This House by James Graham is set in the 1970s, starting just before a general election. Pressure boils from either side with whips struggling to grasp onto key regional votes and as the dust settles, it becomes clear that the country is split. Exploring the turmoil involved in navigating a minority government through a hung parliament, the play presents us with determination, desperation, and doom.
It provides a refreshing perspective; we follow the ‘engine room’ of the House of Commons. Based between 1974 and 1979, we watch through very tense periods in Parliament, with Labour and Conservative whips working hard to defend and destroy the government respectively. After a months-long deadlock, a second general election earns the Labour government a majority of 1 seat — meaning that every Labour MP had to vote whenever the Government needed to pass something through the house, occurring multiple times per day.
With scrambled attempts of tracking colleagues, ‘flushing’ them out of the toilet if they are close to missing the vote, unstable coalition and cross-party agreement attempts, the situation gets more difficult as by-elections are lost and members defect to other parties. The ‘regular channels’ are closed. ‘Pairing’, informal agreements between whips where one member from both sides miss the vote intentionally for better stability, is terminated over allegations of cheating, and the ultimate cost is not in banknotes, but in bodies. The Government was finally defeated in a vote of no confidence — by one vote.
The Labour Whips.
On its closing night, the chamber was packed. Seating arranged around the staging, in a debate-style way, and over its two-hour runtime, the audience was delivered an impeccable and immersive experience which left a lasting impression, with such sustained depth in every character, particularly with multiple roles.
Early on, the theme of class settles in as the two sides of the house accustom themselves in their new respective offices — revolving chairs being a surprising, yet accurate, symbol of status. Skilfully tuned accents and dialects present a pleasant dimension to the characters, allowing for comedic digs to show the true, underlying conflict between ‘the professional and and the comp school lads’.
Similar to the House it presents, the dynamics were fast-paced, rarely ever slowing down. For the moments it did though, the air hung still, inviting somber scenes such as Bob’s (played by Alex McGovern) moment alone when he decides to resign, or Jack and Walter’s (played by Jules Upson and Ishy Levy) periodic conversations sewn through the plot like a familiar touchstone. The lighting and blocking kept a firm, yet natural grip on the audience’s attention, as scenes flowed into one another without disruptive blackouts.
Walter (left) and Jack (right) share a somber moment ahead of the Vote of No Confidence.
As a politics-based play, its setting in the Oxford Union cannot be overlooked, where whispers of debate still echo in its chamber. It’s this skilful use of space that was most impressive. The simple, static stage design allowed for dynamism and flexibility. The use of the balcony and the middle corridor, meant the whole room was filled with action, with acoustics echoing around. Although, I have to say the use of multimedia fell short. The projection of a video onto one side of the chamber just felt awkward and didn’t add much value to the performance. If anything, it was an odd detraction from the ‘less is more’, minimalist stage design and overall atmosphere created, leaving many a little confused by this element.
James Graham’s script, a moving and funny insight into the inner workings of British politics, was brought to life with great success by Clarendon Productions. With Charlie Mackintosh’s goal of reigniting the Union’s tradition of a yearly theatre performance, we can only hope for more.
Audrey Wise (right) explains to Ann (left) how she works in the interest of her constituents and not the party, despite them losing key votes in Parliament.
Hidden away at the bottom of Oxford High Street is The Rose, a tea room that offers everything from breakfast sourdoughs to lunch and hot salads on top of the traditional afternoon tea fair. Everything here is made in-house and a focus on local suppliers and produce is at the heart of all the things on offer.
We got a great chance to sample a variety of the things on offer here at The Rose and sat down with the owner and manager as we ate to chat about the food itself but also the story of his ownership. Just before the COVID-19 pandemic, the new owner was looking for a site on the High Street to open a cafe/restaurant. After a day of unsuccessful hunting that saw him put off by the sky-high rents of what is now Rick’s Diner, he popped into The Rose for a coffee. By the time he left had struck an informal deal with the owner to take over the site. Many years of negotiations between landlords St Edmund Hall and the pair followed but by the end of lockdown, the site was ready for opening.
The plan when taking over was to build on what the old owners had done so well, making changes here and there to really enhance the business. Now, there is breakfast on offer from 8 and hot food until 6 with vegan choices across every aspect of the menu. All of those breakfasts are served on the same sourdough toast and we tried both the avocado, salmon, and poached egg toast and the portobello mushroom option. The eggs are locally sourced from Mayfield in Witney and clearly of high quality, pairing with the superb salmon for a great dish. The mushrooms are good too but I found myself wanting more garlic and thyme.
Mains vary with everything from burgers (both beef and vegan), to the warm lentil and beetroot salad we had. The latter came with goat’s cheese and that was certainly the star of the show. The lentils were cooked well, not overboiled, and the beetroot paired with red onion for a warming lunch option. Ciabattas are also available with various fillings such as grilled chicken and goat cheese.
Then onto the teas and sweet treats. There is a huge variety of teas on offer, as you would expect, and my dragon was punchy and strong. There are much tamer choices too and you are of course free to let them all brew for as long or as little time as you would like.
All the cakes are made in-house every night, chilled overnight, and then iced and finished in the morning. The same is true of the pastries and the scones. The attention to detail with all of these is remarkable — it took a huge amount of experimentation with various flours but now the use of organic white flour means that they maintain their form to perfection. On an average weekend, they get through about 150 a day here and it is easy to see why. The cakes are all made with almond flour, again the result of much experimentation. We tried both the chocolate and almond and the carrot and walnut. The first’s icing was intense and too sweet for me, with the cake itself too dry. The carrot though was much better and stole the show between the two for sure.
The base afternoon tea costs £32 for two and comes with finger sandwiches, two slices of cake, and two scones as well as a tea or coffee. The scones are served with a homemade clotted cream that is notably more spreadable than the normal store-bought options. I am never a fan of finger sandwiches but the best here was definitely the smoked salmon — the egg mayonnaise and cress were lacking the flavour I was looking for.
Overall, The Rose is a lovely place to treat yourself at any time of day. The focus on local suppliers is mightily impressive, as is the sheer amount of cooking and baking that goes on in the kitchen downstairs. Although it is on the pricey side, the room is a fantastically warm and cosy place to sit and chat the hours away. This contrasts with The Grand Café in every way: understated, homemade food, and a relaxing environment.
The first pioneering kebab van, Ali’s, cowboy parked on the curbs of 1980s Oxford without a permit, serving students midnight feasts until the police jogged them on. Today, (huts and covered market stalls included) Oxford ‘kebab van culture’ is an institution, as entangled with boilerplate student life as over-caffeination and college puffers. Cherwell stringers did sober what many of you will have done drunk: chatting with the men and women behind the counter.
Hassan’s
Hassan’s
In our brief interview with Hassan’s on Broad Street, it became evident that this ever-popular van is not afraid of rivalry. When asked about their biggest rival, Hassan adamantly assured us, “I’m not interested. I like to focus on myself.” Even when asked the follow-up question of what makes his the best kebab van, Hassan was quick to flip the answer onto us, saying, “you answer this question, not me.”
This confidence is not unwarranted given the popularity of his van and his longevity. Hassan told us that he has been “on the same road for the past 30 years”, providing the Oxford community with some much-needed sustenance after a night-out or during a particularly hard essay crisis. My personal go-to order is chips, hummus and falafel with chilli sauce; try it and thank me later. But I’m not the only one that loves Hassan’s. The owner told us that they still get customers from 20 years ago returning to this van: “when they visit Oxford, it’s the first thing they have to do.”
This cult following around the van has led the owner to start selling Hassan’s merch. “You can buy [the sweatshirts] for 15 pounds,” he told us, “I’ve got plenty. I don’t get any profit, they are a souvenir.” These legendary sweatshirts are a massive hit, not only surfacing here and there when walking down Cornmarket Street, but also popping up in London. Hassan even gave us an anecdote of two customers that bonded over their sweatshirts at a London gym.
Hassan’s future is retirement, with the owner jokingly renouncing kebabs: “No more kebabs. I just want to sit down and relax.” These plans are not in the works right now, so rest assured that Hassan will be livening up Broad Street for a little while longer.
Hussein’s
Hussein’s Kebab van has the lovely Nadiya who Cherwell spoke to. When asked about which van is her main competition, she told us, “none, they’re all good and too nice to pick one out.” However, if she had to pick, it would be “Kebab King.”
What makes Hussein’s stand out is that, in their own words, “the service is always great. Food comes second, service comes first!” An Oxfess about how lovely Nadiya is garnered 300 likes this term. Nadiya said “It’s just natural. It runs in the family,” adding, “the good vibes of customers helps a lot.” Nadiya has not had any bad experiences with customers.
Hussiens started in 1992, after Nadiya’s Grandad, Ali, started his kebab van on Woodstock Road. “There’s no rivalry,” Nadiya is quick to add, “Everyone has their own business and customers.” Solomon’s is also family – so no Kebab Wars here!
Nadiya thinks kebabs are so popular because they are the ultimate nightime food: “You’re not going to ask for a tagine, are you?”
In the future Nadiya plans to bring different types of chicken to the van: “Peri Peri, Moroccan Chicken in the future. Jerk Chicken has just been added to the menu!” She also hopes to offer Peri Peri Salt soon.
Nadiya’s favourite menu item is “Chicken wings with Peri Peri – OMG.”
Ali’s
I arrive at Ali’s at 2am on a Monday, just as Ali is closing up and getting ready to go home. Famously friendly, he chomps on a homemade tomato pasta “made by the missus”. The plus side of working here, he says, is you can get two full meals a day; “whenever I fancy something, I just eat it.”
It’s not long till we get to the topic of Ali’s history. Set up by his grandad in the 80s, he maintains “we’re the oldest kebab van in Oxford that’s still working”. How have things changed since the 80s? He explains that you used to be able to park anywhere you want, so all the vans were next to the clubs. But “right next to a nightclub there’s a 95% chance your customers are going to be drunk, and then they get in trouble and in fights.” His grandfather opted for a calmer setting, nestled between St Anne’s and The Royal Oak. “To be honest I’m happy here. People are nice to me and I’m nice to them, and I have a good time, I wouldn’t change that for anything.”
It’s not all friendly customers though, as he recounts an extremely drunk man at 4am, just before closing, asking for a burger. “I was cooking it for him but he didn’t want to wait, so I gave him a can and he walked off. So I said ‘pay for the can at least!’ and he turned around and threw it at the van!”
When I ask what vans are his biggest rival, he laughs. “We are kind of far away from everybody, to be honest with you, they’re not really rivals.” What makes them different is their homemade food: “we do burgers that nobody else does, like New York, Chicago burgers. We try to be different from everybody else, while trying to keep it simple.” He recalls that his Grandad has been working the “same hours, same days, same menus” since the 80s, though he’s winding down a little now.
His favourite thing on the menu by far (eyes lit up) is the “Super Chicken Burger”, which is “chicken burger, kebab meat, salad, cheese, chips” all in between one burger bun. “That’s my favourite, I eat that almost every day,” he says with a grin.
Ahmed’s BBQ
Ahmed’s BBQ
We got to Ahmed’s Bar BBQ on a weekday evening, before the midnight rush, so the ‘main man’ was quite happy to chat to Cherwell for a few minutes. Our conversation started off cheerfully; “One can of Diet Coke, and an interview please!”
A kind and affable man, who answered our questions with a smile, Ahmed declared that he has no competing kebab vans. In fact, he feels a sense of community among all the kebab vans. This is, of course, backed up by the van’s popularity, with its seemingly infinite menu and Ahmed’s claim that he always has enough of every item. He told us that his consistency is what makes his van the best and the quality of his food has met the same, high standards for the 26 years that he has been running it.
In that time, he has gathered enough stories to “write an entire book”. He did not name any names, but he has served quite a few government ministers and politicians from his perch on the High Street. Both his daughter and son said they were astounded by Ahmed’s ability to recognise random figures on the television as someone he served from the van. Even well-known people have late-night essay crises and panic-stricken trips to get a Kebab, it seems.
The kebab is, of course, what got him into this business, with his previous experience in kebab catering leading to the purchase of his first van in the 90s. While his van has definitely come a long way, looking to the future, Ahmed is still waiting for “the second Ahmed who can take over” and then he might just move on, but for the moment, the kebab grill burns hot every evening, so please have a try (with or without a side helping of hangover and/or essay crisis.)
Rozana
Rozana
The new kid on the block, Rozana in the Covered Market has become fondly known among Oxford Students since its opening in December as ‘Fake Najar’s’. The owners here are keen to distinguish this as fiction, not fact. Defined by Rozana’s roots in Aleppo, the Syrian and Lebanese flavours run through the store that now has a daytime queue to rival any of its more established predecessors.
Rozana is quick to bat away rumours of Najar’s links. “It’s different, completely different, and completely different food too.” She is quick to point out that people think falafel is all the same – in reality the differences from country to country, region to region, and city to city across the Middle East are complex and detailed.
Starting with the sujuk, Rozana infuses it with the 12 unique spices of her community in Aleppo. That community is made up of just a million people and is the reason that the flavour is so unique here in Oxford.
In the centre, the owners simply couldn’t find the takeaway Lebanese and Syrian options they were looking for. Comptoir Libanais and other chains are no match for their authenticity and other kebab vans use different flavouring, so they simply started their own.
After coming from Aleppo in 2014, Rozana worked as a chef for four years at a larger restaurant before helping in her brother’s restaurant for 12 months. After that experience she finally felt ready and equipped to set up shop on her own.
Her go-to option? The classic falafel and hummus. The hummus here is homemade by Rozana herself and is notably smooth. She attributes this to the cooking process, which is long and thorough. The chickpeas themselves are cooked first onsite before being used to create the spread. The next-best option is the sujuk because of the way the unique spice blend takes her back to her home city of Aleppo.
Among students, people go for the lamb, baba ganoush, and tabbouleh. These are the more established tastes of Middle Eastern foods in the UK and the owners think that is why they are perennially so popular.
Plans for the future? Rozana is thinking big. First she wants tables and chairs outside, but before long she wants outlets across the city and to make her family name famous. So, looking for an authentic Syrian twist on your standard order? Head to Rozana, but be prepared to wait…
Najar’s
Najar’s is not a van – it’s a listed building rented yearly from St John’s painted Oxford blue. Alex told us, “we started almost twenty years ago. My brother-in-law started it, and I came over to give a hand. Back then, you could walk in. We liked it because we could keep you lot out of the rain. But actually, it’s better now. A lot better.”
Alex spoke to Cherwell with George, his pet pigeon, perched on the end of his right pointer finger. George the pigeon is Najar’s regular – he lives in the eaves of St John’s and he swoops down when Alex opens up. So much of Najar’s revolves around looking after their relationships with regulars like George, hence their closing time at 9pm, which means they don’t really have to deal with drunk people. Alex says, “we don’t want to fall out with our regulars. People come in, you know, students that come in every day and they’re different people when they’re sober. The last thing we want to do is ruin that relationship that we have with them… we know a lot of people by their first name and they do the same with us.
“The pressure can get to us sometimes, but it’s you guys that make our day, you know, you come in and you ask how’s it going, and just that kind of snaps you out of your bad day.”
And Najar’s is, of course, an ‘us’ – Alex is just the maestro. He tells me, “everyone is from a different part of the world here as well. I’m from Syria, we’ve got one Bengali guy, we’re Kurdish as well. So it’s a real mix, and people come and go here, they don’t tend to stay. The one’s that do are the regular faces that you’ll see here for a long time.”
As for Najar’s menu, Alex tells me, “I like the lighter stuff. I like the tabbouleh either by itself or with bread, a little bit of hummus and a couple of falafels. [I’m] trying to watch my weight after COVID… I guarantee you, go anywhere else and try anybody else’s falafel. You’re never going to taste something like this.”
Solutions for the last batch of puzzles in Hilary term 2023. The puzzle team would like to apologise for 5 down, where the answer was used as the definition.
Gusto, the new Italian restaurant on Oxford High Street, is fascinating in so many ways. There is a huge focus on the quality of ingredients and cooking with some brilliantly crafted dishes on offer. All of this is inside the vast old Mitre pub and the scale of the site means that there is room for a cafe and bar area, a huge upstairs private dining room, and countless different dining spaces with their own unique styles. You can come here for a coffee and cannoli, brunch, a Sunday roast, or all of the Italian classics you know and love.
I have been lucky enough to visit a few of times over the last month or so, sampling a wide variety of the dishes on offer. The first trip was a lovely evening service in one of the dining rooms away from the kitchen floor. Here, we sampled the whole sea bream sharer. It comes in at £50 and is served on the bone (just how I like it) on a bed of potatoes, red onion, white chicory and samphire. In terms of a showstopper first experience, this really was superb and the theme of fish and seafood starring continued throughout my future visits. The bream itself is perfectly cooked and filleting it yourself tableside is thoroughly enjoyable!
Whole Sea Bream Sharer
The pan-fried sea bass was also a more than pleasant surprise. It is paired with some winter greens that match perfectly and a balsamic dressing that suggests a really well-thought-through dish — a cheese potato gratin also accompanies. The fish itself was perfectly cooked with a delightfully crispy skin. There is also salmon on offer and this one is a whole event in itself. The dish is brought tableside in a dome and the steam is released. The roast potatoes with it were a little disappointing and the salmon a touch overdone but again it was the sides that shone. There are green beans and butter beans with a salsa verde that combine superbly with the fish.
Pan-fried Sea Bass
The variety of starters is predictably eclectic but I would certainly opt for the slow-cooked meatballs. They arrive in their cooking pan with a punchy tomato sauce and a focaccia crouton. A dash of Gran Moravia cheese comes on top but the star is definitely the tomato here. You can really tell that it is cooked slowly in house and it leaves you asking for more bread to go back dippining with. The balls themselves are succulent and flavourful with a vegan alternative surprisingly similar. Calamari are also on offer and the squid itself is clearly of high quality. As is so often the problem though the batter tended to dominate.
Slow-Cooked Meatballs and Calamari
And then onto the pizzas! These really are the star of the show and the impressive pizza oven in the open kitchen dominates the main dining room. You can also book in for a full ‘Pizza Experience’ which involves making your own with the help of the star pizza chef (and eating them afterwards of course!). Quite amazingly, the sourdough starter that was created in the first Gusto restaurant is used across all the sites, guaranteeing consistency. That sourdough really does make a difference too and makes these stand out from many other conventional pizza bases. We tried both the Truffle Bianco and the Carnivoro. The first is a white base with mushrooms, mozzarella, rocket, and Gran Moravia cheese. The truffle paste adds an interesting twist but you can tell that it’s not genuine shavings — the benefit of the paste is that it bakes in with the cheeses and mushrooms to ensure it flavours every aspect of the dish. The Carnivoro is a meat-lovers dream with ragu, nduja, slow-cooked pork, pepperoni salsiccia, prosciutto ham, Fior Di Latte mozzarella, and caramelised onions. There is so much going on here to such an extent that getting a complete bite is almost impossible but when you do it is worth it! The ragu is certainly the most flavourful of all the sausages but is balanced out well by the onions, parma ham, and mozzarella.
Truffle Bianco and Carnivoro
In terms of sides we tried the Caesar salad, the house salad, and the fried courgettes. The Caesar salad was perhaps slightly overdressed but I was so happy to see it come with the anchovies that are often ignored that it mattered not. The house salad is my favourite though and brings a much-needed freshness to any of the spicier mains.
House Salad
Now, ‘Dough Petals’ are quite the thing here at Gusto. You can get them as a savoury starter three ways; with garlic, with tomato and shallots, or with pork, fennel, mozzarella, and onions. We kept it simple with the garlic and weren’t disappointed – if you are a garlic lover then this is a must-have. The real brilliance of the ‘Dough Petals’ though is when they are used for dessert (bear with me I was highly sceptical too). The Biscoff and chocolate dough petal sharer is an extraordinary creation. An entire pizza base is filled with Biscoff and dark chocolate before being rolled, sliced and folded. It is then baked in the pizza oven and served on a base of berries and topped with vanilla ice cream. This might seem like overindulgence and a serious sugar overload but the vanilla, mint, and berries somehow manage to balance the sweetness to create my favourite thing on offer here. This can easily be shared by more than two and is the dream finish to an evening meal. There is a Tiramisu too and don’t get me wrong it was good but if you are staying for dessert then this really is the only option (I have been back for it three times already).
Biscoff and Chocolate Dough Petals
Drinks here are also an experience in themselves and the bar and cafe areas make this a great option for a pre-dinner drink. The smoky old-fashioned goes above and beyond with the presentation and the espresso martini comes with chocolate truffles for a complete dessert course. The cannoli on offer here too are freshly piped with a superbly flaky biscuit to differentiate themselves from their store-bought counterparts. What is more, you can enjoy one with a coffee for £5 during the day if you are looking for a work spot.
Espresso Martini
The last thing to reflect on at Gusto is the space itself and it really is extraordinary. The main dining room has an open kitchen and a great buzzing atmosphere all night. If you are looking for something more intimate then that is definitely on offer in the two rooms alongside it that each have their own aesthetic. Upstairs is a private dining room complete with its own kitchen and bar that is available for hire with a minimum spend but no extra fee. Downstairs is a maze of cellars and caverns that have potential for conversion and so much going forward. They had the chance to create something completely from scratch here and in a tiny space of time, the Gusto team here really have done the old Mitre justice.
Private Dining Room
It was also great to chat at length with Sales Manager Undine and Head Chef Mukrram. That podcast is below and definitely worth a listen — we go in-depth into the business and the food passions of both of them. The youth and genuine love for cooking are so evident in Mukkram and such a delight to see.
Cafe Area, ‘Blue Room’, Cellar, and Kitchen
So, to sum it up, Gusto does it all. If you really want you can come here for a burger and chips but quite frankly you wouldn’t be doing it justice. Get a drink at the bar first and then head through to the main dining room to watch on as an authentic Italian dish is crafted in front of your eyes (and don’t forget those dough petals!).
By the end of 2021, having accumulated a book count higher than the IQ of the typical Matt Hancock enthusiast, I decided that I was going to start disseminating Haruki Murakami propaganda – starting with my boyfriend Zach. After reading fifteen of his books that year, I was certain that I would become Oxford’s resident Murakami expert and that my boyfriend would know all about it.
The work in question is Norwegian Wood, a nostalgic Japanese novel undoubtedly popularised by the world of BookTok. But I’ve decided that I have bragging rights in claiming that I discovered Murakami long before notorious BookTokker, Jack Edwards, did. It follows the coming of age of Toru Watanabe as he tackles loss, sexuality, and turning twenty, marking the first year of adulthood in Japan.
I was introduced to Norwegian Wood by an old school friend when I was fifteen years old, and we would, of course, giggle stupidly on the bus over any hint of sex. It is safe to say that although I thoroughly enjoyed it, at the time I could not do the novel enough justice, so when I wanted my boyfriend to dip his toes into Murakami’s mastery, I got him his own copy. I take my book-giving very seriously!
Since he was a professional twenty-year-old, I was curious to see what Zach would say, whether he’d like it or resonate with it at all. Is the experience of turning twenty universal? Or is Murakami just weird? Probably. But I wanted him to read it because it was this novel that sparked my interest in the author, and I hoped that Zach could help me answer questions about adulthood that, for me, were blocked by naïvety. Yet, it seemed that above all, the theme of loss that swamps the novel was the most poignant for him.
Zach was struck by the stoicism of Murakami’s writing; Toru loses countless people in his life through suicide yet adopts an almost apathetic stance towards their deaths, as though we simply ‘move on’ from it. Being Japanese myself I had never realised how unhealthy Japan’s view of death is, and whilst Zach may have found the novel to be helplessly awash with it, I was plagued with the normalisation of poor mental health in Japan. The translation may have played a part in shaping this perspective, however. Zach wishes he could have read the novel in its original Japanese. Whilst I had the privilege of being able to do so, I found the faith we place in translators fascinating.
Upon asking my boyfriend what he found most interesting about the novel, surprisingly he mentioned the suicide of Toru’s childhood best friend Kizuki, who dies prior to the beginning of the novel. Zach resonated with the idea of losing touch with friends: Kizuki leaves this world with an outdated perspective of life, unbeknownst to the person that Toru becomes all these years later. He has been left behind, blissfully unaware of the fact that time keeps going, the world keeps moving, and people keep living. This representation of the past is what stuck with Zach the most. People you lose touch with retain an obsolete image of you, and there is something quite freeing that you can no longer do anything about it.
And as I approach twenty myself, I find myself yearning to pick up Norwegian Wood again, to appreciate it not by reducing it to a naughty romance, but to read it as a vignette of the past. As for Zach, he knows that Norwegian Wood is only the beginning and that soon enough he’ll be just as enamoured with Haruki Murakami as I am. If it were up to me, I would make every day International Book Giving Day.
My Uni room certainly provides a window into my soul. The ground floor room resembles a goldfish tank from the outside. Neighbours can peer through a very thin, pointless mesh, cover to see me chained to my desk or pottering around with my seventh cuppa of the day. The exposed room, overlooking the smoking area, makes the perfect people-watching spot. I can see the smokers with damp hair on a Saturday morning, the MCR’s extravagant welfare teas on the picnic bench surrounded by cheese and a surplus supply of biscuits. If I’m in my room getting a much-needed early night before another bender, I can listen to people confess their deepest darkest secrets after a few vodka shots before Bridge Thursday. Real-life audio books send me off to sleep as I listen to another disastrous love story. Friends can tap on my window and chat there rather than send a text or MCR students occasionally peer in curiously and even wave if they’re feeling brave. Late at night, unexpected tapping on the steamed-up window can come as a jarring surprise, but it is nice to be in such a social spot.
After moving into my tiny first-year room, I was in awe at the beautiful view of Exeter library. The comings and goings of the 24-hour library was unmatched. Freshers flocked to Westgate to shop for their new rooms, determined to make them their own. Pinboards were plastered with photos from the infamous Free Prints app and clothes horses made those relying on circuit laundry, unreliable dryers, and radiators, green with envy. In Primark, I found the items that make my uni room feel homely, and I discovered how much I liked the colour pink. I love my floral bedding and two cushions that – when put side by side on the single bed – can deceive even the cleverest of Oxford students that it’s a double. My blue touch lamp has always entranced students for its ability to light up with an accidental brush of the hand at Pres.
Uni rooms show the unique quirks of a person. Some people have shelves full of plants, beautiful books, miscellaneous ornaments, or bananas and protein powder. Fairy lights can light up even the darkest nights, instantly elevating the room. Small lamps are the best way to make the room homely. The light on my ceiling looks like it could belong to a hospital, whilst the lamps offer the perfect glow for cosy nights.
When I returned to our flat for Hilary term, I opened the door and jumped out of my skin to discover a life-sized cardboard man. I moved him to our kitchen, but he surprised me every time I opened the door.
I’ve grown to love both the rooms I’ve had at uni because so many magical and mundane memories are made there. It is possible to make a once prison-like room feel like a home, with just a handful of pictures, a few fairy lights, and a cushion.
It’s a sunny Monday morning. You’ve woken up early enough to shower, get dressed, and head to the RadCam to tackle the mountain of reading ahead of you. You couldn’t possibly settle for a shadowy spot on the ground floor, so you haul your heaving Longchamps bag up the spiral staircase to find a window seat so that you are visible to all who scan in through the plexiglass gate. Or maybe you’ve returned after lunch only to see that everyone else had the same idea so you make a few awkward circles around the balcony level before settling for a seat with good visibility, and you’re willing to forgo the plug socket to make it happen.
Either way, your heels click as they tap, tap, tap on the wooden floors, and you can be certain that your presence has broken the concentration of at least a few people who peep their heads up to check who has broken their flow. You finally sit down and open your battered copy of Middlemarch or The Cambridge History of English Romantic Literature. You are the epitome of a light-academia, main-character aesthetic. But is there any point putting this much effort into your appearance? Does dressing the ‘part’ make you any more motivated?
Since arriving in Oxford I’ve spent more time than is healthy pondering these questions, observing (from a less coveted seat) the hierarchy that exists between those who could easily be moonlighting as models and the average student who simply turns up to work. A friend who recently graduated warned me of the ‘intimidating’ clique of women who will always turn up to lectures at the English faculty immaculately dressed. I think the same can be said for most Oxford libraries. As I write this, I am sitting in the Lower Bodleian on a very busy Tuesday afternoon. There is a range of people surrounding me, and I will endeavour to describe the most distinctive and trendy that are on display here at Oxford.
There’s always the sea of faded tote bags and leather blazers. Or fishnet stockings if you’re really committed to the look. This fashionable-grunge vibe exudes ‘messy and spontaneous but still sharp and stylish’ in the form of barrette clips and a skinny scarf. This outfit makes dressing down an acceptable norm, and has been a reigning trend throughout 2022 and 2023.
Perhaps on par with this edgy and spontaneous style is the ‘light academia’ OOTD. This one is commonly observed in the English faculty. Some trademarks are the long beige trenchcoat and a black ribbon in hair. A similar tote bag from a museum, but perhaps not so faded. This person definitely takes handwritten lecture notes with a fountain pen whilst dreaming about their solo trip to Paris over the Easter vac.
Now, I’m told that college puffers did not become a mandatory wardrobe addition until as recently as five years ago. Nevertheless, there tends to always be that group who congregate in the college library, repping their college puffer and a stash hoodie – even the college joggers for good measure. They probably all hold JCR office positions. These people are very down to earth, and very dedicated to churning out all those essays or problem sheets. You’d want to befriend one of these people if you plan to beg shamelessly for reading notes.
Oxford is a place where eccentricities are accepted; appreciated even. Many of us were ridiculed in school for being academically high-achieving, and the quintessential English ‘country clothing’ aesthetic signals the most serious kind of academic. It’s unlikely that these people are taking time out to read the Cherwell, unless it’s a political scandal concerning the racist claims made by an elderly tutor. They often opt for something that camouflages them – whether it be olive or green gingham, and they prefer a classic briefcase as their hold-all. Still, they’re not afraid of accessorising, and may be spotted in a bow tie and flat cap. Typically seen in Duke Humphrey’s or Upper Bod. Sometimes in the RadCam, although I’ve spotted a handful within my college library alone.
For some, feeling good in what you wear does wonders for productivity and motivation. Libraries are the microcosm of our academic life, the hub in which students congregate from all corners of Oxford. It’s natural to feel on display, and expressing your trademark style or individuality is a way of showing who you are within an academic setting. Whether it’s to confront an essay crisis or to catch up on tutorial reading, we have access to some of the most beautiful libraries in the world, and it may not seem fitting to turn up having just rolled out of bed. If we are committing to three (or four!) years of an intense degree, we might as well do it in style.
On 25th February 2022, I was detained under Section 2 of the Mental Health Act 1983. I had entered a psychotic episode which had begun (in earnest) on 19th February. The Oxfordshire Crisis Team had been involved in my care since 21st February, before they deemed me in need of hospitalisation. A year later, I feel comfortable enough with my experience to share it with the world for two reasons. Firstly, in the hope that this article will reach someone who needs it. Secondly, to raise awareness of psychosis and what lesser-discussed mental illnesses can look like.
Anniversaries are odd things. Birthdays, the death of a loved one, breakups, marriages; all celebrated or commiserated, after one orbital period around the sun. They force us to reflect. This particular anniversary is the most unsettling and bizarre reminder of the passage of time that I have experienced in my life to date. I never expected to be sectioned. Subsequently, I never expected to be able to return to Oxford. Somehow, in the space of a year, both of these things happened.
A lot of people are unaware of what psychosis is. Essentially, it is a disconnect from reality which takes the form of delusions or hallucinations: seeing, hearing, feeling things that are not there. These are known as the positive symptoms of psychosis. Many things can trigger psychosis: stress, depression, and marijuana, among other factors. In my case, it was likely a combination of all the three mentioned. Psychosis has negative symptoms too, and often these can be more debilitating in the long-run. People appear to withdraw from the world around them, they take no interest in everyday social interactions, and often appear emotionless and flat.
The positive symptoms of my psychosis took the form of delusions. In their most coherent form, I believed there to be a conspiracy against me by the state. I believed that my room was bugged, that there were hidden cameras everywhere, and that the radio and TV were speaking to me and me alone. A laughable thought now, but a terrifying reality to live in. I believed my friends to be spies. I thought this made sense, I’d always wondered why they were all so good looking.
I remember most of my time in the hospital. It was not a good experience; I had no toiletries or change of clothes for over a week. I was in isolation for 10 days as a result of the legacy of Covid. This made my delusions even worse. About a week into my stay I was diagnosed with psychosis and prescribed aripiprazole; an antipsychotic. This made me very restless, I remember pacing around my room relentlessly. However, the medication settled and I began to return to reality.
The delusions were terrible, but returning to reality was the most difficult part of psychosis. I had done and said some terrible things to those closest to me, accusing them of spying on or harassing me. I had hurt my family, ignoring them for days on end and then berating them for their stupidity. I made a fool of myself in front of several of my tutors, declaring my unrequited love for one and sending bizarre emails containing codewords to others. The forgiveness and understanding of my illness that I have been shown is something I will never be able to repay.
The negative symptoms of my psychosis began to emerge as I returned to reality. This manifested itself in the longest depressive episode I have experienced, lasting from March to October. I was sleeping twelve or more hours a day, not leaving bed, contemplating suicide and playing an unholy amount of board games online. I had suspended my studies for a year, so I suddenly faced an overwhelming amount of time to fill, all while wanting none of it. I wanted to be back at Oxford, like it was before I was ill (I am still nostalgic for that era, but I can now accept that it’s a chapter of my life that has closed).
In the autumn I began to accept that I had to find a new way to live and tried to move on with my life. I got a job, spent more time with my parents, adjusted my medication, started revising for finals and attended Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT). All of these things helped. I spent those final months at home working on myself rather than hating myself. This was a much harder task.
Emerging out of a depressive episode is like the first spring’s sunshine. Glorious, full of hope. However, there is no trick to recovery, no magic bullet. It is a difficult and long process that requires commitment, patience, and perseverance. It takes a toll on one’s physical, emotional, and mental well-being, and often requires making lifestyle changes, seeking professional help, and developing a support system. But the great thing? It is possible. I know because it happened to me. I feel the rays of this February sun on my skin and I embrace them like a long-lost friend.
In January I resumed my studies at the University of Oxford, Wadham College. This is the proudest achievement of my life. The days have their predictable ups and downs but overall I am happy, healthy, and independent. I am grateful for each adjective respectively.
In summary, I hope this article has been informative for those of you unaware of psychosis. I also hope that it has managed to reach someone who is earlier in their recovery than I. If neither, I can at least say that it was cathartic to write.
This February, this anniversary, three-hundred and sixty-five days after my sectioning, I can say with confidence that recovery is real. I have laughed until my stomach hurts again, sung in the shower, savoured my coffee, and loved the world so hard it takes my breath away. Here is to another year of recovery, of life, for you, and for me.
Addendum: I would not still be here to recount this story without my family, Hannah, Mike and Zack. There are too many others to thank for my recovery. Of note include Katie Overs, Jo Preston, my nana, my grandma, Jenny the dog, Anthony and Carolyn, Steph Potts, Charlie Grayson, Kiri Ley, Keir May and Leo Nasskau.
