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Interview: Paralympian David Smith

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An important part of sport’s appeal is the fascination we take in watching the breathtaking and incredible feats that the human body can undertake in order to achieve. Those moments that capture our imagination and leave us speechless are those that we didn’t even know were possible. The Paralympics of 2012 in particular reminded us of this. But even in this group of athletes, the story of David Smith stands out as truly inspirational. The gold medallist in the rowing mixed coxed four has lived a life and career that in itself seems unbelievable.

Smith was born with a condition known as congenital talipes equinovarus, commonly known as ‘club foot’, in both of his feet. This significantly hampered his development. “I had to learn to walk in special plaster cast boots until the age of three. It left my right foot slightly deformed and fused. That had caused lots of problems as a kid playing sport as all my attention was always going to that.” However, determined not to let this hold him back, Smith overcame his issues to represent Great Britain at karate at the tender age of 15, and also competed in both Skiing and Athletics at a regional level. In each, he was competing in regular competition against able-bodied individuals.

Even relatively recently, Smith’s focus was not on rowing; he put all his efforts into bobsleighing, reaching the top four in the UK for his position as brakeman, and strived to become one of the best in the world. His regret at not quite making the grade is still evident. “Rowing came later in life for me. I was on the bobsleigh team in the Olympic squad and missed out on the 2006 Winter Olympics by a couple of hundredths of a second, but was having all sorts of injury problems that held me back from competing regularly on the world stage.”

It was these injuries that would prevent him from competing further in the sport. “I was going to a physio at the time, who said to me, ‘You’re not going to be able to compete at this level in bobsleigh. You are never going to be able to compete in sport again. Your body is just shutting down.’ That was a pretty heartbreaking moment, because that was 2008, so I wasn’t ready to give up mentally or physically, I still wanted to compete.”

After this disappointment, Smith was still not ready to give up on his dreams as a sportsman. “My whole life I’ve always wanted to be an athlete, but I’ve been held back with the tumour, held back with my foot. I’d come so close on so many occasions, in karate, in athletics, in skiing, in bobsleigh. I just never felt I got to really fulfil my potential as I thought I could, without all of these things holding me back.” Smith felt he had more to get out of sport.

With this burning desire still evident, Smith took a different avenue for his sporting endeavours. “On advice by my physio, a classifier for the BPA [British Paralympic Association], I went to the talent ID day just see what it was all about. I love sport, I love competing, and to compete in a home games was going to be something else.” It was obvious to the selectors that Smith had serious potential in rowing. “I jumped on an erg for the first time in my life, and did a 1000m row. I came pretty close to breaking three minutes, and was told that was a pretty respectable time for someone who has never done any endurance training. British Rowing got in touch with me and asked me to come down to another day in Aversham, and then I made it onto the Paralympic squad.”

But another catastrophic setback occurred in May 2010 that threatened once more to end his sporting life. “I was sent for a routine MRI scan by the BPA. It came back with the result that there was a tumour the size of a tennis ball growing inside my spinal cord at my neck.”

In an attempt to save his sporting career – and more importantly his life – Smith sought help within the rowing community in Oxford. “This is when the real Oxford connection comes in, as it was an ex-Oxford rower that did my surgery. I went up to Richard Budget who is the British Olympic doctor and an ex-Olympic rower himself. He rang Tom Cadoux-Hudson, who’s a surgeon in Oxford and also lectures at Oxford University.”

The surgery was far from straightforward, with near-fatal implications in itself. “The confusion with the surgery is that because the tumour had been there so long, when he took that out there was a massive rush of blood to the spinal cord. That tumour had been pressing on my neck for so long it had damaged my entire nervous system throughout my body. So when they took it out I ended up with a massive blood clot in my neck. I woke up completely paralysed from the neck down. And that involved another emergency surgery on the neck.”

For someone so active and for whom sport is such a great part of his life, this was a staggeringly quick life change that was hard to take. “I went from being an Olympic bobsleigher to basically being in a wheelchair. I spent a month in hospital, I lost three stone in weight, I couldn’t even stand up, and had to completely learn to walk again. It’s all such a blur to me.” His phenomenal recovery, culminating in winning a Paralympic Gold seems impossible to Smith himself. “I forget now that I’ve been through all the surgery. I look back and think ‘God I’m not sure I could do that again.’ My mind almost blocked out my knowledge of my body. I have one goal, one target.”

Smith’s immense drive was shown in his entire dedication and focus on returning to rowing, instead of on survival. “Every day, seven days a week, I couldn’t row, I couldn’t train. So I would lie in bed and visualise training sessions. I think the mind is such a powerful machine, if I visualise then my body will respond, on a hormonal level if not on a physical level. I decided to do as much as possible, and I think that played a key role [for my recovery].”

Even once he was able to walk again, getting back into rowing was no mean feat. “Rowing, even when you are fully fit, is probably one of the hardest sports in the world. Before we were doing 16km ergs, and now I couldn’t even do five minutes.” And it was far from just the physical pain that he was experiencing. “I just kept pushing myself and going through that mental and emotional pain of looking in the mirror.” Smith needed to rebuild himself in every sense of the word.

Fast forward 14 short months since the operation, and incredibly Smith was standing on the podium at the World Championships with a gold medal around his neck. With no time to celebrate, training moved on as the Olympics loomed large. And by the time London came, Smith felt as if nothing was going to get in his way. “I think I’d been through so much, by the time I got to the starting line in London, nothing mattered, I was just so focused on crossing that line in first place. It was a massive team effort to get me there, it was not just the guys in the boat but everyone at GB Rowing.”

“I thought to myself: ‘I’ve put my body in so much pain in the last two years to make London, there is no way I want to leave with anything but gold. Everyone around the world who is going [to the Paralympics] is going to be hurting, but if I could hurt myself a little bit more, just push a little bit harder, that is going to make all the difference.’ As a team we went there to win, but on a personal note, it would close the door on the nineteen years of problems in sport.”

The mixed coxed four of Smith, Pam Relph, Naomi Riches, James Roe, and cox Lily van den Broecke, won gold for GB in the final race of the London 2012 Games at Eton Dorney. The coxed four overhauled Germany (who had set a new World Best Time in the qualifiers) in the second half of the race in dramatic fashion to win by just 2.06 seconds.

Like many of the Olympians, the realisation of what had been achieved is still a little lost on Smith. “Even now I come home and think ‘God did that all really happen.’ It still feels like it’s a bit of a dream and someone’s going to pinch you and say, ‘it’s race day again, we’ve got to go.’ It feels like the past six months haven’t happened.”

However, the race would prove to be a final flourish in a short rowing career for Smith. “It was my health that made me give up the sport; I would have loved to have stayed as a rower. But the damage to my arm from surgery and my neck problems – the strain that rowing was putting on my body was just too much.”

Not content with his Paralympic Gold, Smith hunted for the next challenge to quench his endless ambition. Cycling around the world in 2013 became the next mammoth task that he decided to take on. “This cycle thing started to grow on me and I thought I needed a challenge that didn’t involve competitive sport, but still pushed the mind and the body.” But Smith hasn’t given up on competitive sport just yet: “I’ve got dreams to go to Rio as well, and I would love this dream to come true. But my body took a real beating crossing that line in London and I’m still recovering.”

It is clear that whatever the future holds, sport will continue to be at the heart of Smith’s life: “I’ve said before that sport saved my life, and I truly believe that. I always see life as a row of hurdles. And if you look down a row of hurdles on an athletics track most people would perceive it as a threat, and think I’ll never be able to jump these. But if you ask a top Olympic hurdler, they’ll perceive it as challenge. I think there is a lot in the psychology of that. I had such a passion to achieve in sport that all the hurdles that were put in front of me I saw as challenges, and I’ll never give up.”

There must be very few other stories that can match the inspiration of Smith’s struggle to constantly pick himself up from serious setbacks to compete at the highest level for his country, across a multitude of disciplines. There is a satisfying closure brought by his gold medal in London, a vindication for this fighting spirit; but it is testament to his character that he has quickly set even more difficult goals in the hope of challenging himself. David Smith is a man who never wants to live in his comfort zone.

Diaries from a Catty production team

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Ramin Sabi (producer)

People are often confused as to what exactly a producer does. It’s a difficult question because the producer’s role changes from production to production depending on the crew, the scale of the show and the obsessiveness of the producer. This is my last play in Oxford before I sink into the pandemonium of finals and it really is an excellent one to go out on. The cast and crew are an eclectic mixture of first-timers and extremely experienced people, which gives a great dynamic to the project. For this show I leave what is probably my favourite 20th century play script in the hands of the very competent director and march on with the other tasks that form my personal checklist: develop a marketing aesthetic sufficiently hot enough to make people sweat when they look at the poster (I have high hopes); haphazardly organise a schools’ programme; produce two, maybe three, cinematic trailers; make sure that the design is the most ambitious ever attempted at the venue; check that we actually have the two hundred or so props that will litter the stage; and do all this within budget. I feel that Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is going to be the most dramatically powerful and the most professional production I have ever been involved in.

 

Nick Davies (actor)

I’ve been focused on comedy since I escaped the mirthless frozen lakeshores of Canada, so it’s been two years since I last attempted a “serious” play. Thus I find myself returning to the wisdom of my acting idol, Daniel Day-Lewis, in putting the finishing touches on Big Daddy (note to therapist: putting touches on Big Daddy?). DDL’s twin dicta: (1) one must totally immerse oneself (1self) in one’s (1’s) character; and (2) when in doubt, scream all lines in a funny voice. I’ve got the latter down pat, so I’ve set aside the next few days for wandering up and down Cowley Road, telling lewd anecdotes in a Mississippi accent to passers-by, buying land, attempting to grow cotton on said land, dying, and refusing to blow out the candles on any birthday cake I happen to be offered.

 

Alex McCormick (marketing manager)

Imust confess, I never intended to be marketing manager for this play, I just sort of fell into the role. Having said that, my first experience of being on a production team has so far been a lot of fun.This week I’ve been rushing round the city distributing posters to numerous colleges: getting the chance to talk to many of Oxford’s helpful, friendly porters, and also a few slightly less so charming ones.I’ve also spent a good portion of my time developing our online presence. On Facebook for instance, the play has its own page and around ten separate events (a main one and one for the respective colleges of each cast and crew member).So, thanks to our beautiful posters, flyers and all out domination of the internet (almost), I doubt there will be a student in Oxford who hasn’t heard about this play by next week. Which is great, because it’s going to be an excellent play, and well worth the trek up to LMH to watch it.

 

Illias Thoms (director)

This is turning out to be harder than I thought. Why does Tennessee Williams feel the need to specify almost every single bit of blocking and movement and then decide to abandon us for a few pages before stating the character is suddenly in a new part of the set? Is it really necessary for people to enter and leave the room with such alarming regularity? These are all questions regularly posed in the minds of all directors in the world tackling Tennessee Williams plays and I’m no exception. The combination of accent work, complicated blocking over the five separate levels used in our set and of course the genius language of Williams himself which covers just about every dramatic theme under the sun including, but not limited to, deception, homosexuality, age, death, illness, inheritance, greed, jealousy and love means that this is proving to be quite a handful. Encouragingly, mainly thanks to my amazing team and cast, it all seems to be coming together. Golden rule of theatre: make sure you surround yourself with people who are more talented than you…

 

Georgia Luscombe (designer)

 I’ve been working on the flats this week, so it’s been a case of sawing, sanding and painting most days – I look forward to having a nightmare with tea-stained wallpaper next Sunday. After a slightly stressful production meeting where we all realized how many bits and bobs are needed for this fiddly naturalistic play, we’ve actually been really lucky with finding props so far. Thank god for the Gloucester Green market! Getting very excited now about seeing it all come together in one place; at the moment the Pollitt family’s furniture is residing in bedrooms all over Oxford…

 

Jonathan Oakman (Production Manager)

This is my first proper production job in Oxford and it’s shaping up to be a really great one! Lately, we’ve been trying to source all of the props and get the set ready – everything from a 1950s telephone to laminate flooring. It’s all pretty stressful but definitely worth it. It’s a very elaborate build – but all the more realistic for it.

Swimmers make a splash in Varsity win

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On Saturday, Oxford’s top swimmers returned for the first time to the scene of their 2011 Varsity defeat, in which Cambridge snatched overall victory by the finest of margins in the final race of the meet. Yet having responded in emphatic style in Oxford at the Rosenblatt pool last year with Oxford’s greatest margin of dominance in history, OUSC well and truly consolidated their revenge by smashing the record margin yet again with a 117-63 final score, just short of the maximum possible difference of 126-54.

The competition started as it was to continue for the Dark Blues with 1-2 finishes in both the women’s and men’s 200m Individual Medley as Naomi Vides, Rachel Andvig, President Tom Booth and Xander Alari-Williams demonstrated Oxford’s superior all-round ability. The subsequent race saw Cambridge seal their first – and ultimately last – victory of the meet, as they put both of their strongest swimmers in the women’s 100m backstroke, gaining maximum points.

From then on Oxford’s domination was more or less complete as Oxford notched up five consecutive 1-2 finishes in the men’s events. The Dark Blues fared almost as well in the corresponding women’s events, taking 1-2s in both the 200m and the 400m freestyle as well as second and third in the 100m butterfly.

One of the more emphatic 1-2s of the day came in the women’s 100m breaststroke, as Naomi Vides and Ellie Berryman-Athey crushed their opponents. Vides, who was named swimmer of the meet for her wins and meet records in both the 200IM and 100 breast, was quick to acknowledge the overall level of team performance: “It was one of those things where everything comes together at the right time in the right way and I was so honoured to be awarded swimmer of the meet especially with such great performances from the rest of the team.”

The men followed with a victory and club record for Teddy Hall fresher Xander Alari-Williams and a strong third place finish from Anthony O’Driscoll.

The final individual events of the meet comprised two big rivalries, with Rachel Andvig up against Cambridge’s Meg Connor and Tom Booth against big-man Dale Waterhouse in the 100m freestyle. Oxford came out victorious in both, with Booth’s win leaving him unbeaten by any light blue in an individual for four years, across five different events. This incredible personal accomplishment doubled up as the final nail in the Cambridge coffin, ensuring that Oxford took an unassailable 89-51 lead into the relay races. However, even with victory already sealed, the Dark Blues did not let up. The women produced a devastating performance in the medley relay, sealing victory by several body lengths. The men unleashed a similar performance, as O’Driscoll opened up a 5-second lead after the backstroke leg and the Oxford quartet never looked back. The meet ended in emphatic fashion as the women’s freestyle team won in club record time, and the men followed suit with a comfortable final victory.

Photo Competition Winner – ‘Faces’

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CONGRATULATIONS to Camille van Zadelhoff, winner of our ‘Faces’ photo competition. Thank you to everyone who entered, we had a lot of really great photos to pick from! Here’s the winning image

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Next theme is ‘FOOD‘ – please send your entries to[email protected] by Wednesday of 6th week!

As always, all our winners and photo essays will also be featured on our Flickr page!

Journey to Jordan

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Handing down know-how is key to society longevity

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Student societies do not live by cash alone. Those membership subs are certainly necessary, but if there is no one who knows how to hoard it protectively in an embezzle-proof account, no one who can spend it on thoughtfully selected alcoholic beverages at well-planned events – well, there’s really no point. So how do we make sure a student society knows what it is doing? More crudely, how do we stop a bunch of incompetent wannabes from pissing all our membership money up the wall? (Unless that is a particularly inventive new society event.) What a society needs is expertise. A committee of smart young things whose blatant CV building or wilful essay procrastination can be harnessed into a greater cause (poster printing, term card pidging, sneaking booze into ‘dry’ events).

So how do we build expertise? The older years must pass the ruby-encrusted baton of knowledge to the freshers, telling them how to run a proper receipt system for expenses, how to book venues, how to spread the word about events – all the time ministering the gentle and discriminating pastoral care which we freshers have come to expect in all our dealings with the twinkly-eyed merry folk of years above. These guys have got literally months more experience in these things than us.

Those societies that fail to pass on all of that accumulated knowledge risk sliding away into societal Hades, where the shades of societies past murmur with forgotten conversations, and hum to the despondent sound of irretrievable laughter from reveries long gone. Here we find the ‘Aspidistra Society’ and the Keble ‘Destruction Society’, Ed Balls’ old drinking society.

If it doesn’t die, then the society risks a weird half-existence, still somehow clinging off the bottom of this mortal coil. Take the French Society, whose website is now a historical document. Did you know that in first week of Trinity 2011 they held a cocktail soirée? Those were the days, that heady belle époque of 2011. It still exists actually, but you would be hard-pressed to find out what is was doing now. The society has become an august label for a loose friendship group. Unlike the Oxford Careers in Politics Society, which fortunately is now no more.

Why raise these issues? Because when the oldies don’t pass on marketing expertise to the freshers, then things go wrong. For example, no one will know about your lavish upcoming play, performed in full period dress. Someone might print off £50 worth of posters with no contact details. You might be reduced to accosting strangers on Cornmarket with tickets and song. With a good play and absent marketing, you might end up blatantly plugging it in a Cherwell column. The Merchant of Venice, 6th week at Corpus. Regrettably, you heard it here first.

Preview: The Play’s the Thing

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Cherwell’s verdict: “An imps-spired idea”

What is so impressive about the Imps? Their Monday night performances at the Wheatsheaf leave us incredulous; how the heck do they come out with such brilliance on the spot  Yet they seem to be undeterred by more ambitious challenges, taking on the bard himself in their latest offering The Play’s the Thing.

Is it possible to improvise a Shakespearian play? That is exactly the challenge that lies before our protagonist who believes that he can blag his way through a week’s worth of research by unveiling a previously unpublished folio. The tragicomedy that follows will be entirely new each night, with an interchangeable cast that – as one Imp claimed – is chosen by flipping a coin. Such a serendipitous approach is the key to the Imps’ trademark style – bewildering the audience into laughter by turning day to day situations upside down. Highlights include the exile of the King’s daughter for the heinous crime of rollerblading, and watching the delightfully camp heir to the Cretan throne suffers profusely from a paper cut. Beyond the absurdity it is obvious that they are all great actors. Creating a decent soliloquy is no mean feat, so Sylvia Bishop’s ability to come up with one on the spot was stupefying. The entire cast were extremely responsive to each other, perhaps unsurprisingly given that some have now been performing together for a couple of years and have sold out shows at the Edinburgh Fringe.  There is definitely a degree of experience that sets it apart from amateur productions – rather than simply peppering the dialogue with “art thou”s and “hither”s the actors’ fluency in language, the harpsichord music, the man-tights all worked well to create an unmistakeably Shakespearian atmosphere. From power struggles, soliloquies to the dress-swapping plot devices – “And I shall dress as a peasant and go amidst the crowd… for I apparently enjoy doing so” – their cheeky take on our most revered national treasure makes it clear that they’ve done the bookwork.

Tonight the Imps were in “work mode” – trying to see what got laughs rather than simply having fun on stage which is when their performance is at its best. In comedy, you get your energy from the crowd in front of you, and though the 4 of us “audience” members were laughing plentifully, it shows promise of being even more hilarious when they take it to the stage at the BT next week.

Preview: Antigone

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Cherwell’s verdict: “a tragedy very much in progress”

It’s almost impossible to recommend anyone to see a play which was so much still “under construction” on the day allotted to a preview, not because I’m sure of the play being a failure but because what I saw may well bear no relation to what actually appears on stage. The cast, clearly well-directed by Marchella Ward, have taken what they described as a “bare-bones” script from Royal Court Young Writer Jingan Young, and are in the process of adding scenes which expose character psychology. An innovative idea, certainly, and one which would probably appeal to a modern audience, but at the moment these scenes are unscripted and so change radically from time to time. I was treated to one scene between Ismene  (Alice Porter) and Eurydice (Lucy Dawkins) which vacillated between a rather drawn-out and heavily laboured conversation and a passionate, engaging argument. I just hope it’s this second version which ends up on stage.

Another scene which had real potential was between Antigone, one of the more convincing actors, and Haemon, who try to “talk about their relationship” in what feels like a rather twenty-first century way. This is the other talking point of this production of Antigone – it’s certainly been brought into the modern day, with conversations including lines such as “This is a big mess”, and “do you know how crazy you sound?”, which sound suspiciously like the sort of thing candidates on that infamous television show The Apprentice say to each other in the depths of a mid-task crisis.

In a true Greek tragedy style, the cast incorporates a chorus of seven, “doing what a Greek chorus does but in a more sinister way”. These actresses will remain on the stage throughout, so that although they morph into various roles including journalists and commuters, they will always be identifiable as the riot mob who provoke the controversy of the whole play. The small slivers of chorus-in-action that I saw consisted of a run-through of a commuter scene on train; the cast were silent throughout but mimed simultaneous actions (such as newspaper page-turning, and leg-crossing) together. This could have been highly effective, but unfortunately the scene was nowhere near a finished product, and didn’t quite have the intended effect.

Whatever else it may by, this version of Antigone will be in no way alienating to modern audience, paying heavy attention as it does to our innate appreciation of “real” characters and agonised, fragmented conversations. But whether the cast will draw together before sixth week to produce a slick and well –polished production remains to be seen.

Preview: A Day in the Death of Joe Egg

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Cherwell’s verdict: “A nuanced comedy of poignant tragedy”

“What are you telling them?”, asks Brian, as he walks in on his wife Sheila unburdening herself to us about the difficulties of living with a husband who is jealous of her every affection – including that for their child, Joe, who suffers from cerebral palsy. A Day in the Life of Joe Egg is chock-a-block with disorientating moments such as these, when we become conscious of ourselves as an audience looking in on a family as they play out their lives before us.

In order to entertain themselves and their daughter, labelled a “wegetable” by the camp, hyperactive doctor at the Children’s Hospital in an uncomfortably hilarious moment, Sheila and Brian construct plays out of their own lives; Brian brilliantly taking on the roles of the numerous figures that Shelia came into contact with as she sought explanations for her child’s crippling illness. Brian, played by Sam Ward, is a teacher by profession: the play opens with a disconcerting exploitation of the audience as we take on the role of his unruly class. In amongst the genuine anger and lack of control the comic is never far away; Brian tells his wife that he no longer hates a particular child in his class, but “I just stare at him and wonder if he’s a creature of my own humanity”.  

And then we move into the domestic scene of the family home. The intimate yet fragile relationship between husband and wife is reproduced perfectly as lines of dialogue fly off one another, and Brian visibly slips into a child-like role of a sex-charged, nagging, unperceptive young man, just like those he left behind in the class room. Brian’s ever-present stream of lustful thoughts continue, even when the child, Joe, finally makes an entry. Lucy Delaney pulls off the difficult part in a way which is poignant, convincing and avoids sentimentality. Unable to speak, her parents form a three-way conversation around her, addressing each other as “mum” and “dad” as though they alternately take on the role of their daughter. Left alone with Joe as his wife changes upstairs, Brian’s monologue to his child drifts into self-involved fantasy about the noise coming from above – “That’s mummy upstairs… she’s probably undressing…. naked”.

Peter Nichols’ play is certainly a tough one to pull off, but this small cast have undoubtedly caught all the nuances of the sharp, beautifully crafted script: anticipate a highly engaging, emotional, and at times hilarious evening.

Middle-Aged-Man-Band?

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I am sitting down with a pizza at Fire & Stone accompanied by Police Dog Hogan, half an hour before they go on stage at The Cel­lar. Peter Robinson, lead guitar­ist, turns to the assembled band and family members: “Sorry, I couldn’t find my glasses to read the menu. So we’ve just got the House Red. Is that okay?” Clearly the band are preparing for a wild gig.

Interviewing bands can – I’ve heard – be rowdy, chaotic, and every now and then a l ittle offensive. I n­terviewing Police Dog Hogan was like having a drink with your par­ents’ friends (admittedly the slightly more fun ones); the ones who take time out to tour the country with their ‘urban bluegrass’ band.

While you might not recognise the name of the band itself, you’re more likely to know its members. Featured regularly in Tim Dowling’s Guardian column in the Weekend magazine, this is the famous “middle-aged-man-band”, in which Dowling plays the banjo.

The band’s front man, James Stud­holme, founded Blink advertising, the company behind John Lewis’ hearty-meltingly tender intrepid-snowman Christmas advert. Other members include top journalists, a publishing consultant, and a barris­ter. The seven men are all highly suc­cessful professionals during the day – and foot-stamping, bar-hopping folk-artists by night.

“It’s kind of a funny dream”, Eddie Bishop, fiddle-player and QC tells me. “I get a thrill out of coming home, throwing off my wig, and rushing to a gig – there’s a sense of frisson. It’s naughty.”

I go along to the interview with firm preconceptions of the band’s motivations. They are there to have fun, I assume – to do something young and lively that’s completely removed from their day jobs. But it quickly becomes clear that the band really care about music; there’s a lot of focus on acoustics, on the dif­ficulties of song-writing. And I don’t know why I’m surprised. They’re bloody good.

James Studholme is credited as the main song-writer. “Whereas other people sweat, each pore of [Studhol­me’s] has a bead of song coming from it at any time,” says Robinson, who is a consultant with public relations company BeyondDesign.

Studholme seems to be the driv­ing force behind the band; as he himself tells me, “Half of us just want to make people dance” – yet at the same time, clearly, real commitment is required to pursue a life of touring English folk festivals, playing dingy pubs and dive-bars. Why do they do it, if they’re not rabidly seeking fame and fortune?

There is general uproar at the question. “Why do you assume we’re not?” They seem both amused and offended. “We were asked the other day who we want to be like. We said Beyoncé.” Apparently the questioner then asked, “You want to sell as many records as Beyoncé?” To which Dowl­ing replied, “No. Beyoncé’s rubbish at selling our records.”

They joke about it, but there clear­ly is some kind of desire to ‘make it’. I can’t help but feel that, for many of them, this is where their true inter­ests lie. Success in their professional spheres is one thing; but do they re­ally want to be musicians?

“We all have different aspirations for what we want when we hit the big time,” Robinson says. “I want sparkling water and a secret knock for our dressing room.”

The division in the band between those who take it seriously and those who “just want to make peo­ple dance” has the potential to be a strain. When talking about their favourite gigs, Studholme says, “I personally prefer a concert set-up – from a song-writer’s point of view, for the story-songs, you really need people to be sitting down.” He ad­mits that there’s “a good tension” between those who want to enter­tain a rowdy atmosphere, and those who are more dedicated to the musi­cal aesthetic: “You can go too far one way or the other.”

Studholme himself, once known in the advertising world as the ‘Gin­ger Supremo’ (so says LondonLoves­Business.com), provides a lot of the band’s momentum. It’s hardly sur­prising, considering the long list of his professional plaudits. I ask whether he finds himself using busi­ness techniques in band operations. He looks at me: “What, management shizzle?”

Ed Bishop, from across the table at Fire & Stone, chips in: “Let me put it this way. I now know, at first hand, why James is such a brilliant pro­ducer. His job, as I understand it, is to just get things done. To deal with lots of people who have different aims and views, and get them to pro­duce something coherent.” There is a pause. “It must be a bit of a busman’s holiday for him.”

James says he doesn’t feel any de­sire to push the band in publicity circles. Not for the sake of keeping a kind of moral division between the two, but because, “I live in a profes­sional world where what we [the band] do is so appallingly unfashion­able.” He mentions the “bile” of his advertising “dudes” towards Mum­ford & Sons. Police Dog Hogan might just not be cool enough.

“We basically have the delusion that what we’re doing is completely normal – we’re in a bubble, not wor­rying what anybody thinks about it.” Robinson says.

Dowling nods, anxiously. “You nev­er know who’s going to think you’re a total idiot. So I try not to mention it. If you found out that someone you worked with thought you were really lame…” he trails off.

I don’t think they should worry about it. The band’s got the whole ec­centric hipster thing down pat; what with the Guardianista, boutique-ad Executive, and “aging hippy” vibe (their words, not mine). Plus it’s, like, totally out of the mainstream. “I think it’s better not to draw down their fire,” Studholme says.

The band do seem to exist in a state of general unconcern for their im­age, despite professedly harbouring aspirations of fame. Perhaps it comes from not being financially reliant on this endeavour. They mention gig­ging with 20-year-olds whose whole lives are their bands; who are des­perate for the big time, because they don’t have anything to fall back on. “We’re lucky”, Dowling admits.

Touring with 20-year-olds – how rock’n’roll is their band life, I ask? “Do you mean, do we stay up really late at festivals?” Dowling asks. “Yes. Yes, we do.”

“Tim had a fight with Larry Love,” Pete tells me. This isn’t the first time in the interview that the band throw in names of musicians I have never heard of, and I find myself uncon­vincingly nodding along, as though fully knowledgeable. Every time this happens I find myself trying not to defend my ignorance by pointing out the generation gap.

Larry Love, it turns out, is the stage name of one of the founding mem­bers of Alabama 3, an English band mixing rock, dance, blues, country, gospel, and the spoken word. Very alternative.

“It wasn’t a fight.” Dowling says. “We had words.”

Studholme chips in: “Tim had an intellectual fight. An intellectual fight that ended with swearing.”

Bishop laughs, and recounts how Larry Love critiqued Dowling on his use of commas in his column. “I think having fights about punctua­tion at three in the morning is about as rock’n’roll as we get.” I assure him that it’s pretty rock’n’roll for Oxford.

Often featured in Dowling’s col­umn, perception of the band tends to be coloured by his characteristic self-effacing attitude. It’s got them into trouble in the past. “When we were playing in Cornwall, some women came up to Tim. It was like one of those episodes when old wom­en batter people with handbags,” James recalls.

“They said: ‘you ought to be ashamed of yourself – you’re not nearly as bad as you make out in your columns.’” It’s true: the band is far better than Tim’s tone might suggest. Though, as they recognise, the publicity has also brought in au­diences. Even if they do sometimes take time to complain about it at the end.

How do the band feel about the way they’re portrayed in the col­umn? There is awkward lip-biting all round. “I’m a firm believer that all publicity is good publicity,” Bishop says. There is a pause. “So even when he coined the phrase, ‘middle-aged man-band’…I think that’s fine.” An­other pause. “I think that’s complete­ly fine.” They all nod. “That’s what we are.”

Later that night, I watch them play to a room full of middle-aged Guard­ian-readers, who buy pints of ale, laugh and tap their feet. Some of the audience dance; many of them sway, like festival-goers in their mid-30s, who have had a long week at work. The band often grin at each other on stage.

They look just like a middle-aged-man-band, and it’s no bad thing. Af­ter all, as Pete says, “The bits where we’re doing the friendship – they’re as important as the bits where we’re doing the playing.”