fiction’s forward-looking stance makes it the ideal platform for literary activists, so Oxford graduates are granted a unique platform from which to shape the future.

I therefore finish by asking what advice the editors would give to student activists in Oxford. They quote from the dystopian novel Parable of the Sower by the eponymous Octavia Butler, with a simple and encouraging message. “Write about the world you all want to see and share it. Trust yourselves to work together and stay in the work through the hard conversations. Remember, as Octavia taught us, ‘everything you touch you change’.”

Oxford student in Twitter bomb threat

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One of Oxford University’s leading student journalists has been the recipient of an anonymous Twitter bomb threat. Tweets were sent out on Wednesday to a number of female journalists, including Cherwell Editor Anna Leszkiewicz.

The tweets contained the message “A BOMB HAS BEEN PLACED OUTSIDE YOUR HOME. IT WILL GO OFF AT EXACTLY 10.47PM ON A TIMER AND TRIGGER DESTROYING EVERYTHING” and are being investigated by the police. Identical messages were sent to other female journalists, including former-Cherwell Editor Hadley Freeman and TV critic Grace Dent. Police were called to Leszkiewicz’s house and confirmed that the threat is believed to be a hoax.

Leskiewicz told Cherwell that “[she] didn’t take the threat seriously, but it was still quite a jarring message to read. I reported it after I realised the user was targeting women, and read that the police were asking recipients of the tweet to inform them.”

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Twitter has come under fire in recent weeks following a spate of incidents, including rape threats made against Labour MP Stella Creasy and feminist campaigner Caroline Criado-Perez. A petition for Twitter to install a ‘Report Abuse’ button was launched and currently has over 108,000 signatures.

The Metropolitan Police Service confirmed that they are investigating “allegations relating to bomb threats sent to a number of females on Twitter”. So far no arrests have been made.

Why I love Katharina Fritsch’s ‘Hahn/Cock’

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Discussing 15-foot, electric blue chickens brings out the seven-year-old in all of us. Katharina Fritsch’s latest sculpture, commissioned to fill Trafalgar Square’s Fourth Plinth for the next 18 months, has brought with it a wave of critical immaturity and double entendre. Every article, every interview, every po-faced critic’s blogspot piece has been accompanied by at least a trace of a snigger. It’s a cock! But not that sort of cock – a cockerel! Haaw haaw haaw! In unveiling it Boris Johnson was forced to resort to a Victorian music-hall-esque avoidance of saying the word, clutching at all the synonyms he could find to replace it – “Ladies and gentlemen, feast your eyes on this beautiful, big, blue…BIRD”.

But the sniggers are, in many ways, the point. Fritsch’s sculpture is all about mocking. Hahn/Cock is designed to undermine the other ‘cocks’ on the plinths surrounding it – the literalization of a metaphor for the preening masculinity that Trafalgar Square represents.It is, as Johnson himself put it at its grand opening, about ‘a woman’s rendering of a man’, subverting the testosterone-fuelled military history Trafalgar commemorates in phallic columns and roaring lions. It’s flipping the birdy (‘scuse the pun) at Nelson and all the other venerated ‘his’s of Britain’s navel-gazing naval ‘history’.

Of course, Fritsch’s sculpture is not without its critics. Before it was even erected, the Thorney Island Society had written to Westminster Council to complain. The Daily Mail had run articles of thinly disguised approbation. The idea of a hallowed landmark being openly, deliberately mocked – and in such a wincingly bright shade of blue – isn’t to everyone’s taste.

But the Fourth Plinth Project, the commission that, since 1999, has displayed a series of temporary works on the once-empty plinth, has its foundations in controversy and public debate. Since Trafalgar Square has some of the highest pedestrian traffic of any square in Britain, the breadth and diversity of the Fourth Plinth’s audience is almost infinite. It would be almost impossible to reach a consensus about the aesthetic worth of anything raised there.

It’s essential, therefore, that the Project embraces the controversy its artworks provoke – to engage Trafalgar’s public in debate about what constitutes ‘art’; to invoke a critical response; to generate reaction. And nothing says ‘react’ like a double-decker-sized double entendre.

There’re still always rumblings that a single, permanent statue could be erected to replace the Project’s temporary installations. Names for figures worthy of representation have ranged from Nelson Mandela to Margaret Thatcher and, according to Ken Livingstone, ‘the understanding is that the fourth plinth is being reserved for Queen Elizabeth II’.

But as it is for now, the plinth is defined not by revered individuals but by the opinions and responses of the thousands of people passing it daily – the children chasing Trafalgar’s pigeons; the tourists posing by the lions; the GSCE art students eating school-trip sandwiches on the steps of the National Gallery.

Anthony Gormley had the right idea in his 2009 installation One and Other, in which 2,400 individuals were each given an hour on top of the Plinth. It’s the most ‘public’ of public spaces, and long may its big blue cocks continue. 

Fashion’s Latest ‘It’ Girl

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Move over Kate Moss; there’s a new muse in town. No, no, we’re not talking about Cara Delevingne or Pixie Geldof. Fashion’s latest ‘It’ Girl goes by the name of Minnie Mouse. You’re sure to recognize the cute yellow court shoes, the big red polka dot bow, and the playful petticoats beneath that voluminous skirt – it’s true, Minnie’s been around for a while (she made her first appearance in the film Plane Crazy, released in 1928). But she’s taking a break from Hollywood, and has instead chosen to throw herself into the fashion industry’s limelight.

Minnie has been taking the fashion world by storm as of late. Last year, London’s top designers showcased one-off creations inspired by Minnie at September Fashion Week and, earlier this year, designer Gerlan unveiled her Minnie Mouse inspired collection at New York Fashion Week. In March Minnie walked the catwalk in a custom Lanvin dress (no less!) to celebrate the 20th anniversary of Disneyland, before releasing her OPI nail polish collection this summer. That’s not to mention her past collaborations with luxury jewellery brand Mawi, and department store Barney’s New York. 

But most exciting of all, Minnie has just landed her debut fashion mag cover, fronting the 10th edition of the bi-annual LOVE Magazine. She stars alongside some of the biggest contemporary names in the modelling industry, including Georgia May Jagger, Edie Campbell and Rosie Huntington Whiteley.

Traces of Miss Minnie’s influence are all over the industry. Yayoi Kusama’s collection for Louis Vuitton springs to mind. Or Maison Michel’s delicate mouse ears that were popular with the Olsen sisters. Meadham Kirchoff’s collection this season was covered in bows, with clear Minnie-Mouse inspired colour schemes dominating his catwalk looks. And, next season, Miu Miu pays homage to our favourite mouse with polka dots galore, with pieces ranging from small necktie scarfs to ankle-length taffeta skirts.

It seems Minnie can do no wrong: her career as fashion model-muse is only going from strength to strength. And no wonder! She’s an icon. As Marc Low, Vice President of Fashion and Home at Disney, said: “Minnie Mouse and her unique style continue to inspire fans across the world. Surpassing trends, Minnie Mouse’s iconic silhouette, signature bows and polka dots always remain in style which is why she is as relevant today as the day she first appeared on the fashion scene”.

Congratulations on your cover Minnie. We’ll certainly be picking up our copy of LOVE Magazine.

 

Get Minnie’s Look

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Coral polka dot drop waist dress, £10, Riverisland.co.uk; Hands bodycon dress, £30, Lazy Oaf at ASOS.com; Moto pink spot mom jeans, £42, Topshop; Roundabout suede court shoes, £58, Office; False eyelashes in Slant Black, £15.50, Shu Umera; Bow hair clip in red, £12, American Apparel; OPI Vintage Minnie Mini nail polish collection, £12.95, Beautybay.com; Commes Des Garcons polka dot print pouch, £109, Selfridges; Black lace mouse ears headband, £24.44, Esty.

 

Gallery

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Meadham Kirchhoff, ss13

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Yayoi Kusama’s collection for Louis Vuitton

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Minnie’s Cover

 

LOVE magazine’s Sweetie Issue is out now. Marc Low quote taken from Stylist.co.uk

Review: The Perch

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Anyone with a bike or good pair of walking legs will know that the relative ‘countryside’ of Oxford can be reached after just a short venture beyond the city centre. Accessed either through Port Meadow or down a long, winding lane you might miss coming off the Botley Road, The Perch is hidden away beyond a Pick Your Own and a driving range. Either way, you’re sure to work up an appetite by the time you get there. And boy is the walk worth it. A huge sprawling garden with a terrace under cover to shelter from the sun is decorated with a mish-mash of local art and crafts and blends into fields stretching for miles.

The ‘Two courses for £15’ menu is hardly the best deal you can find amongst other lunch offerings, and with a very limited selection of two dishes per course you could forgive me for initially being a bit uncertain. That said, it was certainly a summery-themed menu, in keeping with the time of year, and you feel validated in paying a bit extra when the setting’s that idyllic. The deal also includes either an alcoholic drink or bottle of water (might you want a juice if you’re driving rather than being limited to water?). The waiting staff were very friendly and welcoming; the slightly ambulatory speed of service paled into insignificance and was very much au fait with the lazy summer afternoon.

I opted as ever for a starter and main course, and my mum even more reliably for a main and dessert. We shared the ham hock terrine (as well as the lovely complimentary home-made bread that came with it). Now I’m normally wary of terrines; often they come as more of a jelly, at other times they can be bland or, worse, void of any visible ‘ham hock’. Yet I’d already seen one arrive at a table nearby, and was reassured enough to take the plunge. The terrine was chunky and salty with generous amounts of Parma ham round the outside and not too fatty in the middle. It was the piccalilli dressing, however, that made it. Little pickled cauliflower florets and cucumber chunks dipped in the sharp, acidic sauce which you just can’t quite get from a jar.

My main was calamari with French fries, mushy peas and homemade tartare sauce. I use ‘French fries’ because unfortunately they fell into the trap of being soggy and uninspiring, perhaps because the chef was going for a light version of traditional fish and chips. Sadly there is no substitute for proper chunky chips in my opinion and I struggled to finish the pile (in part because the delicious calamari proved filling enough). Memory of the calamari is a tad obscured, not by the fact I was feeling a bit heady after a couple of glasses of wine in the heat, rather due to the impressive and delicious accompaniments. If I had to pick holes, the mushy peas weren’t mushy (real garden peas!), but otherwise both were fantastic and I could’ve eaten a bucket rather than a ramekin of each of them. The dessert menu had failed to excite me, as is not uncommon, but my mum went for the profiteroles. I happily sat back and watched her enjoy them, I could see they were made with vanilla ice cream in the middle (vanilla pod seeds visible and all) rather than whipped cream which I’m told was refreshing rather than claggy, and the chocolate was rich, smooth and bitter enough to cut through the cream.

I imagine the pub is equally pleasant during winter, but rather than sitting in the garden on eclectic furniture with twee table cloths it’d be more open log fires, thick cushions and low lighting; welcoming you in from the cold. We didn’t try what is a very extensive beer selection (what you’d expect from a ‘proper pub’) but they did look like they’d put a significant dent in your wallet, so perhaps it was for the best we went for food rather than attempting to nurse a pint. Strangely enough, although it came very highly recommended from a couple of sources I’ve also heard some very damning accounts; accusations of poor food and poorer service. This, then, is evidence of the limitations perhaps of a one-off visit, but equally we left relaxed and sated, and wouldn’t hesitate to return to see if it is an overall improvement or a one-off fluke. One to take the parents to, especially if you’re country mouse yearning for a bit of fresh air, or even a change of scene for the city rats amongst us.

“Summer’s lease hath all too short a date…”

Picture this… after a manic eight weeks (more if you’re a super-keen student, rower or unfortunate fresher) of trying to balance essay deadlines, torturous tute sheets and revision as well as trying to appear sociable, fun-loving and care-free, you stumble upon a curious event: The summer vacation. As eighth week was beginning, so too were many students’ dreams of freedom, of a few precious months without the nagging thought that there was still one book left to read and one problem sheet to complete. Complete and unmitigated anxiety-free bliss. Right?

But now we’re well into the holidays and some of us are left wondering what we’ve done with our time thus far. Here’s but a cross section of what you’ve been getting up to.

The “Mini Gap Yah”

Thanks to the YouTube phenomenon, those of us who went straight to university (the rise in fees pushing the majority of this year’s second years to do so) are now familiar with the strange event that takes place when post-6th form students jet off to exotic, oriental places. Perhaps you thought that after the first two terms of first year, the oh-so familiar conversation starter of “well, when I was in (insert vaguely unpronounceable country here)…” would have long disappeared from your peers’ lexicon. How wrong you were. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the “mini gap yah”.

Forget a whole year of your life, for this summer only you could be bottle-feeding starving orphans in Ghana, being henna-tattooed on a moonlight beach in Thailand or eating spit-roasted guinea pigs in Chile.

So when October rolls around, beware of paying too many compliments to your friends’ tan, attire, or bizarre hair style – unless you want to hear about the trek they made through the outback, thorns ripping open their clothes and tearing at their bare skin before they reached a camp of indigenous natives whose children proceeded to weave for them a new pair of trousers out of camel hair and bamboo shoots, the very ones in which they are now standing before you.

Money, money, money – the working life

Like ABBA, towards the end of term the Oxonian begins to consider all the things he or she could do, if they had a little money, especially once the student loan has run out and it looks like things might be getting dire (i.e. you can’t afford those shorts/sunglasses/beers). Suddenly the feel of cash in your wallet and the revulsion you feel at begging your parents for another tenner spurs you into action. Returning to a previous part-time job, picking up something new or doing odd jobs here and there; almost every student’s at it. Prizes for the most bizarre.

Spare a thought though, for those students struggling through internships or work experience, rarely seeing daylight and without a pay check to show for it. Respect them; fear them -one day they will be smirking at your pitiful attempts at photocopying when you eventually end up in the workplace.  At least they have Cherwell’s work experience tips to get them through!

The couch potato

We now come to our final holidaymaker. A fairly rare specimen, it must be said, amongst the Oxford contingent. It spends its time indulging in the most primal of activities (eating, sleeping etc), that is, with the additional of modern technologies. It is never found far from its phone, laptop or television, and even the microwave is often only a few metres away. Always a fall-back option, this method of vacationing has been tried and tested by many a student, with the inevitable conclusion that it simply cannot be beaten.

After these tales of travel and work and sleep, what, you may be wondering, is a Cherwell reporter going to be undertaking this summer? I like to think of my vacation as a happy medium between all of these stereotypes: there’s the mini gap yah (admittedly only to Normandy to au pair), the work (being PAID for said au pairing) and naturally, a sizeable amount of vegetating (hooray for lie-ins!). Happy holidaying, fellow Oxonians.

Tales of the River

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People have swum in lakes and rivers for centuries. In the early 19th century, Lord Byron swam across the Hellespont in Turkey, thus bridging the gap between Europe and Asia. A century ago outdoor swimming clubs were to be found across the country sporting exciting names such as ‘The New Town Water Rats’.  It’s only really with full industrialisation and urbanisation that we have foregone open water for the sanitized and chlorinated water of indoors. Pollution may take some of the blame, but perhaps it’s because we’re just lazier and more accustomed to our home comforts that we grimace of the prospect of entering water that might be below 20 degrees Celsius.  

Yet reasons to be afraid of outdoor swimming are decreasing. Our waterways are cleaner than they once were. The Thames of the 1950s only supported eels due to pollution levels. Now it’s teeming with all kinds of aquatic life, thanks to stricter environmental regulations. We may imagine that only pristine mountain springs are clean enough to bathe in, but indeed many of the rivers that flow through our biggest cities are now clean enough. The Thames, the Tyne and Salford Quays (near Manchester) all attract their fair share of swimmers. It’s also far easier to swim in open waters thanks to breakthroughs in equipment and technology. Just glancing around at the Great North Swim reveals the variety of purchases that the budding swimmer can make. These include specially designed wetsuits, along with open water goggles (tinted in case of bright sunlight and with a wider lens to enable you to see what’s going on around you). Then you get the just plain bizarre items- waxes to prevent wetsuits from chaffing, and even special sprays to prevent goggles from misting up in cold water conditions. There’s also so much more to motivate us to get out into the wild and swim. The sport has a number of role models- take Cassie Patten who represented Team GB at the Olympics in the sport (a new event in 2008), at both Beijing and London. There’s also TV stars such as Robson Green and David Walliams who have made documentaries about the sport- with David Walliams swimming the length of the Thames. 

You can even make a holiday of it. SwimTrek offer swimming holidays in the UK and across the world. I myself have done two such tours in the Isles of Scilly and the Hebrides. Often these holidays take place amid island groups and you swim from island to island (accompanied by support boat). The truly stunning locations are worth   it. In the Hebrides I successfully braved the gulf of Corryvreckan- the second largest whirlpool in the world. Cross it at the wrong time and you will be swept under by the current, never to be seen again; George Orwell had a close encounter with death here. It was an eventful trip, carried out in both the sea and lochs, at the time supported by a boat driven by a grumpy man who constantly complained of the weight of our bags. One of the guys in my party even experienced a playful nip on the foot by seal pup. 

So back to the Great North Swim. It is the biggest such event in the UK, and has been going strong for 5 years now. It takes place every June, in front of the picturesque Low Wood hotel on the shores of Lake Windermere.  You can choose to enter the 1/2 mile, 1 and 2 mile or 5km swims.  Like the London marathon and the Great North Run it attracts celebrities, and two of the starters were team GB athletes. It’s very safe- you are monitored by a small flotilla of rescue boats and kayaks. Should you get into difficulty you will be picked up very quickly. Wetsuits are more or less compulsory, and in addition to that you wear a coloured swimming hat .The swim also operates a sophisticated timing-chip system, allowing you to see your time online.  

The moments before the swim itself are full of apprehension. As you run down the slipway you have to jostle for space alongside fellow swimmers, which continues in the water. As you enter the water you ‘fwaw fwaw’- the technical term to describe your tentative first strokes as you react to the water temperature, and get the shock of your life. As you are hemmed in by others space is at a premium, and thus the lake resembles a pool of piranhas. The upshot is that in swimming behind someone you don’t have to cope with as much water resistance, and you don’t have to look up out of the water to see where you are going, as you are just following the people in front. Then again, looking in the water is somewhat disconcerting, as here you can’t see the bottom, so your main thoughts are ‘WHAT IS DOWN THERE??’ It doesn’t help that every so often dead bodies are found in the lakes of the Lake District, or for that matter rumours of lake monsters.  

But on with the swim I press, and I focus on technique. It helps to keep your elbows relatively high, and to let your arms do the work (instead of your legs), and if you can breathe on both sides it helps also. As I swim further into the lake I begin to look around, and I really get a sense of the beauty of the surrounding landscape. Here the term ‘wild swimming’ is most applicable, as I gaze from the lake up to the Langdale mountains. In terms of surroundings, wild swimming is a hundred times better than your local swimming pool- no matter how attractive the tile work happens to be there. And as for the cold, you begin to adjust very rapidly. After a while you end up preferring the exhilarating freshness of cold water to the heated and chlorinated stuff in the pool. Mineral rich fresh water (or salty sea water) are bound to do far more good for your skin than the chlorine is. 

I’m now approaching the end of the course. I’m guided all the time by luminous coloured buoys which mark the route across the lake. As I get out onto the slipway a team of lifeguards help me out. Then I make it to the finish line to pick up a bag of free goodies (which includes a bag of pistachios, a bottle of Powerade, water, and some shower gel, as well as a t-shirt and medal. Not bad.). This is followed by a quick dry off and then the drive home (broken halfway with the promise of well-deserved fish and chips). Even though I’ll be far from the majestic beauty of the Lake District or the coast in Oxford, there are plenty of good sites nearby. Port Meadow and the Cherwell are popular (as anyone who has fallen off a punt knows). Oxford dons established a naked bathing site at Parsons Pleasure in 1852. Legend has it a number of students came past the sunbathing dons in a punt. The dons, startled, covered their modesty, all except one who placed a flannel over his head stating “My students know me by my face”. 

OED’s new ‘marriage’ definition to include same-sex couples

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As it currently stands, the OED’s definition reads: “Noun: The formal union of a man and a woman, typically as recognized by law, by which they become husband and wife.”

Only in a reference does the definition say marriage could also be “(in some jurisdictions) a union between partners of the same sex.”

The new definition will no doubt be similar to that used by the Merriam-Webster dictionary, which defines marriage as: “1): The state of being united to a person of the opposite sex as husband or wife in a consensual and contractual relationship recognized by law. 2): The state of being united to a person of the same sex in a relationship like that of a traditional marriage”.

The OED will change its definition due to the Same Sex Couples Act, first introduced to parliament in the January of this year, and which received Royal Assent on Wednesday 17 July. This recent legislation legalised same-sex marriage in England and Wales. As such, the meaning of the word ‘marriage’ has altered somewhat.

A press spokeswoman for Oxford University said, “We are constantly monitoring usage in this area in order to consider what revisions and updates we may need to make. It’s worth pointing out that, as the OED is distinct from other dictionaries in being a historical record of the language, meanings of the past will remain, even while language changes and new ones are added.”

Matthew Wigens, former LGBTQ representative for St. Catherine’s College, told Cherwell, “Although some people may consider this some substantive development, it really isn’t. They [the OED] have merely reflected a change on the law where it would be inaccurate not to.

“This in mind, the change of definition by the OED shouldn’t spark new debate. The time for debate was before the Marriage (Same-sex Couples) Bill was signed into law. Only if the bill seriously misrepresented public opinion to the point that repeal would be on the table would this be a time for debate.

“I am pleased to see that the OED have been quick to respond to the change in definition, but it is to be expected of the prestigious dictionary.”

Bo Guagua enrolls at Columbia Law School

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Bo Guagua, the son of disgraced Chinese diplomat Bo Xilai, has reportedly enrolled at Columbia Law School in New York, in order to continue his studies in the US.

The news emerged last week after a journalist for Chinese magazine Caixin tweeted a screen-shot of the Columbia University student directory. The web page lists Bo Guagua’s name, student number and university email address.

Experts believe that Mr Bo, who was an undergraduate at Balliol College, Oxford, is unlikely to ever return to China following the imprisonment of his mother, Gu Kailai, for the murder of British businessman Neil Heywood.

She claimed at her trial that she poisioned Heywood after he threatened the safety of her son.

Bo Guagua’s father, Bo Xilai, is expected to stand trial for corruption in China in the coming weeks, after the investigation into Heywood’s murder exposed a network of corruption in the Communist Party.

Last week the LA Times reported claims that Bo Xilai may have struck a deal with prosecutors in order to protect his son.

One of their political commentators, Hu Ping, a Chinese exile based in New York, wrote, “If the old man doesn’t accept his crimes, they’ll go after his son. Bo Xilai has to cooperate with the authorities to make sure his son can avoid trouble.”