Monday, May 19, 2025
Blog Page 1803

Cherwell’s Fresher A – Z

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Ball – colossally expensive outdoor piss-up, organised months in advance and attended by slick-haired black-tied nonces. You will do anything for a ticket. Balls are mostly held by colleges (for about £45 a throw) but the good ones can set you back more than £200. Nevertheless it’s absolutely worth going to at least one. There is sometimes a chocolate fountain: say no more.

Bodleian – very very very good library. Very good library. Contains every book printed in England since about 1700 and plenty else besides. Situated right in the middle of the town, it’s made up of two parts: the square bit (Main Quad) and the round bit (the Radcliffe Camera). The square bit is rather stuffy but staggeringly impressive, the round bit is just staggeringly impressive. And as of this October, a bonus feature:  there is now an underground passage linking the two which looks a bit like that scary corridor in the Ministry of Magic. Fit.

Bod Card (University of Oxford Card) – this identity card is your life and soul. Without it you cannot eat in hall or read in libraries, essentially meaning you cannot live or work. Perhaps cut a hole in it and wear it round your neck.

Bop – college party, usually arranged by the JCR, usually held in a club. In many ways organised reversions to childhood since they involve dressing up. Precise purpose unknown, but frequently held at the end of term, so presumably they have something to do with that.

Brideshead Revisited
– no.

Bullingdon Club – drinking society for the very wealthy. Like Puck, rarely heard and rarely seen. Unlike Puck, renowned for burning money in front of tramps. Former members include David and Boris, but we’re sure you knew that.

Cherwell – student-run weekly newspaper, available free from JCRs. The greatest organ of free speech in the history of the world. Smiter of evil, champion of freedom, hotbed of wit. A miracle.

Collections – scurrilously pointless College-run exams designed solely to ruin your holidays. Set at the beginning of term, you see, though it’s common not to get the results till fifth week or later. Helpful hint: you will usually be set last year’s mods/prelims paper.

College – what non-Oxbridge universities don’t have (except Durham, but they’re only pretending). A learning mall; a big, friendly, often old and conspicuous hive-mind. You live, eat, sleep and work here. It is your home away from home and – wipes tear – in a way it will always be your home. Actually, it’s more like being a branded heifer. Whenever you’re asked to identify yourself the first thing – the first thing – you must say is what college you go to. This will dog you for the rest of your life. But it’s worth it. After all, it has a bar.

College Family – two soon-to-be-second-years of the opposite sex who secretly fancy each other will ‘marry’ and produce ‘children’, viz. freshers. They will then helpfully show them the ropes/fornicate with them/become friends with them/completely ignore them, in roughly equal proportions.

Crew Date – our equivalent of those mass weddings they have in South Korea. A load of girls (eg. girls sporting team) and a load of boys (eg. boys sporting team: I think we may be seeing a pattern here, Watson) go to a curry restaurant to get lashed ‘n’ laid. Little more than an occasion to get wasted, because those are just so hard to come by in contemporary student culture.

Dons (Academics) – rarely called dons but emit a rather donnish air. Very clever, very earnest individuals who meisterplan your work and tutelage, usually providing it themselves. Absolutely never to be crossed, though always nice to outgun them.

Essay – an organisation with a monopoly of legitimate force over a given territory. Don’t get the reference? 2.2.

Famous People – lots of these. Academics are paid woefully so tend to flee for America as soon as they become famous. Gone are the days when Tolkien would give tutes in his rooms at Merton before turning round to write LOTR. However, you can still catch them occasionally. In any case each college has about ten billion celebrity alumni (five Cabinet ministers went to Magdalen alone) who occasionally turn up and do stuff. And if all else fails, there are the children of famous people who go to university here. Hob, and indeed nob, at your will.

Formal Hall – formal hall is what you invite friends to when you’re not quite sure if you want them to be your friend. High-quality food served at discount price in unbelievably impressive environment. Probably the best thing about going to Oxbridge other than tutes.

Fresher – you. Clueless and disdained. Often ‘pushy’ freshers immediately begin their remorseless ascent up the greasy pole, thus rendering everyone else even more disdainful of them. Most keep their heads down, sticking to the dictum of Manuel from Fawlty Towers: ‘I know nothing. I come from Barcelona.’ Though for Barcelona insert ‘some arbitrary village in Devon I’ve never head of’.

Future Spouse – will you find them? Don’t pretend you haven’t been thinking this.

G and D’s
– triptych of ice cream shops. Purveyors of finest quality bagels, paradoxically. Notorious hoster of first dates and awkward freshers’ meet-ups, and no more a major part of your life than the Mato Grosso. Still, worth visiting at least once.

Gowns – funny flappy black things worn to formals. People who get firsts in their prelim exams get vastly superior Voldemort-like ones. The aim of this is for them to be killed by jealous contemporaries who only got a 2.1, thus eliminating the less reproducible elements of the gene pool.  

Hack – somebody who seeks election to an office in a University or college society or organisation, and who does this by going around meeting as many people as possible in an attempt to get their name ‘out there’ and solicit votes. They will appear friendly at first but are without exception the most unutterable cockends in the entire University. Avoid.

iPlayer – God and Satan rolled into one happy, licence-fee-funded website. Will destroy your degree just as it will enrich your existence. Unless, of course, you only watch EastEnders.

JCR (Junior Common Room) – your college’s student union for undergraduates. Approximately as interesting as it sounds. But there are some advantages: they give out cake and sometimes even alcohol!

Kebab Van – although held in scathing contempt by many, let me just say that these are actually really good. They are plentiful, staffed by nice people, provide adequate food at nugatory cost, and are open till four in the morning. Should you choose to subsist on them however you may find yourself breaking out all pimply.

Labs
– things which command, dominate, and generally ruin a scientist’s day. Humanities students will take the piss out of you, telling you they can lie in bed till 4pm and then only read one page before going out drinking. This outrageous stereotype is 100% accurate.

Lashmolean – no obvious meaning. Presumably relates to one or more of the following: Ashmolean, the pretty museum on St Giles; lash, going out on the, meaning to get drunk; and punning, tendency of Oxford students to make excessive use of.

LawSoc – one of the many University societies catering for those who wish to sell their souls. Worth a mention because of the gloriously alcoholic events hosted approximately three times a term completely free of charge – once you’ve forked out the joining fee.

Lectures – worthless, irrelevant chicanery attended by fanatics and conducted by harmless, tweedy old gubbins. The annoying thing with lectures is that good lecturers are very rare, but their lectures are extravagantly superior to the normal ones- so much so that it’s almost worth going to them. Almost. Incidentally science students have to go anyway and their lectures are even more boring. Another notch on the humanities’ bedpost.

Library – Oxford has a higher concentration of libraries than any other city on earth. Practically for certain, you will only ever visit three: your college library, your faculty library, and the Bodleian. In fact, why aren’t you there now? Off you trot.

Long Vac – from the Ponce vac, meaning ‘holiday’, and long, meaning ‘summer’. Three months (and a bit) in which you will usually work for minus money in some godawful bank or chambers or somesuch. Its vast length, however, means you can travel to foreign countries and walk about in them, and also use the time to get some solid reading done.

May Day – absolutely ludicrous Ox-trad twaddle in which you assemble on Magdalen Bridge on 1st May at 5am to listen to children sing from the top of Magdalen tower. That’s it. Seriously.

Mods (also known as Prelims) exams everybody sits at some point in first year. You only need to scrape a paltry 40% to proceed to second year, so don’t worry too much. Yet, anyway.

Michaelmas, Hilary and Trinity – the names of terms, each of eight weeks, unchanged since the sixteenth century. People at other universities will take the piss out of you for this.

OUSU (Oxford University Students Union) – what it says on the tin, pronounced ow-zoo. 12% of you will vote in its annual elections. Other than that it will have nothing to do with you and you, we fervently hope, will have nothing to do with it.

Oxford Union Society – a debating society BUT you will mostly know it for its superb bar. Also has a beautiful library and termly balls which are not half bad at all. The downsides are enormous though: gigantic cost of entry. More notably, it contains the most repulsive examples of hacks to be found outside Westminster. Thankfully, they don’t stay outside Westminster for long and, hey, you can ignore them.

Park End (also known as Shark End) – the easiest place to pull of an evening. If by pull you mean vom, horribly.

Plays – regular and usually terrible, but provide ample opportunity to creep the boards. Rather competitive though. Our advice is to merely watch them, or maybe run them in your third year.

Postgraduates – astonishingly quiet lot even though they are nearly half the university. Presumably they spend most of their time working – perish the thought. Make friends with them. Be taught by them. Or hey, you know what? Go out with them. They’re yours for the taking.

Punting – you will probably not get to experience this until Trinity. Use a metal pole. Stand at the right end. (The sloped one – only Tabs stand at the other end and we wouldn’t want to be like them now, would we?) Empty your pockets. Place pole vertically downwards. Push. Remove. Repeat. Don’t use the paddle, it’s deceptively useless. Don’t rock the boat. Don’t put your fingers outside the boat (the duck are vicious.) And absolutely, unequivocally, always bring food and alcohol.

Rah – a posh person who speaks as ponceily as they dress. Frequent Christ Church, Brasenose, Oriel etc.

Rahdar – the public school network which enables all rahs to know each other. Get ready to learn so much about London public schools you could swear your Leavers’ hoodie actually reads ‘St Paul’s’.

Real World – the thing that flits by the windows of the car when you go home. Make sure to govern it sensibly.

Rower – wears stash. No other discernable function.

Scouts – people who come into your rooms to clean them. Theoretically. Their real function is to chase out the marauding hordes of one night stands before 10am so as not to scare the midday tourists. (Honestly, they have the keys to your room. Instances of catching someone in a state of undress are not unknown.)

Stash – branded clothing. Cool: college hoodies, college scarves, sport club hoodies. Passable: freshers’ T-shirts, sixth form leavers’ hoodies. Uncool: anything branded with ‘University of Oxford’, since this is worn solely by people who don’t go here. Also, rowing blazers are a no-no except after eight after Eights, and even then only by tossers.

Student Journalist – a writer of journalism; a harmless drudge.

Sub-fusc – white tie worn with academic dress, proffered to the plebs during exam time and matriculation. Surprising fact: you are not allowed to go to the toilet whilst wearing it.

Summer Eights – something to do with rowing. I think it’s in Trinity. I don’t understand it and I’m buggered if I’m going to try learning now.

The Covered Market Welcomes The Freshers – you will see this banner. Not-so-secret fact: they keep it up all year round. Don’t let that put you off, though, the Covered Market has a brilliant cookie stall. Plus! A butcher’s shop.

The Other Place – it’s basically the same as here and anyone who genuinely thinks otherwise is an idiot. Get the fuck over it.

Time Zone – it is a little known fact that the University of Oxford has its own time zone, set five minutes behind real time. This is why all lectures begin at five past the hour. I don’t know how I can convince you this is true, but it is.

Tutes (tutorials)
– you will expectorate and expostulate, in expectation of expertation. Usually involves reading out an essay or solving a problem sheet. Then off you go only to do it all again the next week. The best educational system in the history of the world, incidentally. Take them not for granted.

Tutor – a person who expects you to be able to have a serious argument with them about a subject you have spent one week reading about which they’ve spent their entire life reading about. Surprisingly, you might win sometimes.

University – the thing you tell Daddy’s friends you go to. Otherwise a mysterious institution with no impact on your life, until Finals when it becomes the arbiter of what happens to it.

Weekends – Rebecca Black may have looked forward to them. But you won’t. Weekends are boring, and you can’t even do work because you’ll be too hungover. Best to go home.

Oxford dons in autism spat

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Two Oxford professors have been engaged in a high-profile disagreement about the causes of autism.

The row started after Baroness Susan Greenfield, Professor of Synaptic Pharmacology at Lincoln College and former director of the Royal Institution, suggested in an interview with the New Scientist that increasing use of the internet and electronic devices could be linked to autism in young people.

Greenfield claimed that this was likely to be a factor in the rising rates of autism diagnosis. She told Cherwell, “it is hard to see how obsessive cyber activities could not be having some impact on the brain, because the human brain has evolved to adapt to its environment”.

However Dorothy Bishop, a Professor of Neuropsychology at St John’s, has publicly attacked Greenfield’s suggestions, dismissing them in an open letter to her colleague as “illogical garbage”. Speaking to Cherwell, she said: “The specific problem concerns her [Baroness Greenfield] repeatedly mentioning autistic spectrum disorder (ASD) in connection with her concerns about dangers of internet use”.

Bishop denies that autism could be caused by behavioral factors such as spending time on the internet.  Quoting the American Psychiatric Association’s description of the condition, she said, “Autism spectrum disorder is a neurodevelopmental disorder and must be present from infancy or early childhood, but may not be detected until later because of minimal social demands and support from parents or caregivers in early years.”

She also criticised the forum in which Greenfield chose to express her views, commenting, “Greenfield is always billed in the media as a ‘top scientist’ but has stopped behaving like a scientist. Her theorising on digital technology does not appear in peer-reviewed journals; this is a great shame, as peer review is vital to ensure that one’s ideas are scholarly, balanced and plausible.”

Greenfield has sought to defend her comments against Bishop’s criticism. In a statement to Cherwell, she implied that her theories had been exaggerated in media reports. She said, “Inevitably, the nuances that I wished to bring out have been the casualty of an edited interview that was in any case relatively brief, given that we were ranging over many broad issues.”

The National Autistic Society, a leading UK autism charity, refused to be drawn into the dispute. Amanda Batten, Director of External Affairs, said, “The causes of autism are still being investigated… There is evidence to suggest both genetic and physical factors have a role to play”.

Neither the Faculty of Pharmacology nor the University responded to a request for a comment on the matter.

Oxford student, 24, dies in holiday accident

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An Oxford student has died after a tragic accident in southwest France on Wednesday afternoon. His two friends, also from Oxford, tried but were unable to save him.

The victim was 24 year old American Kojo Owusu Minta, who was Vice-President of the St Hilda’s College MCR last academic year. He had just completed an MPhil in History at St Hilda’s and was due to begin a DPhil at Lincoln in Michaelmas.  

The three students were part of a group of a dozen Americans and Britons staying at a cottage in a nearby village. They had spent the day on the banks of the Gave d’Oleron near Dognen in the Pyrenees-Atlantiques, when Minta lost his footing and was swept away by the current.

His two friends were unable to catch up with the current and soon lost sight of him. After another British tourist on the other side of the river alerted the emergency services, he was located downstream by a rescue helicopter.

A fire department doctor attempted for over an hour to resuscitate him but was unsuccessful.

The tragedy is said to have shaken the small town of Dognen, as the area of the river is reportedly popular for swimming with tourists and locals alike. The site is generally considered safe, with no previous history of accidents.

Dr Georgina Paul, Tutor for Graduates at St Hilda’s, told Cherwell this week: ‘The College is feeling the loss of Kojo Minta very sorely. He was a man of style and panache, a great personality in the College community, and it is impossible to comprehend how someone so dynamic could have had his life cut short in this way.

‘But he was also a man of quiet good works and deep convictions, and I think all of us are feeling the strength of that legacy: his love of the Bible and of Milton, his work not just for the College, but for the University’s Race Equality Steering Group, and with the African Books Collective amongst other activities.

‘He had just attained a Distinction in his History MPhil and had the funding to continue on to his DPhil. His supervisors have written to me of his academic promise and energy and their shock, too, at his loss. This tragic accident has robbed the University of a talented mind as well as taking from all of us a very fine and special man. Kojo will for ever be remembered at St Hilda’s.’

A memorial webpage in honour of Kojo Owusu Minta can be found here:  http://www.forevermissed.com/kojo-minta.

Britain and Ireland in colour

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Brighton Pier

 

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Brighton beach

 

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Richmond Park, London

 

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Ducks in Richmond Park, London

 

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Damselfly in Richmond Park, London. 

 

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Brownstone Beach, Ireland

 

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Derryrush, Ireland at sunset 
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Derryrush, Ireland at midnight

 

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Worcester College, Oxford

 

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Bird on a bike in Oxford

An American parable

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I have seen The Social Network seven times now, and I’m still astounded by how I remain hungry for more viewings, eager to immerse myself once again in the richness of the world it portrays. I still insist it was the best film of 2010, and, There Will Be Blood aside, it might well be the best film since the 90s. I also don’t accept in the slightest that this is just a ‘moment’ which resonates with my generation in particular, and this is a point worth dwelling on. I think the film will persist for some time, for reasons to now be explored.

I did initially perceive the film, then, in a way that was hospitable to this sort of criticism: it’s about the founding of a website that has quietly integrated itself into our lives to an extent we should stop and appreciate, and the moments and lines that stood out in the film were the opening scene, with its array of communication problems; the final scene, and its disturbingly honest and representative screen-staring; the scene where Mark’s friend asks him if a girl is single, and he sarcastically replies that people don’t go around with signs indicative of their relationship status, before sprinting off to edit Facebook’s HTML; when the Winklevosses realise Mark had been lying to them – or, more accurately, their email accounts. Together, these moments that are so telling about the way we’ve come to contact one another, came to constitute my impression of the film, and it’s easy to suggest that if social networking goes the same way as any other modern craze – or, conversely, if it becomes so natural that people cannot comprehend life without it – either way, the film’s hip humour and power could disintegrate.

One vital reason that this is nonsense, of course, is the fact that a film’s showing a world we cannot relate to is no indication whatsoever that it won’t be totally enthralling – how else to explain our obsession with the world of crime that few movie-goers will barely get anywhere near to? Then when you add in the fact that as a piece of art the film is just flawless, possessing one of the most distinctive and coherent mise-en-scènes that we’ve seen in years, The Social Network‘s status is starting to look safe as a viable candidate to stand the tests of time.

There’s one final consideration, though, that I think will ensure its greatness. If you recall the night club scene, you’ll remember that after a lengthy story about the founder of Victoria’s Secret that sold out a year too soon and committed suicide, Mark, perplexed, asks if it was intended as a parable. I think the whole film is a parable. I think it is best seen as one huge gushing love-letter to America as an idea, and as the nation of innovation, liberty, prosperity. And this holds true whether it was Fincher’s conscious intention or not. Perhaps you can only see the film in this way if you’re not American, but I suspect if you’re a citizen you get the equally wonderful sensation of pride instead. It’s simply impossible not to watch these undergraduates carve out a vision that has reached over 500 million people without knowing they’re adding themselves to a long line of innovators stretching from Howard Hughes to Bill Gates. You know it could only have happened in America. You know Harvard looks like a university where the air is just that little bit fresher and freer to breathe, and you know Sean Parker could never be British, and nowhere else in the world could twenty-something nobodies drop out of college and be made billionaires in a matter of years.

For me, at least, I think this is the final source of the film’s almost magical appeal: awe at a world and lifestyle we’re lucky just to watch and be aware of, even if it’s impossibly distant. As Eduardo casually hops from Manhattan to California, The Social Network grows into a 2 hour paean to the USA. Ironically unoriginal, but something tells me that if people remain sane, this will continue to engross and inspire for a long time to come.

Get smart!

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I’m one of the last people I know to actually get a smartphone, having survived with a Sony Ericsson that cost me about £15 three years ago when I bought it as a ‘temporary’ phone. This means that I’ve been part of the ever dwindling group of people that can always fall back on my phone for cheap laughs if a conversation is going badly. Having finally upgraded my phone to join the Blackberry/iPhone-wielding masses I’ve found my life has changed for both better and for worse.

Any question or argument can now be solved in about five minutes (providing I have 3G signal), instead of spending hours wondering or debating. In the past two weeks of iPhone ownership I’ve used it to answer more standard questions, such as the name of the song used at the start of Reservoir Dogs (Little Green Bag), to slightly more off-kilter topics such as whether anyone has ever survived a plane crash into the sea (the answer is yes, which I hope reassures you if you are flying abroad this summer). This does tend to ruin conversation though; it’s always a bit depressing when your anecdote about how planes only come with a procedure for crashing at sea to make passengers feel better is ruined by someone who is on the internet as you speak, finding the one example of a European flight from the 1960s that did actually manage to land safely. 

Of course the internet can be used for more than just fact finding (not that I really need to tell you, as I’m pretty sure if you’re reading this you are well acquainted with it). I now no longer have to try and remember my transport arrangements/appointments/cinema times or write long lists of them. Recently, pre-iPhone, I got the train back from London and suddenly realised that I had absolutely no idea where to change or at what times. I panicked and had to ask the woman opposite me to plan my route home on hers and, while she was very helpful, her look of surprise when I showed her my phone said it all.

The iPhone also helps me to get my Facebook fix, like the junkie I am, on the move as opposed to having to rely on my desktop or laptop, which both come with the significant ‘disadvantage’ of not letting my check Facebook at any second of the day. Facebook has now become completely portable for me. I can check in so that everyone knows I’m sat in KFC Oxford (normally the sign of an essay crisis); I can respond to those Varsity Events invitations as soon as they come in, just so that I can be one of the first down to attend Blues at Camera (which, as always, is likely to be as rammed as a promiscuous ewe); I can see what pictures I’m tagged in immediately, although I have now experienced the horror of finding myself tagged in a photo from Park End that I can’t even remember being taken but which I am unable to de-tag until I run back to my desktop. I can even add people mere seconds after meeting them as opposed to having to wait until I get back to my computer (by which time there’s always the danger they may have forgotten me and may not return my all-important friend request).

Unfortunately, when my virtual friends are so close, where is the incentive to talk to the ones that are sat next to me? How can I see their tagged photos and who has written on their wall in face-to-face conversation? I’ve been in conversations and looked up from my iPhone to realise that I’ve not listened to a single thing said in the conversation or, even worse, that everyone has realised this and has cast me out, like some sort of electronic leper. Even if nothing has changed on Facebook in the last five minutes, there’s always the random article button on Wikipedia or YouTube. This wasn’t a problem with my Sony Ericsson, which only offered the choice of playing Snake or reorganising my contacts as sources of procrastination (please don’t judge me, you have to be inventive when you’ve only got WAP and Snake gets boring pretty quickly, although it’s safe to say I got pretty good at it).

The iPhone also hasn’t exactly done wonders for my self-confidence. I’ve always known that my hands aren’t exactly slender and that I don’t quite have the hand-eye co-ordination of a fighter pilot but this was confirmed when I started using the touch-screen phone. I’ve found the keyboard almost impossible to use, leaving my texts looking like they’ve been composed after a heavy night at Park End unless I turn the phone sideways to make the keys that all-important bit bigger. The disadvantage of this is that you quickly realise almost nobody actually uses the iPhone like this and people start to double-take when you use it this way.

Another thing I’ve found is that now I have a phone that is actually worth something I’m permanently worried that something may happen to it, with a feeling I imagine is pretty similar to parents worrying about their children. Waking up in the morning after a night out involves now not just wondering what happened last night and who I have to apologise to but also frantically checking the pockets of my jeans (which I nearly always wake up in – classy, I know) and any flat surface where I may have carefully placed my iPhone. Equally, dropping my phone results in a feeling of pure terror as I wonder just how many pieces the screen will be in when I pick it back up again. The worse thing that happened with my Sony Ericsson was that the 2 and 5 keys would stop working. That was easily be solved by just dropping it again or hitting it against a nearby table.

Of course, one of the biggest advantages is that I can now play Angry Birds. Need I say more?

Lionhead – A Radio Play

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Cast:

Rolf : Ed Chalk (Brasenose)

David: Alex Bowles (Mansfield)

Polly: Hannah Roberts (Hertford)

Creative:

Director: Will Maynard (Oriel)

Writer: Xenia Elsaesser (St Anne’s)

 

This radio play was written, rehearsed and recorded within 24 hours, as part of OUDS’ 24hour theatre festival in 2009. The cast have all since graduated.

Review: Wild Abandon by Joe Dunthorne

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Following up a novel as highly acclaimed as Joe Dunthorne’s 2008 Submarine, which was adapted recently into a successful film, can’t be an easy task. Like many coming of age novels with precocious but flawed teenage protagonists, the book attracted comparisons with Catcher in the Rye and Adrian Mole, and Dunthorne’s sharply humorous and poetic style of writing flagged him up immediately as a bright talent.

His new novel starts, as his debut did, with young people discovering themselves, struggling with first love, A Levels and squabbling parents, but the twist is in the setting: Albert and Kate live in a Welsh commune dedicated to “alternative living”, started up by their parents and their friends, where drugs are something that “old people do”, mobile phones are switched on only in emergencies, showers have to be timed and TV adverts are covered over with a thin curtain. As Don and Freya’s marriage disintegrates and the community seems to be crashing around them, a giant rave is planned, serving partly as a publicity stunt, partly as a necessary bid for salvation in the face of everyone’s internal apocalypses.

Wild Abandon shares many of the elements that made Submarine such a success. Albert is a wonderful creation, an eccentric and articulate 11 year old masochist with a smooth telephone manner. The writing is excellent and is what makes the book such a delight to read, each page-turning page packed full of unexpected and vivid similes. Dunthorne’s well-honed knack of getting into the minds of his teenage (and non-teenage) characters makes the story constantly believable, and allows the shifting third person perspective to work well, although perhaps the story of drug-fuelled, lovesick Patrick is not as absorbing as that of Albert, led by the Mayan calendar enthusiast Marina to believe that the world is ending, or Kate, who seeks solace in nearby suburbia with her boyfriend Geraint and his family, rebelling from the rebellion. The hopeless idealism of patriarch Don and the sense of despair of his wife Freya are counterbalanced emotively, as real issues and relationships are deftly dealt with alongside humorous vignettes from commune life, such as Don’s attempt at a man-to-man chat with the disgusted Albert.

The book is clearly well-researched, and moves gradually but enticingly towards a fitting climax. The psychological problems of all the characters do not make them any less endearing, a word which Albert, who “doesn’t understand cute”, is said to hate. Joe Dunthorne has pulled off the proverbially difficult second novel. Wild Abandon is original and absorbing, and full of laugh-out-loud moments: read it before the inevitable indie film gets in the way.

Bod ventures into a technological world

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The Bodleian Libraries, in conjunction with mobile application developer Toura, released their first mobile app last week.

The app, entitled “The Making of the King James Bible” is the first in a series designed to enable the Bodleian to share some of their greatest collections in new formats. It is being launched to coincide with the 400th anniversary of the publication of the King James Bible, and the summer exhibition, “Manifold Greatness: Oxford and the Making of the King James Bible”.

Many documents and books relating to the King James Bible translation are being brought together for the first time, such as a copy of the infamous “Wicked Bible” of 1631, which contains a misprint in the seventh commandment which commanded readers to commit adultery, with most copies having been subsequently burned.

The app also includes commentary from the curators and fellow of St. Cross College Diarmaid MacCulloch, a leading authority on the history of the Church.

Whilst this is only the first app released by the Bodleian Libraries, it is part of a wider move to embrace emerging formats of distributing and displaying the Bodleian’s vast collection. The Gough map, the earliest surviving map of Great Britain, was recently released in a digital format for the first time by the Bodleian Map Library, as was reported on by Cherwell this week.

Andrew Teal, a fellow in Theology at Pembroke College, said, “I think all new ventures that make learning more interactive and less passive are good … there are already quite a variety of technophile resources (podcasts of lectures etc).”

“The Making of the King James Bible” has been made available for Apple and Android devices, for £0.69. The next app in the series is due to be released in autumn, and has been described as “a browsable collection of some of the Bodleian’s greatest treasures including the newly-acquired Jane Austen manuscript, ‘Magna Carta’, Shakespeare’s ‘First Folio’, Mary Shelley’s ‘Frankenstein’.”

Once Upon A Thai

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So you want to get off the beaten track, immerse yourself in a completely different culture and find yourself on the road? When I thought of South East Asia, I thought of the meandering Mekong, chanting Buddhist monks, misty rice paddies…

(I have assumed knowledge of last year’s viral Gap Yah video on YouTube, so for the uninitiated I suggest a watch — one is enough to get a handle on those irritatingly quotable one-liners.)

If you are in fact on your gap year, chances are that you will become one of the following:

Exhibit 1: The Gap Yah Girl

Baggy white printed Thai beer vest, with arm holes almost large enough to let their midriff escape. Frayed denim shorts that pretend to cover their bikini bottoms. Messed up top knot. About 20 bracelets on each arm. I mean it’s, like, helping the local economy. Ray Ban Wayfarers, could either be Phnomh Penh’s finest fakes, or bought by Daddy as a farewell present. A tattoo resembling a black blob. Up close it could be a prayer wheel? Slightly orange tan, speckled with white mosquito bite scars, and a large infected scab from that token motorbike accident. Havaina flip flops.

Exhibit 2: The Backpacker Boy

In The Tubing, Vang Vieng, Laos vest. Everyone has floated down the Mekong in a rubber tyre, so everyone just has to buy the vest to prove that they drank too much Lao Lao and almost drowned in the murky river. Neon swim shorts, with Full Moon Party printed across the butt. Casio wrist watch – an Argos cheapie with a button that lights up the screen, or the Vietnamese version. That is, neon, with lots of flashing lights. Neon green plastic aviators – large enough to cover the pink eye that you got tubing. A tattoo in Thai. It says ‘I Love Thailand’. At least that’s what that Thai bird said before it turned out she was a he. And all the Thais crack up when they see it.

And they’re everywhere. I mean like EVERYWHAH.

Now: a typical tale. It was about 7am in Luang Prabang, Laos, the morning after the Dutch had won another world cup match, and I had wished I was wearing orange (having said that, the Dutch are very amenable to letting you forget your English woes and become a Netherlands native for a bit). My sister and I had already abandoned our porridge to make a mad dash back to the hotel toilet, much to our parent’s bemusement. Note – parents are not suitable Gap Yah accessories. Father had pitched up at the match last night, and we’d had to pretend we were on our second Lao Lao cocktail, not our seventh. Luckily for me, that was to be the last of the day’s chundering. My sister was not so fortunate.

An hour or so later, and we were astride an elephant, swaying majestically through the Laos jungle, while the sun burned bright above us through the leaves, and brightly-coloured birds chattered around us. I mean, it really gave us a moving sense of the intricacy and delicacy of the world’s fragile ecosystems. It was like, we were like so small… and the elephant was like, so big.

And then my sister just chundered everywhere. Off the side of an elephant. Impeccable aim, unlike our football team.

To prove you can’t keep a good British girl down, my sister has been on her own Gap Yah odyssey this year, breaking locals’ hearts in salsa bars up and down Latin America. She and her Norwegian partner-in-crime were particular fans of the Peruvian city of Cusco, start of the Inca trail to Macchu Piccu, where one goes to search for the mythical Andean Vomcano.

Back on the trail in Asia, no trip to Thailand is complete without a pilgrimage to that shrine of wankered Westerners – the Full Moon Party on the island of Koh Phangnan. My advice is as follows:

1. Start the night in one of Had Rin’s finest eateries. Pad Thai is just the ticket for lining the stomach, and the endless reruns of Family Guy are perfect for predrinks.

2. Wear a bikini and not much else.You need plenty of skin space to plaster with glo-paint, and you may be sprinting into the waves to take a few tactical chunders. And don´t go out of your depth while drunk – there´s a mean riptide that claims a few Westerners every party season.

3. Don’t be discerning with your drinking.There are over 50 stalls that eloquently differentiate themselves with slogans such as:

SillyFuckingBuckets.
FreeKissFreeSuckySuckyWhenYouBuyFromMeMeLikesWhiteBoys. ExtraHappyHammeredLovingLifeBuckets.

They all sell the same thing, and everything tastes the same after a few glugs anyway. Buy the cheapest 350ml bottle of Thai Rum-skey with Red Bull for that dance ‘til dawn boost, and down from the child’s plastic bucket to your heart’s content.

4. Don’t try to find that ‘fit’ Australian from the Vietnamese pool party. You’ve been there and done that, and with 10,000 people partying on one beach, chances are he’s probably getting with a Swedish girl as we speak. Plus when and where are you going to get a chance to play the ‘how many nationalities in a night’ game again?

5. Pace yourself. My friend made the tragic mistake of peaking too early, and what started out as a tactical chunder turned into falling in the sea to vomit every half hour until dawn. We put her in a tuk-tuk home at 7am where she got distracted by a gentleman who she classified merely as ‘Northern’, and returned to our cabins an hour before the ferry to the mainland.

6. On that note, don’t leave the morning after. The beaches are white and the sea is crystal-clear, so give yourself a chance to enjoy paradise by day. More realistically, you will want to lie in a darkened room for 24 hours.

It’s not all party, party, party though. Well it is, but your itinerary can take in the cultural (and spiritual and political) on the way. You can admire the fabled temples of Cambodia’s Angkor Wat by sunrise, examine the horrors of the War Remnant’s Museum in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, and the Killing Fields in Phnomh Penh, Cambodia, pick leeches off your legs while scrambling up waterfalls in Laos’ northern jungles, and watch hundreds of Buddhist monks collecting alms at 6am in the elegant, French-colonial streets of Luang Prabang in Laos.

But you’ll probably just want to line your stomachs in preparation for uni, and watery Vietnamese street beer is 10p a pint. After all, where else in the world could you literally chunder off the side of an elephant?