1) Every year as January 1st rolls around, we all try to think of interesting yet achievable New Year’s resolutions to improve ourselves or broaden our horizons. Every year I fail to last more than a week.

Starting out with overzealous determination has in the past seen me actually join a gym, cut out chocolate, cut out crisps, cut out most of the foods that I enjoy but someone, somewhere is telling me I’m not allowed. One year I just vowed to try to be a ‘nicer person’ – clearly a year lacking in creativity and willpower. Come the first day back at school faced with a 7am alarm, an empty box of cereal and a freezing cold bus journey, that one went swiftly down the pan, as the bus driver can attest to.

I guess the sentiments behind New Year’s resolutions are generally to be admired — well-worn encouragement to eat healthily, exercise and generally try to be a better person can’t really be faulted. Or can it? It’s Christmas, I’m on holiday, just starting to settle in to that well deserved, luxurious bubble of having absolutely nothing to do when suddenly I’m pelted from all sides, not only with the realisation that collections are looming and that I’ve procrastinated away an entire month in front of the BBC’s (seriously disappointing) Christmas TV schedule. But also with the demand to stop enjoying myself and start belittling myself. Because really, the basis of any New Year’s resolution is essentially that; find something wrong with yourself and ruthlessly determine to change it. Furthermore, the feeling of self loathing is tripled by the inevitable failure to resist the family sized Dairy Milk bar at the bottom of the shopping bag or to drag yourself to the gym after working an 8 hour shift in the middle of the January sales.

So this year, like all the others, after realising I just cannot be bothered with the trauma of making a New Year’s resolution, I am not going to make one. Or maybe I will, I’ll make a handful of them. My New Year’s resolutions are to eat as much chocolate as I want without vomiting, make no effort to choose the vegetarian option in Hall to try to be healthier, exercise as little as possible and drink an excessive amount of alcohol throughout Hilary. All of which are fully achievable and will no doubt make me feel a lot better about myself.

2) On New Year’s Day, I had a revelation. I felt like utter shit. My head was pounding, my mouth tasted of sick, my tongue was furry, my eyes were blurry and my voice was gone along with my dignity. My tired, twenty-year old body wasn’t standing up as well to New Year frivolities as my lithe, teenage one had. This was my plan.

Give up the drink. Give up the grey mornings spent staring at the dull porcelain of the toilet and the mourning of headaches and pains and anxiety and paranoia. Give up forgetting what has happened the night before. Give up the disgraces and embarrassments. Give up the damaging of your finances, so often multiplied by poorly judged rounds. Give up the tiredness. Give up the long walks in a confused, lost state around areas you have known all your life. Give up putting on weight and damaging your teeth and the bruises sustained in fights. Give up the apologies made without any memory of what is being apologised for. Give up the sad realisation that the only time you can converse well with other human beings, laugh and feel like you have a connection to other people is when you have had at least two pints. Give up the horrible soul-searching over whether you owe or are indeed owed drinks. Give up the random chats with members of the public who at the time seem highly talkative and very engaged in conversation but are just bored and sober. Give up the drunken texts to parents or teachers or exes. Give up the frapes and apologising for the damage done by frapes. Give up the competitive conversations the next day about how much everyone drank. Give up the discovery that you can’t remember what the music was like. Give up the unbelievable struggle of working the next day. Give up the saddening feeling of having to lie on a doctor’s form because your mum is looking over your shoulder at the alchohol consumed section.

If there were this many reasons to give up anything else, you’d give it up too.

3) I’ve always been proud of my college. I admit it has its flaws- for example we’ve no spires, or gargoyles, or chapel or classic architecture, which defines most Oxford colleges. However, despite its lack of popularity, the Gatehouse building (if you’ve seen it, you’ll try to forget it) and our ‘humble’ campus (some of the staircases used to be the St John’s servants’ quarters), the one thing St Anne’s does have, and prides itself on, is its food. We like to eat. And we’ve won awards, you know. The time where the sustenance of our hall is at its best, when the cuisine is at the peak of succulence, when our kitchens are abundant with mouthwatering odours, is inevitably at our formal hall.

I was innocently talking to a friend at Queen’s about this exclusive event, and it got me to thinking that perhaps 2012 is the year where I will escape my cosy college comfort zone and have a taste of what you other colleges have to offer. So, reader, you’ve heard it here first; this year I resolve to eat at every Oxford College Formal Hall.

My first barrier for this ambitious challenge: I only know about ten people from different colleges. The second barrier: I don’t own enough fancy clothes. The third barrier: I have 24 weeks of Oxford term to try and squeeze in the other 37 college’s formals. Lets remain optimistic – it’s do-able right? All I have to do is somehow accumulate 37 new friends, each from a different college and persuade each ‘new friend’ into allowing me to tag along to dinner without gaining a reputation as the girl who invites herself everywhere (we all know one).

My bank balance will take a serious hit from my future 37 dinners, not to mention my waist size, but for the good of Cherwell, and of 2012: bring on the courses.

4) I’ve tried all the obvious resolutions: go to the gym every day, hand in all my work on time, don’t have Hassan’s on my way home every night. Invariably they decline throughout January until it’s third week and they’ve become: go to the gym once this term, hand in all my work at some point before finals, alternate evening meals between Hassan’s and Macdonalds, for variety’s sake. So this year, I’m jumping on my parents’ bandwagon and going for the slightly more pragmatic, although still highly beneficial, approach.

Firstly, I’ve decided to really make an effort to really avoid inappropriate moments. Seemingly simple, yes. But the breadth of this resolution means that firstly, it’s a good talking point. And, more importantly, I can choose to define its success as I see fit. It might seem that there’s not much involved in this, however, I can assure you that if I’d been as determined as I am now to stick to this last year, I would have avoided a not insignificant number of red-faced moments. If only I’d checked the ‘To:’ box on that e-mail that I sent to my tutor, not my tute partner, stating that: ‘I have no idea what I’ve even said in this essay. I’ve read an article and a half and I think one of those was about the wrong text. Please save me in this tute.’ I coud have saved myself a very miserable hour discussing why exactly it was that I’d only read half a relevant article. If only I hadn’t accepted the dare to walk into the Christ Church pizza van and try to teach them exactly ‘how I’d do it’ if I were a chef. Which I,of course, am not. I think I’ve made my point: with a little more consideration, my year could prove much less humiliating. And if it doesn’t work, then at least I’ll have some good sconce-fodder.

Secondly, I’m going to go to all of my lectures this term. Well, you need to have something unattainable, for tradition’s sake.

She’s had the kind of enviable pick ‘n’ mix media career that countless English graduates dream of: a radio show, satirical news programme, fashion columnist, presenter of the occasional award show and now published novelist. Like the over achiever who’s always let off by the teachers when caught smoking round the back of the bike sheds, it seems she’s the woman that can do everything. And all whilst effortlessly retaining that coolest girl in school vibe. With kooky, funny and clever as her calling cards it’s easy to see why everyone wants to be friends with Lauren Laverne.

Having been one of the very few that actually do fulfil their teenage dreams of being propelled to stardom via their high school band, Laverne spent her late teens ‘on Top of the Pops, being in the studio writing songs, which was always my favourite bit, and touring the world’. She was lead singer and guitarist of the indie band Kenickie — belting out acerbic punky songs about the experiences of youth, with a choppy blonde bob and razor sharp eyeliner. Most memorable was their song ‘In your car’, whose twangy, bolshy chorus — including the pre-chorus “yeah yeah, yeah yeah” — seemed to have come joyfully out of a jar labelled ‘90s adolescent experience’. For her, the best bit was ‘getting the opportunity to be a band who played to our peers. We were a bunch of 17 year olds playing to other 17 year olds which is a particular kind of special.’

When I ask about the lows that seem to, inevitably, come with fame at such an early age Laverne remarks, ‘I suppose we were exposed to things I would flinch at the idea of my teenage goddaughter or little cousins coming into contact with, but I’m not sure whether another path would have been any more innocent in that respect!’ And indeed, not only did she not succumb to the usual child star trail of wild illegal antics concluding in a position on the line up on Never Mind the Buzzcocks but, when the band split after 4 years, managed to slip seamlessly into a faultless television career.

From initially presenting various music shows, Planet Pop and CD:UK amongst many others, Laverne soon became a panel show staple. She then spent 4 years on The Culture Show with Mark Kermode where she interviewed everyone from Beyoncé to Sarah Millican with her trademark dry wit and ‘regional’ straight talking. Her favourite interviewee is Paul McCartney. ‘He did a private gig for us on the roof of a windmill on one occasion. That was quite a nice way to spend a Tuesday afternoon. I don’t know about worst – I’ve had difficult or taciturn interviewees but I don’t take that personally. I take the view that people are who they are and that’s fine. Not everybody is Noel Cowerd, nor should they be.’ I ask about interviewees that surprised her: ‘I was expecting Lou Reed to give me a hard time but we got on like a house on fire – which was a massive relief as I am a big fan of his.’

Laverne landed the 10 — 1pm weekday slot on BBC 6 Music, springing passionately to its defence when the station was threatened with closure in March 2010 along with the Asian Network due to BBC cost-cutting plans. ‘Music is the closest thing we have to magic in the world. Pop music – in the broadest sense of the phrase – is one of Britain’s most vital cultural exports. 6Music nurtures, documents, celebrates and educates people about it. I am the station’s biggest fan. It’s a hard time for the arts at the moment. I am concerned - for smaller organisations as well as large ones like the BFI’ (British Film Institute).

Laverne’s enduring support for the music industry and the arts as a whole are only the thin end on the wedge of her political interest. She co-hosted Channel 4’s Alternative Election Night in 2010. Laverne’s hometown of Sunderland is considered a Labour safe seat. And presumabley she was cheering along as the Houghton and Sunderland South constituency retained the tradition of being the first seat to declare its results.

Although her political interest has undoubtedly developed since her time as indie girl rocker Laverne certainly has a reputation for being outspoken. She memorably referred to the Spice Girls as ‘Tory Scum’ after Geri Halliwell saw fit to call Thatcher ‘the original spice girl’. Her passion hasn’t wavered: ‘It’s a good thing to be politically conscious, to vote, to be involved in the way the country you live in is run. That’s not to say you have to ram your opinions down everyone else’s throat. I would never say that about the Spice Girls now. I was a moody teenager responding to a rather fatuous comment one of them had made about Margaret Thatcher at the time.’
Despite the empty Clapham high street and newfound short life expectancy of police cars, Laverne does find positives in the increasing amount of political awareness or, at least, involvement, ‘As I see it, it’s a combination of things. We’re in a recession – hardship and inequality politicises people but there are also mechanisms allowing people to make themselves heard more easily these days – technological tools that are changing the way people can exchange opinions, protest and disseminate information and news stories.’ This is clearly a reflection of Laverne’s role on 10 O’Clock live. And, despite criticisms of it, surely the fact that an, albeit satirical, news programme is on prime time TV aimed at young people is something quite telling.

Laverne seems to slip effortlessly between categories — from sparky presenter on pop music shows to political commentator. All the more impressive then that Laverne doesn’t seem to feel the need to pigeon hole herself. She’s one of a sadly small number of women in the media that doesn’t seem to fear being thought vacuous if she wants to do a programme on fashion, or that she can’t have a voice in politics if she does so. Thankfully, as she told the Guardian: ‘I take a no-brow approach to culture’.

Lauren Laverne will be presenting 10 O’Clock Live from 8th February.