Saturday 26th July 2025
Blog Page 1807

Hugh’s in booze walkout

Jack Andrews
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0
Hugh’s in booze walkout

Frustrated members of St Hugh’sCollege JCR have unanimously passed a motion to “boycott formal hall until further notice” in response to the price hike and new alcohol restrictions reported in Cherwell last week.Tuesday’s Formal Hall was attended only by MCR members and college fellows, as all undergraduate students complied with the JCR’s decision.

There was a high turnout for Sunday’s JCR meeting, and the resolution, proposed by JCR President Victor Greenstreet, was passed after just 15 minutes of debate. An email was sent to all JCR members on Monday morning informing them that “it is now JCR policy to advise its members not to attend Formal Hall.”

The proposal came after Greenstreet had voiced his concerns to the Dean, Bursar and Catering Manager but had received no offers of compromise other than the possibility of an end of term review. Under the implemented changes St Hugh’s Formal costs £10.40 and include two glasses of wine or fruit punch. Further drinks are prohibited.

St Hugh’s student Joseph Williams described these measures as “patronising changes to the system without any consultation”, reflecting the JCR’s anger at the college’s alleged unwillingness to engage in serious debate about the matter.

Greenstreet described his meetings with college authorities as“cordial”, but added, “It was made clear that the changes to Formal Hall were still going ahead.” He said, “The motion is a symbolic expression of the JCR’s opposition to the changes, which individual members are free to disregard but will (hopefully) follow.”

He also stressed that it is still individuals’ free choice whether they wish to attend, since ticket sales are not controlled by the JCR and remain available to undergraduates.

The JCR stated that the college’s explanation for the changes is that they are designed to “enhance the quality of the experience for everyone present, and to address the issue created by a small number of students bringing excessive amounts of alcohol into Formal Hall and thereby creating difficulties for the serving staff.”

However the JCR also points out that there was no disciplinary action taken against any student regarding Formal last term.One undergraduate commented, “College should ban rowdy members of the college from attending Formal rather than dampening the experience for everyone.”

Another argued that the college were persecuting those who did not drink wine, stating, “I don’t think that charging an extra £3.15 for two glasses of fruit juice is an acceptable penalty for non-drinkers.”

Another student claimed that St Hugh’s was treating its JCR members “like juvenile delinquents”, suggesting that “Formal Hall should be about camaraderie, college solidarity and upheld tradition rather than a bland restaurant imitation.” Clemmie Shott tried to provide a degree of perspective on the issue. She said, “To charge £10 for a Formal ticket for the privilege of eating mediocre food and drinking two glasses of wine seems absurd.”

JCR members hope that the move will force the college to reopen consultation and will prevent a term of Formals being wasted. One student remarked that the threat of boycott was “probably the only chance to change the situation”.

A former JCR President said, “It has shown to the college that theJCR is prepared to take action and I am sure serious discussion between college personnel and JCR representatives will follow.”

St Hugh’s College itself was not prepared to explain its reasoning when approached by Cherwell this week. The Dean, Peter Mitchell, said, “My colleagues and I have discussed the issues you mentioned with the JCR and MCR Presidents. I have no further comment to make.”

The St Hugh’s MCR president Solomon Pomerantz declined to explain why the MCR chose not to follow the decision of the college’s undergraduates.

Lifestyle Interview: the Hairy Bikers

Claire Castles
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0
Lifestyle Interview: the Hairy Bikers

Simon King and David Myers, better known as the BBC’s bearded cookery duo, ‘The Hairy Bikers’, have made a name for themselves as experts in the foodie road trip, their travels having extended across the globe from Transylvania to Vietnam.  Yet what really stands out as I talk to these guys is their passionate for unpretentious, homely soul food, and its power to bring people together.   With great chemistry and an honest, friendly on-screen demeanour, it’s easy to forget that the pair started their careers behind the scenes, rather than in front of the camera.

Simon King and David Myers, better known as the BBC’s bearded cookery duo, ‘The Hairy Bikers’, have made a name for themselves as experts in the foodie road trip, their travels having extended across the globe from Transylvania to Vietnam.  Yet what really stands out as I talk to these guys is their passionate for unpretentious, homely soul food, and its power to bring people together.   With great chemistry and an honest, friendly on-screen demeanour, it’s easy to forget that the pair started their careers behind the scenes, rather than in front of the camera.
‘We were on the film crew for several TV drama series,’ recalls Si.  ‘We were both working on Catherine Cookson when we became mates.  We had the same interests in food, travel, bikes and things. We’ve been friends now for nearly 20 years. I sold him a terrible bike once; it conked out in the middle of the Scottish highlands with a girlfriend on the back!  I don’t think he saw her again.’ 
 Dave clearly didn’t hold a grudge, as he responds, ‘We started cooking together after that.  The kind of projects that we do are so much better when you’re doing it with your best mate.’
He goes on to explain how the transition to becoming TV chefs was somewhat unplanned.  ‘The earlier Hairy Bikers never started out as a cookery show.  It was more about travel.’ Yet, on visits to places like Namibia, it became apparent that food culture was central to all their travelling experiences. ‘Food was the currency of the programmes. Eventually, it slowly morphed into a proper BBC cookery show.’
Their most recent project, ‘Hairy Bikers: Meals on Wheels’, is an attempt to breathe new life into a vital but much neglected service. Meals on Wheels was pioneered in the 1940s by the Women’s Royal Voluntary Service, who cooked and delivered fresh meals to the elderly and infirm  every day.
Today, Meals on Wheels is in danger.  In the last five years, the UK has lost around a third of its Meals on Wheels services.  One problem is that the service is fragmented, and differs vastly depending on the local authority.  In some areas it is fuelled entirely by volunteers, but in most others it has been replaced by bi-monthly deliveries of frozen meals which must be paid for by the recipients, sometimes costing up to a third of the weekly state pension. Elsewhere there is no help available whatsoever.  With tight budgets and the constant threat of yet more cuts to funding, food quality is notoriously low.  
‘In our affluent society, it’s upsetting that we don’t have the foresight to see the problem,’ says Si.  ‘I think it was Mahatma Ghandi who said that civilised society is judged by the way it treats its most vulnerable members.   These people have contributed to society all their lives, and there is a tendency to sweep them under the carpet.’ 
 Dave adds, ‘If they could do it in 1943 when rationing was still happening, why not now? It’s a bit of a slap in the face for modern society.’  
With the help of Meals on Wheels staff, many enthusiastic volunteers, and marketing input from world-renowned advertising company Saatchi & Saatchi, the Hairy Bikers have been working to give the dying institution the resources, energy, and identity it needs to continue for years to come.  They have been particularly focusing on the shift from frozen foods to freshly prepared meals, and from fortnightly deliveries to daily visits.
‘There is not a single Meals on Wheels volunteer who hasn’t saved a life at some point,’ says Si.  The visits are a vital lifeline for those living alone, particularly to older people who have lost a partner.  ‘It’s sad when there is a married couple where one dies and the other is left alone,’ says Dave. ‘They need an outlet for their grief – there are people hurting in silence.’  
The initiative is one close to their hearts, as both Si and Dave have experience caring for ill and ageing parents. Si’s mother became dependent on her family due to long term illness.  ‘The family found it hard to cover mealtimes,’ Si tells me.  ‘We tried to find her a good service, since she was a great food lover; it was her raison d’être.  The food quality wasn’t to her liking, so we had to step into the void.’
Dave also cared for his mother, who suffered from MS. ‘My father was 55 when I was born, so when I was eight, he was already 63. I took over most of the cooking myself when I was 14 or 15.’ The BBC approached us with the concept of the programme because they felt we’d be good to present it, and when we heard the facts, we couldn’t not do it.’
‘Food is important for the body and soul, and socialisation of people,’ says Si.  ‘People should be afforded a level of dignity and respect through the food that they are served.’  But both Si and Dave make it clear that they are not out to get embroiled in political debate.  ‘This is not about some Tory thinktank, working out ways to contribute to the ‘Big Society’.  On your bloody bike, mate!  We didn’t want to engage in the politics of it all because it’s a cul de sac.  It’s always been about people, not politics.’
I ask if the recent popularity of fresh food is likely to continue, or whether food producers will fall back into cutting corners due to financial constraints.  Si explains, ‘We’re very much time dependent now.  We have busy lives, it just needs a shift in the thought process about how we’re able to eat and deliver fresh food.   Companies who mass produce tend to look at pounds, shillings and pence, but there are lots of responsible food producers out there. It’s not about romanticising food – it’s about stripping away the bullshit. At the end of the day, fresh food is better.’
When I ask if it’s possible to recover the community spirit which originally drove the Meals on Wheels service, Si responds with characteristic enthusiasm.
‘We always have been that way. It’s not lost. We’re community minded. Us Brits have a keen sense of injustice, and can rise to the challenge when we see that there is one.’  I also discover that, as a result of the programme, the Hairy Bikers’ BBC website crashed three times when it was inundated with volunteers.  
 The bikers still keep in touch with many of the volunteers and meal recipients they met along the way, making it clear that this is not something they plan to walk away from.
‘We’ve already filmed a Christmas special,’ says Dave, ‘and I’d really like to see a follow-up series some time in the next year. ‘
Yet the BBC programme is only the beginning.  They appeal for continued support, and extol the benefits of volunteering to students.
‘It’s fun! It’s a good laugh,’ Dave tells me. ‘We looked forward to visiting the people we got to know over the programme.  The benefit you can give is huge, but the benefit you get back is fantastic.’
‘Give me two hours a month, that’s it,’ says Si, ‘If you can, you should.  It’s about being engaged with the world around you.  The world of academia can become a bit cosseted, and this is a great way of interacting with your community. They’re not a different species; they’re us!’
Bearing in mind their culinary éclat, I use the opportunity to ask the Hairy Bikers if they have any parting tips for Cherwell readers who are struggling to feed themselves.
Dave recommends that students go to fresh produce markets. ‘You’ve got a cracker there in Oxford, you should use it.  If you go to a market where suppliers know their ingredients, you’ll very often come away with a recipe.’
‘Lentil curry,’ says Si, almost immediately.  ‘It makes you fart, but it’s great and really tasty!’ 
To find out more about volunteering opportunities, visit www.bbc.co.uk/hairybikers

‘We were on the film crew for several TV drama series,’ recalls Si.  ‘We were both working on Catherine Cookson when we became mates.  We had the same interests in food, travel, bikes and things. We’ve been friends now for nearly 20 years. I sold him a terrible bike once; it conked out in the middle of the Scottish highlands with a girlfriend on the back!  I don’t think he saw her again.’ 

Dave clearly didn’t hold a grudge, as he responds, ‘We started cooking together after that.  The kind of projects that we do are so much better when you’re doing it with your best mate.’He goes on to explain how the transition to becoming TV chefs was somewhat unplanned.  ‘The earlier Hairy Bikers never started out as a cookery show.  It was more about travel.’ Yet, on visits to places like Namibia, it became apparent that food culture was central to all their travelling experiences. ‘Food was the currency of the programmes. Eventually, it slowly morphed into a proper BBC cookery show.’

Their most recent project, ‘Hairy Bikers: Meals on Wheels’, is an attempt to breathe new life into a vital but much neglected service. Meals on Wheels was pioneered in the 1940s by the Women’s Royal Voluntary Service, who cooked and delivered fresh meals to the elderly and infirm  every day.

Today, Meals on Wheels is in danger.  In the last five years, the UK has lost around a third of its Meals on Wheels services.  One problem is that the service is fragmented, and differs vastly depending on the local authority.  In some areas it is fuelled entirely by volunteers, but in most others it has been replaced by bi-monthly deliveries of frozen meals which must be paid for by the recipients, sometimes costing up to a third of the weekly state pension. Elsewhere there is no help available whatsoever.  With tight budgets and the constant threat of yet more cuts to funding, food quality is notoriously low.  

‘In our affluent society, it’s upsetting that we don’t have the foresight to see the problem,’ says Si.  ‘I think it was Mahatma Ghandi who said that civilised society is judged by the way it treats its most vulnerable members.   These people have contributed to society all their lives, and there is a tendency to sweep them under the carpet.’  

Dave adds, ‘If they could do it in 1943 when rationing was still happening, why not now? It’s a bit of a slap in the face for modern society.’  With the help of Meals on Wheels staff, many enthusiastic volunteers, and marketing input from world-renowned advertising company Saatchi & Saatchi, the Hairy Bikers have been working to give the dying institution the resources, energy, and identity it needs to continue for years to come.  They have been particularly focusing on the shift from frozen foods to freshly prepared meals, and from fortnightly deliveries to daily visits.‘

There is not a single Meals on Wheels volunteer who hasn’t saved a life at some point,’ says Si.  The visits are a vital lifeline for those living alone, particularly to older people who have lost a partner.  ‘It’s sad when there is a married couple where one dies and the other is left alone,’ says Dave. ‘They need an outlet for their grief – there are people hurting in silence.’  

The initiative is one close to their hearts, as both Si and Dave have experience caring for ill and ageing parents. Si’s mother became dependent on her family due to long term illness.  ‘The family found it hard to cover mealtimes,’ Si tells me.  ‘We tried to find her a good service, since she was a great food lover; it was her raison d’être.  The food quality wasn’t to her liking, so we had to step into the void.’

Dave also cared for his mother, who suffered from MS. ‘My father was 55 when I was born, so when I was eight, he was already 63. I took over most of the cooking myself when I was 14 or 15.’ The BBC approached us with the concept of the programme because they felt we’d be good to present it, and when we heard the facts, we couldn’t not do it.’‘

Food is important for the body and soul, and socialisation of people,’ says Si.  ‘People should be afforded a level of dignity and respect through the food that they are served.’  But both Si and Dave make it clear that they are not out to get embroiled in political debate.  ‘This is not about some Tory thinktank, working out ways to contribute to the ‘Big Society’.  On your bloody bike, mate!  We didn’t want to engage in the politics of it all because it’s a cul de sac.  It’s always been about people, not politics.’

I ask if the recent popularity of fresh food is likely to continue, or whether food producers will fall back into cutting corners due to financial constraints.  Si explains, ‘We’re very much time dependent now.  We have busy lives, it just needs a shift in the thought process about how we’re able to eat and deliver fresh food.   Companies who mass produce tend to look at pounds, shillings and pence, but there are lots of responsible food producers out there. It’s not about romanticising food – it’s about stripping away the bullshit. At the end of the day, fresh food is better.’

When I ask if it’s possible to recover the community spirit which originally drove the Meals on Wheels service, Si responds with characteristic enthusiasm.‘We always have been that way. It’s not lost. We’re community minded. Us Brits have a keen sense of injustice, and can rise to the challenge when we see that there is one.’  I also discover that, as a result of the programme, the Hairy Bikers’ BBC website crashed three times when it was inundated with volunteers.   

The bikers still keep in touch with many of the volunteers and meal recipients they met along the way, making it clear that this is not something they plan to walk away from.‘We’ve already filmed a Christmas special,’ says Dave, ‘and I’d really like to see a follow-up series some time in the next year. ‘

Yet the BBC programme is only the beginning.  They appeal for continued support, and extol the benefits of volunteering to students.‘It’s fun! It’s a good laugh,’ Dave tells me. ‘We looked forward to visiting the people we got to know over the programme.  The benefit you can give is huge, but the benefit you get back is fantastic.’‘

Give me two hours a month, that’s it,’ says Si, ‘If you can, you should.  It’s about being engaged with the world around you.  The world of academia can become a bit cosseted, and this is a great way of interacting with your community. They’re not a different species; they’re us!’

Bearing in mind their culinary éclat, I use the opportunity to ask the Hairy Bikers if they have any parting tips for Cherwell readers who are struggling to feed themselves.

Dave recommends that students go to fresh produce markets. ‘You’ve got a cracker there in Oxford, you should use it.  If you go to a market where suppliers know their ingredients, you’ll very often come away with a recipe.’‘Lentil curry,’ says Si, almost immediately.  ‘It makes you fart, but it’s great and really tasty!’ 

To find out more about volunteering opportunities, visit www.bbc.co.uk/hairybikers

It’s not all about the money

Vidhi Doshi
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0
It’s not all about the money

Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know!’ Here we go again. My dad has just seen my bank statement for the last month and is screeching down the telephone about the value of a penny, and someday I will have to pay this student loan back, and when he was a student and am I still listening?

Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know!’ Here we go again. My dad has just seen my bank statement for the last month and is screeching down the telephone about the value of a penny, and someday I will have to pay this student loan back, and when he was a student and am I still listening? 
This phone call has become a monthly ritual since I started university, and this time the message is loud and clear:     it’s time to tighten my belt, cut my losses and start saving. And re-route my bank statements so he can’t read them anymore. I’ve put myself on an extreme budget. I have £1 to spend for every day for the following 5 days. No    excess, no extravagance, no waste. This week is going to be about the bare necessities and nothing more. 
‘It’s impossible’, my friends argue. The idea has not been received very well. It fact, it was met with outright hostility. No more lunching at Alpha Bar, no more lashmonkeying around Camera, no more glorious Marks and Spencer’s sandwiches. I’m taking the moral high ground though. ‘If 1.1 billion people in the world can do it, then I can definitely do it.’ And I’m not even slumdogging that much – I still have my 100% Egyptian cotton bedsheets and my hot showers. Still, spending less than a pound a day altogether on food and fun is no cakewalk.
Day 1
Armed with £5 cold hard cash, I enter Tesco. I load up my basket with all the stuff I would normally buy for the week – bread, milk, cereal, yogurt, M&Ms at 2 for £3, mangoes, apples, bananas and blueberries (for my 5-a-day), crisps, sushi because it’s on sale, beautiful creamy goat’s cheese.
Only £20 over budget; no problem, I just need to whittle it down to the essentials.
The M&Ms are the first to go, then the sushi, crisps and the cheese. The cereal is too expensive, nor can I have milk. The mangoes and blueberries are too much of a treat, but most depressing is the choice between apples and bananas because I can’t afford both. The wholemeal soya and linseed bread is swapped for Tesco value, and I add some tomatoes and carrots to the cart from the clearance section.
On the way home, I steal sachets of salt, pepper and sugar from a coffee shop while trying to avoid eye contact with the judgemental-as-hell waitress.
I carefully measure out rations of food for each day and try to hold out as long as I can before starting to make dinner. Despite a complete lack of intrigue, the rice and carrot combination is simple but satisfying. I can definitely live like this for a week.
Day 2
Sugar cravings are skyrocketing and I’ve had free samples of fudge every couple of hours. I change my entire outfit every time for fear of being recognised and judged.
It’s my friend’s birthday and the plan was to take advantage of the 2 for 1 offer on cocktails at the Blue Boar. Of course, this doesn’t apply to me. The drinks look amazing: cocktails in every shape and size, adorned with pieces of luxury tropical fruit.
My friends offer to buy me one but I don’t want to scrounge so I order a glass of water. Obviously I can’t go to the Bridge afterwards so I make an early exit.
Back at college, I discover a welcome evening for the Freshers complete with free drinks. Excellent.. I sneak my way in past the JCR committee, justifying my presence to myself with the immeasurable contribution I’ve made to college life in the last two years. Hobnobbing with the cool-looking kids, I manage to swipe two glasses of slightly warm wine and even a few cold canapés. Well, beggars can’t be choosers and it did stop me minesweeping my way around Bridge.
Day 3
Freshers’ fair! Having commandeered a shift, my plan is to carbo-load on the free Domino’s. I ingeniously use a fake name to avoid getting pizza-related emails for the rest of the term. I also decide to stock up on stationery and condoms, current food energy levels permitting, obviously. Damn those lost blueberries. My total bounty consists of 4 pens, a USB stick, sweets, 1 balloon, a lanyard, 8 stickers, 2 key-rings, 2 beer mats, lube and a t-shirt. And if I eke a few days wearing the free t-shirt to the gym, then I’ll save money on washing too (although I might avoid getting too close to my fellow treadmillers). Rice and carrots are getting boring, so my dinner becomes a banana smoothie. This has 2 ingredients: banana and ice. Total cost: 20p. Total taste: negligible.
I add 4 sachets of stolen sugar, which helps a little bit. This was a terrible idea; I should have just eaten the banana whole. I make myself a piece of Tesco value cardboard-flavoured toast.
Day 4
A friend suggests we go to the cinema. Even if it was a Wednesday this would obliterate my budget, so I suggest something fun and free. Museum, a walk, window shopping? All are met with as much enthusiasm as a trip to the dentist in the face of Lion King 3D. We decide on a gentle cycle ride but I’m soon sitting down dizzy on a bench when 3 days on a pitiful food allowance catch up with me. My friend recovers with a milky coffee in a nearby café; I sip my tap  water. I’m ready to give up. I have seriously considered shoplifting. Why did I decide to do this? I know I’m moaning but I cannot eat any more toast and rice. This was a terrible idea. But there’s no point giving up now. I put the rice on and go to my room while it starts heating up. Twenty minutes later, I run into the kitchen, hoping and praying that the smoke I was smelling wasn’t my dinner. It is. Despair.
How could I have been so careless? I scrape off the top layer of rice, which amounted to about 2 spoonfuls.
On any other day I could have made some more but I didn’t want to cut into the next day’s ration. Two spoonfuls of rice and one carrot later I go to bed, cursing the day I dreamed up this godforsaken plan.
Day 5
The last 24 hours. I feel like Paula Radcliffe on the final leg of her marathon. Success is so close, I can smell it.
My friend offers me a chocolate chip cookie which I know is technically cheating but I don’t really care anymore. I ran out of foundation last night, so I’m bare-faced all day. The lack of vitamins over the last four days has left me looking dull and tired.  I perked up a little when a stranger in the street said I was looking well, until I realised they were talking to someone behind me.
Forcing down more rice and toast as usual, I savour it this time because I know I won’t have to eat this meal again in a very long time.
I’ve finished everything I bought at the start of the week; nothing has been wasted. Apart from my breakdown on Thursday, it went pretty smoothly.
But it definitely brought home to me that I convince myself I need a whole lot of things that I could actually do without. Britain wastes £10 billion of food every year and some conscientious shopping is all that’s required.But still, there is really no excuse to buy Tesco value bread. Save yourself. If I stop buying all those M&Ms my loan might even stretch until the end of term. That said, M&Ms are an essential, right?

This phone call has become a monthly ritual since I started university, and this time the message is loud and clear: it’s time to tighten my belt, cut my losses and start saving. And re-route my bank statements so he can’t read them anymore. I’ve put myself on an extreme budget. I have £1 to spend for every day for the following 5 days. No excess, no extravagance, no waste. This week is going to be about the bare necessities and nothing more. 

‘It’s impossible’, my friends argue. The idea has not been received very well. It fact, it was met with outright hostility. No more lunching at Alpha Bar, no more lashmonkeying around Camera, no more glorious Marks and Spencer’s sandwiches. I’m taking the moral high ground though. ‘If 1.1 billion people in the world can do it, then I can definitely do it.’ And I’m not even slumdogging that much – I still have my 100% Egyptian cotton bedsheets and my hot showers. Still, spending less than a pound a day altogether on food and fun is no cakewalk.

 

Day 1
Armed with £5 cold hard cash, I enter Tesco. I load up my basket with all the stuff I would normally buy for the week – bread, milk, cereal, yogurt, M&Ms at 2 for £3, mangoes, apples, bananas and blueberries (for my 5-a-day), crisps, sushi because it’s on sale, beautiful creamy goat’s cheese.Only £20 over budget; no problem, I just need to whittle it down to the essentials.

The M&Ms are the first to go, then the sushi, crisps and the cheese. The cereal is too expensive, nor can I have milk. The mangoes and blueberries are too much of a treat, but most depressing is the choice between apples and bananas because I can’t afford both. The wholemeal soya and linseed bread is swapped for Tesco value, and I add some tomatoes and carrots to the cart from the clearance section.

On the way home, I steal sachets of salt, pepper and sugar from a coffee shop while trying to avoid eye contact with the judgemental-as-hell waitress.I carefully measure out rations of food for each day and try to hold out as long as I can before starting to make dinner. Despite a complete lack of intrigue, the rice and carrot combination is simple but satisfying. I can definitely live like this for a week.

 

Day 2
Sugar cravings are skyrocketing and I’ve had free samples of fudge every couple of hours. I change my entire outfit every time for fear of being recognised and judged.It’s my friend’s birthday and the plan was to take advantage of the 2 for 1 offer on cocktails at the Blue Boar. Of course, this doesn’t apply to me. The drinks look amazing: cocktails in every shape and size, adorned with pieces of luxury tropical fruit.

My friends offer to buy me one but I don’t want to scrounge so I order a glass of water. Obviously I can’t go to the Bridge afterwards so I make an early exit.Back at college, I discover a welcome evening for the Freshers complete with free drinks. Excellent.. I sneak my way in past the JCR committee, justifying my presence to myself with the immeasurable contribution I’ve made to college life in the last two years. Hobnobbing with the cool-looking kids, I manage to swipe two glasses of slightly warm wine and even a few cold canapés. Well, beggars can’t be choosers and it did stop me minesweeping my way around Bridge.

 

Day 3
Freshers’ fair! Having commandeered a shift, my plan is to carbo-load on the free Domino’s. I ingeniously use a fake name to avoid getting pizza-related emails for the rest of the term. I also decide to stock up on stationery and condoms, current food energy levels permitting, obviously. Damn those lost blueberries.

My total bounty consists of 4 pens, a USB stick, sweets, 1 balloon, a lanyard, 8 stickers, 2 key-rings, 2 beer mats, lube and a t-shirt. And if I eke a few days wearing the free t-shirt to the gym, then I’ll save money on washing too (although I might avoid getting too close to my fellow treadmillers). Rice and carrots are getting boring, so my dinner becomes a banana smoothie. This has 2 ingredients: banana and ice. Total cost: 20p. Total taste: negligible.

I add 4 sachets of stolen sugar, which helps a little bit. This was a terrible idea; I should have just eaten the banana whole. I make myself a piece of Tesco value cardboard-flavoured toast.

 

Day 4
A friend suggests we go to the cinema. Even if it was a Wednesday this would obliterate my budget, so I suggest something fun and free. Museum, a walk, window shopping? All are met with as much enthusiasm as a trip to the dentist in the face of Lion King 3D. We decide on a gentle cycle ride but I’m soon sitting down dizzy on a bench when 3 days on a pitiful food allowance catch up with me. My friend recovers with a milky coffee in a nearby café; I sip my tap  water. I’m ready to give up. I have seriously considered shoplifting. Why did I decide to do this? I know I’m moaning but I cannot eat any more toast and rice. This was a terrible idea. But there’s no point giving up now. I put the rice on and go to my room while it starts heating up. Twenty minutes later, I run into the kitchen, hoping and praying that the smoke I was smelling wasn’t my dinner. It is. Despair.

How could I have been so careless? I scrape off the top layer of rice, which amounted to about 2 spoonfuls.On any other day I could have made some more but I didn’t want to cut into the next day’s ration. Two spoonfuls of rice and one carrot later I go to bed, cursing the day I dreamed up this godforsaken plan.

 

Day 5
The last 24 hours. I feel like Paula Radcliffe on the final leg of her marathon. Success is so close, I can smell it.My friend offers me a chocolate chip cookie which I know is technically cheating but I don’t really care anymore. I ran out of foundation last night, so I’m bare-faced all day. The lack of vitamins over the last four days has left me looking dull and tired.  I perked up a little when a stranger in the street said I was looking well, until I realised they were talking to someone behind me.

Forcing down more rice and toast as usual, I savour it this time because I know I won’t have to eat this meal again in a very long time.I’ve finished everything I bought at the start of the week; nothing has been wasted. Apart from my breakdown on Thursday, it went pretty smoothly.

But it definitely brought home to me that I convince myself I need a whole lot of things that I could actually do without. Britain wastes £10 billion of food every year and some conscientious shopping is all that’s required.But still, there is really no excuse to buy Tesco value bread. Save yourself. If I stop buying all those M&Ms my loan might even stretch until the end of term. That said, M&Ms are an essential, right?

Review: Trophy Wife – Bruxism

Rachel Coombes
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0
Review: Trophy Wife – Bruxism

Summarising their musical style self-deprecatingly as ‘ambitionless office disco’, Oxford indie trio Trophy Wife have nevertheless attracted much admiration for the soft-hued tones of their mellow songs. Bruxism, their debut 5-track EP, confirms their fidelity to that particular brand of spare and modest indie pop, particularly given that the band took the risk of moving out of their comfort zone by drafting in a different producer for each track.

Jody Prewett’s delicate vocals floating above the band’s characteristically glittering, shimmering textures provide an ambience befitting Bruxism’s theme: each song is an exploration of that spaced-out zone existing somewhere between being asleep and awake.

Moments in Jody’s life associated with ‘waking dreams’ are captured in the first track, ‘Canopy Shade’, and the last,‘Wolf’, produced by Yannis Philippakis, front-man of fellow Oxford band Foals.

The gentle propulsive quality of the opener, achieved by intermittent entries of subtly funky synth patterns, steers the song away from bland monotony – an ever-present danger with this style of indie pop. Perhaps the most innovative track on the EP, ‘Wolf’ is a hypnotic experiment in textural layering, and, happily, is far removed from any trace of ‘office disco’.

The title track plays with understated and simple guitar solos, but is melodically uninteresting and repetitive in comparison with ‘Sleepwalks’. The latter is produced and mixed by Ewan Pearson, the acclaimed electronic artist and DJ; its mingling tones of brass, strings and glockenspiel create a real freshness unequalled on the other tracks in this collection.

The ambience of ‘Seven Waves’ (which takes delirium as its subject) echoes the song title perfectly, its sighing backing vocals arching overthe beat, and the ebb and flow of its dynamics and instrumental layering setting up a wave-like motion.This sleep-themed release steers clear of being soporific, but still maintains a pleasurably hypnotic vibe that those familiar with Trophy Wife’s first musical ventures will appreciate and enjoy.

The pen is mightier than the ball

Ellie Swinton
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The pen is mightier than the ball

Saturday afternoon, 3pm. Different matches, different pundits, different squads. But one thing stays the same: the famous, overused, and often nonsensical footballing clichés that tumble out of mouths TV screens and radio stations before they can be stopped.

Saturday afternoon, 3pm. Different matches, different pundits, different squads. But one thing stays the same: the famous, overused, and often nonsensical footballing clichés that tumble out of mouths TV screens and radio stations before they can be stopped. “Football is a game of two halves” (can anyone remember the last time it wasn’t?) and “we’ve just got to take it one game at a time” (probably a good idea actually) are just two from an endless list. 
More often than not, you’ll hear a pre-match interview with a manager offering the following pearls of wisdom: “Today we’ve got to go out there and show them what we’ve got. Every game is a cup final because there are no easy games in football and I want to see each player give 110%. Whoever scores first will hold the advantage.” 
Talk about stating the bleeding obvious. After the match you’re more likely to hear something along the lines of: “At the end of the day, the other team wanted it more. We scored too early and we needed to put the game out of reach but we didn’t, were at sixes and sevens for the rest of the match. One team had to lose and today it was us.” Managerial expression is so idiomatic that it begins to lose all meaning.
Meanwhile, some of the most common clichés come during the game itself, such as “it’s end to end stuff”, “this game needs a goal”, “for a big lad he’s good with his feet”, “bring on some fresh legs” and “he went down far too easily.” And just sometimes these begin to grate.
Wouldn’t we miss them if they suddenly disappeared though? You can shout as much as you want at Motty for providing us with endless obscure statistics, at Jamie Redknapp describing everything as “t’rrific” and Andy Gray’s shriek of “take a bow, son”, but I think we’d all agree that football commentary just would not be the same without these phrases. 
“At the end of the day”, they’re “a great advert for the beautiful game”. Football is not just a game of two halves, it’s a game of many clichés.

“Football is a game of two halves” (can anyone remember the last time it wasn’t?) and “we’ve just got to take it one game at a time” (probably a good idea actually) are just two from an endless list. More often than not, you’ll hear a pre-match interview with a manager offering the following pearls of wisdom: “Today we’ve got to go out there and show them what we’ve got. Every game is a cup final because there are no easy games in football and I want to see each player give 110%. Whoever scores first will hold the advantage.” 

Talk about stating the bleeding obvious. After the match you’re more likely to hear something along the lines of: “At the end of the day, the other team wanted it more. We scored too early and we needed to put the game out of reach but we didn’t, were at sixes and sevens for the rest of the match. One team had to lose and today it was us.” Managerial expression is so idiomatic that it begins to lose all meaning.

Meanwhile, some of the most common clichés come during the game itself, such as “it’s end to end stuff”, “this game needs a goal”, “for a big lad he’s good with his feet”, “bring on some fresh legs” and “he went down far too easily.” And just sometimes these begin to grate.

Wouldn’t we miss them if they suddenly disappeared though? You can shout as much as you want at Motty for providing us with endless obscure statistics, at Jamie Redknapp describing everything as “t’rrific” and Andy Gray’s shriek of “take a bow, son”, but I think we’d all agree that football commentary just would not be the same without these phrases.

“At the end of the day”, they’re “a great advert for the beautiful game”. Football is not just a game of two halves, it’s a game of many clichés.

Review: Bj̦rk РBiophilia

En Liang Khong
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Review: Bj̦rk РBiophilia

In the critical attention surrounding Björk’s eighth album, Biophilia, there has been a disturbing trend towards accusing the Icelandic maverick of multidisciplinary overreach. Biophilia is certainly an ambitious project, extending beyond the album to encompass live shows, educational workshops and a suite of apps that somehow manages to incorporate the voice of David Attenborough and essays from the musicologist Nicola Dibben. But it would be a mistake to underestimate Björk’s latest creation.

Since 1993’s Debut, Björk has reveled in characterizing herself outside of convention. This is an artist who is quite simply peerless in her perpetual drive to push forwards the language of contemporary pop music. While 2001’s introverted Vespertine focused on the purely acoustic construction of a Nordic soundscape, the audiovisual imagination of Biophilia delights in subverting this. Biophilia’s apps, each focusing on explaining and playing around a specific musical idea such as counterpoint and tempo, capture the spirit which first drew me to Björk’s music: a propensity for the unpredictable without ever alienating her audience.

The Biophilia song cycle itself has no pretensions to covering new musical ground, and instead returns to Björk’s earlier explorations of space and timbral parameters. Björk’s slightly over-miked voice remains true to the breathy aesthetic of the post-Vespertine era. The lilting melody of ‘Virus’, softly spoken against chiming clusters, is a wonder to behold. ‘I knock on your skin and I am in’, she delicately articulates. Even the lyrics seem to reference the eroticised world of Vespertine and Medúlla.

Parts of the album celebrate Björk’s typical brand of brash experimentalism. The gamaleste, a specially developed gamelan-celeste hybrid, weaves its way through ‘Crystalline’ before the song disintegrates in a burst of Squarepusher-esque cacophony. But the most striking moments reveal themselves in Biophilia’s more intimately shaped pieces. The uneven harmonies set up by the pipe organ and choir of ‘Dark Matter’, through to the sparse setting of Björk’s vocals and pendulum harp in the closing ‘Solstice’ make for deeply affecting music. Biophilia is full of the beauty of a true original.

Tales from the deep: Cherwell Sport tries out Octopush

Caspar Eliot
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Tales from the deep: Cherwell Sport tries out Octopush

My immediate thought when told I would be giving Octopush a go was ‘eh?’, which was then swiftly followed by ‘what, so they thought of a pun and then created a sport around it?’ As it turns out, I wasn’t far off, but as I was to discover that there is a lot more to the beast than mere wordplay.

My immediate thought when told I would be giving Octopush a go was ‘eh?’, which was then swiftly followed by ‘what, so they thought of a pun and then created a sport around it?’ As it turns out, I wasn’t far off, but as I was to discover that there is a lot more to the beast than mere wordplay.
Octopush was created in 1954 by a bunch of Southsea snorkelers who wanted something to do during the long winter months when the channel itself was much too chilly to dare venture into. It also goes by the slightly less exciting name of Underwater Hockey, and that is perhaps the best way to describe it – teams of six (eight when founded, hence the name) compete to push a weighted puck along the floor of the pool with their sticks, and into the opposition’s goal.
Now, I am to swimming what Emile Heskey is to the English football team; loads of effort, well-meaning, but about as effective as a chocolate teapot. Hence, I donned the mandatory mask and snorkel (required so  that you can see what’s happening on the pool floor at all times) with slight trepidation, lest I end up drowning, or worse, embarrassing myself.
We were (both literally and metaphorically) thrown in at the deep end. A brief demo of how to clear your snorkel and avoid a watery grave, some passing practice on the bottom of the pool, and next thing I knew I was in a five-on-five game being told I was left attack. Someone shouted ‘go’, everyone hared it to the puck in the centre of the pool, members of both teams dived down to try and manoeuvre the puck towards the opposition’s goal, and I very quietly swallowed a lot of water. It was very exciting, but by the time someone finally scored a goal, I had no real clue what was going on, and I imagine I wasn’t alone.
It’s nowhere near as violent as water polo, which as far as I can gather involves fourteen crazed individuals scrapping around a pool until someone loses a testicle, but due to the three-dimensional nature of play things can get quite chaotic, the only lull coming when everyone has to come up for air at the same time. In fact, despite the sometimes physical nature, it is actually a unisex sport, as I was informed that the men’s greater speed and strength is countered by women being more able to change direction quickly. What really surprised me is how tiring it was. You’re constantly gasping for breath, all the while trying to work out where the puck’s going next and plan your movements accordingly.
Obviously, as it was being played by beginners, the quality must have been slightly lacking, and I am intrigued to think what a match being played by experienced players, and especially those capable of holding their breath for more than the four seconds I could, would be like. I imagine there would be much more structure, with genuine passing play and patterns, and the communication would be a lot better due to familiarity with your team mates and their styles, strengths and weaknesses.
Would I try it again? No, my deficiencies with snorkel management came to the fore a bit too much, but I can definitely see the allure and I am glad to have had a go. So if you’re a keen snorkeler looking to keep yourself amused, fancy something totally different or are even just a massive fan of pun-based sports, I’d say give it a go. You never know until you try.

Octopush was created in 1954 by a bunch of Southsea snorkelers who wanted something to do during the long winter months when the channel itself was much too chilly to dare venture into. It also goes by the slightly less exciting name of Underwater Hockey, and that is perhaps the best way to describe it – teams of six (eight when founded, hence the name) compete to push a weighted puck along the floor of the pool with their sticks, and into the opposition’s goal.

Now, I am to swimming what Emile Heskey is to the English football team; loads of effort, well-meaning, but about as effective as a chocolate teapot. Hence, I donned the mandatory mask and snorkel (required so  that you can see what’s happening on the pool floor at all times) with slight trepidation, lest I end up drowning, or worse, embarrassing myself.

We were (both literally and metaphorically) thrown in at the deep end. A brief demo of how to clear your snorkel and avoid a watery grave, some passing practice on the bottom of the pool, and next thing I knew I was in a five-on-five game being told I was left attack. Someone shouted ‘go’, everyone hared it to the puck in the centre of the pool, members of both teams dived down to try and manoeuvre the puck towards the opposition’s goal, and I very quietly swallowed a lot of water. It was very exciting, but by the time someone finally scored a goal, I had no real clue what was going on, and I imagine I wasn’t alone.

It’s nowhere near as violent as water polo, which as far as I can gather involves fourteen crazed individuals scrapping around a pool until someone loses a testicle, but due to the three-dimensional nature of play things can get quite chaotic, the only lull coming when everyone has to come up for air at the same time. In fact, despite the sometimes physical nature, it is actually a unisex sport, as I was informed that the men’s greater speed and strength is countered by women being more able to change direction quickly. What really surprised me is how tiring it was. You’re constantly gasping for breath, all the while trying to work out where the puck’s going next and plan your movements accordingly.

Obviously, as it was being played by beginners, the quality must have been slightly lacking, and I am intrigued to think what a match being played by experienced players, and especially those capable of holding their breath for more than the four seconds I could, would be like. I imagine there would be much more structure, with genuine passing play and patterns, and the communication would be a lot better due to familiarity with your team mates and their styles, strengths and weaknesses.

Would I try it again? No, my deficiencies with snorkel management came to the fore a bit too much, but I can definitely see the allure and I am glad to have had a go. So if you’re a keen snorkeler looking to keep yourself amused, fancy something totally different or are even just a massive fan of pun-based sports, I’d say give it a go. You never know until you try.

Blessing Force: assemble and unite!

Thomas May
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Blessing Force: assemble and unite!

Essentially it’s a collection of friends, mainly musicians and artists, who have all started up new projects at a similar time,’ Kit of Trophy Wife tells me, explaining the concept behind Blessing Force, the collective which has been operating in Oxford for just over a year. At this summer’s Field Day festival in London I caught up with two of the collective’s leading lights, the three piece Trophy Wife and Hugo Manuel, whose solo work operates under the moniker Chad Valley. Kit goes on, ‘We like the idea that when someone checks out our band they’ll then directly go and check out another band or artist from Blessing Force.’

Not everyone has been so enthusiastic, though, and the collective has attracted criticism from both within Oxford and further afield. Locally based rapper Asher Dust has made his feelings clear on his track ‘Force The Blessing’. ‘He raps about how we’re really middle class, which is true, and we’re white, which is true, and we’re racist because there are no black people in Blessing Force,’ Hugo explains, evidently perplexed by what he sees as the rapper’s warped logic. ‘It’s really insulting.’ Such misinformed and downright vicious attacks on the group seem only to have strengthened the loyalty of its artists however, and both Trophy Wife and Chad Valley describe Blessing Force as something they are ‘proud to be part of’.

Hugo is much less enthusiastic about the other scene that he has found his Chad Valley project bundled into: chillwave. ‘It’s really enclosed, restrictive,’ he says, expressing his desire to move away from the label. ‘I’m focusing on getting my production much more slick and classic and I’m listening to a lot of records from the 70s. I don’t want to be really influenced by what’s going on around me.’ Although describing himself as ‘flattered’ by the countless comparisons to Washed Out, it is obvious that Hugo has found himself somewhat exasperated in his attempts to forge a unique musical identity for Chad Valley.

Aside from his solo work, Hugo’s other involvements include the four piece Jonquil, whose take on sunny afro-pop has seen them develop into one of the most exciting bands working in Oxford today. Hugo tells me about their new album, set for release early next year. ‘We’ve moved away from the tropical thing, I was listening to loads of African guitar music but now it’s more straight ahead pop songs. There’s a lot of Fleetwood Mac in there.’

Also cropping up in conversation with Trophy Wife, Fleetwood Mac were cited by the band as an influence on their upcoming EP, Bruxism, the inaugural release on Blessing Force’s new record label. ‘We’ve pushed ourselves in a new direction,’ Jody explains, ‘the idea was to expand our sound a bit.’ The band assures me, however, that their core sound of ‘funky bass lines, slapping beats’ juxtaposed with Jodbry’s fragile vocals will remain unchanged.

After animated talk of new projects in the works, our conversations end on a more poignant note as we turn towards the subject of Oxford’s Truck Festival, which was liquidated in August. ‘It’s a real shame. I’ve been going there since I was about 13,’ Hugo tells me, visibly saddened by the news. Trophy Wife react similarly but are able to introduce some degree of optimism as Kit laughs, ‘It just leaves it open for Andrew Mears [formerly of Youthmovies and lynchpin of Blessing Force] doesn’t it? There’s talk of a Blessing Force festival starting up.’ As our conversation quickly turns to ‘just having a bonfire in a field and getting fucked’, it becomes less certain whether or not this is a serious suggestion. Either way, with Blessing Force around, Oxford’s music scene is looking as healthy as ever.

Hockey Blues fall to Exeter

Matt Nicol
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Hockey Blues fall to Exeter

Oxford Men’s hockey team kicked off their season on Wednesday in the hardest possible fashion. Their opening BUCS game of the year was against an Exeter first side that won the championship last year and are currently high-flying in the National Hockey Premier League.

Oxford Men’s hockey team kicked off their season on Wednesday in the hardest possible fashion. Their opening BUCS game of the year was against an Exeter first side that won the championship last year and are currently high-flying in the National Hockey Premier League. 
A brief discussion with the capacity crowd informed me just how unfancied Oxford were. This contest was the equivalent of the Blues football team playing the Blackburn Rovers first team, and damage limitation seemed to be on the agenda. They were not wrong; it was hard, it was fast paced, and it was autumnal. It was a fixture that required Herculean effort, from which the Blues have many positives to draw.
Although the 6-1 defeat may seem like a crushing one in terms of scoreline, what will live longest in the memory to those watching is not the excellence of the Exeter outfield, rather the string of top class short corner saves made by the Exeter goalkeeper in the second half. He acrobatically kept Oxford from narrowing the gap during their periods of ascendancy, preventing them from making the scoreline more respectable.
Iffley Astroturf was bathed in both natural sunlight and the glare of its floodlights as I approached. Two things seemed apparent: firstly a blatent lack of concern for energy consumption, but more importantly in the context of the game was the superior intensity of the Exeter side, who were playing in green. Despite the din of the jet washers and the metronomic tick-tock of hockey balls they seemed unbelievable focussed, responding militarily to the orders barked out by their weather-beaten South African coach.
He was a terrifying man who led them from the front in terms of focus. As I surreptitiously listened to their pre-game talk it seemed he was a psychologist too, insisting that Exeter “could only beat themselves”. His side responded with a pre-game roar that comfortably eclipsed the meeker Oxford equivalent. Exeter had already completed nine weeks of preseason, my friend explained to me as I bottled approaching the Exeter coach myself. They were already well into their season, whereas Oxford were just warming up. 
This was not so apparent in the opening exchanges. As they followed the footsteps of their female colleagues, who had suffered a 4-0 defeat earlier in the day, the Oxford men battled hard during the opening exchanges. The opening 15 minutes were scrappy and disjointed, with no side able to build any passing play. Barring a couple of goalmouth scrambles excitement was at a premium, and evidently this was to the frustration of the Oxford coach John Shaw who sought to play a short possession game. He frustratedly exclaimed “are you joking?” as yet another long pass went amiss.
Shaw paced his touchline in a manner reminiscent of Jose Mourinho in his prime, and like the Portuguese football manager he had words of polite criticism for the match officials. His mood did not improve as the deadlock was broken by a mazy Exeter dribble and slotted finish. Before Oxford knew what had hit them they were 2-0 down after another attacking move. Only twenty minutes had elapsed, and before they knew it the deficit was at two goals.
A third was conceded soon before half time as an Exeter attacker found a yard of space before unleashing a rocket of a shot into the top corner. It was a goal of pure class to end the first 35 minutes of the contest and Oxford

A brief discussion with the capacity crowd informed me just how unfancied Oxford were. This contest was the equivalent of the Blues football team playing the Blackburn Rovers first team, and damage limitation seemed to be on the agenda.

They were not wrong; it was hard, it was fast paced, and it was autumnal. It was a fixture that required Herculean effort, from which the Blues have many positives to draw. Although the 6-1 defeat may seem like a crushing one in terms of scoreline, what will live longest in the memory to those watching is not the excellence of the Exeter outfield, rather the string of top class short corner saves made by the Exeter goalkeeper in the second half. He acrobatically kept Oxford from narrowing the gap during their periods of ascendancy, preventing them from making the scoreline more respectable.

Iffley Astroturf was bathed in both natural sunlight and the glare of its floodlights as I approached. Two things seemed apparent: firstly a blatant lack of concern for energy consumption, but more importantly in the context of the game was the superior intensity of the Exeter side, who were playing in green.

Despite the din of the jet washers and the metronomic tick-tock of hockey balls they seemed unbelievable focussed, responding militarily to the orders barked out by their weather-beaten South African coach. He was a terrifying man who led them from the front in terms of focus. As I surreptitiously listened to their pre-game talk it seemed he was a psychologist too, insisting that Exeter “could only beat themselves”. His side responded with a pre-game roar that comfortably eclipsed the meeker Oxford equivalent.

Exeter had already completed nine weeks of preseason, my friend explained to me as I bottled approaching the Exeter coach myself. They were already well into their season, whereas Oxford were just warming up. This was not so apparent in the opening exchanges. As they followed the footsteps of their female colleagues, who had suffered a 4-0 defeat earlier in the day, the Oxford men battled hard during the opening exchanges. The opening 15 minutes were scrappy and disjointed, with no side able to build any passing play. Barring a couple of goalmouth scrambles excitement was at a premium, and evidently this was to the frustration of the Oxford coach John Shaw who sought to play a short possession game.

He frustratedly exclaimed “are you joking?” as yet another long pass went amiss. Shaw paced his touchline in a manner reminiscent of Jose Mourinho in his prime, and like the Portuguese football manager he had words of polite criticism for the match officials. His mood did not improve as the deadlock was broken by a mazy Exeter dribble and slotted finish. Before Oxford knew what had hit them they were 2-0 down after another attacking move. Only twenty minutes had elapsed, and before they knew it the deficit was at two goals.

A third was conceded soon before half time as an Exeter attacker found a yard of space before unleashing a rocket of a shot into the top corner. It was a goal of pure class to end the first 35 minutes of the contest and Oxfordlooked like they would have their work cut out to maintain respectibility in the second period.

The biggest complaint for Exeter at this point was their lack of half time refreshments and the jog to the team huddle was the greatest exertion of the Exeter keeper at this point. This was to change in the second half. After several sustained periods of pressure from the Oxford offense the Exeter side began to concede short corner after short corner; five in total.

At this point however, Exeter and England under 21 Goalkeeper Chris Rea came into his own, going through the full repertoire of diving stops as he kept these out in order to keep a clean sheet. Each save seemed to surpass the previous one, with the fifth defying belief as he got the edge of his stick to a flick that seemed destined for the glory of the top corner.

Oxford did manage a consolation goal towards the end of the second half, coming from a well worked move down the right, that Stobbart proded home from close range. The biggest cheer of the day however, was saved for the Oxford fresher goalkeeper, who successfully kept out a penalty flick low to his right.

Despite having a man down at this point for an intentional foot offense, Exeter pressed on, scoring the fourth, fifth and sixth goals. Although Oxford will be disappointed by the scoreline there is much encourage to be had by their performance. They must forget about the result against an incredibly talented and well drilled Exeter side, and take the positives from Wednesday night into the rest of their season. 

Varsity Trip sold out in record time

Cherwell News
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Varsity Trip sold out in record time

This year’s Varsity ski trip has proved to be more popular than ever, selling out within minutes of booking opening.

 The 2010 trip sold out in 28 hours. The level of demand last Monday, however, exceeded expectation. Two hours after booking opened at 8am the queue had risen to 5,700, for a trip with a capacity of 3,000.

Many students had to wait for several hours to book their place.

One student from Mansfield College commented, “I had to wait for three hours to get my place! I almost missed a tutorial but was just glad I was one of the lucky ones and got on, a few of my friends didn’t quite manage it.” Facebook, meanwhile, was littered with frustrated comments by those waiting. Alex Irons posted, “Queue time 4 hours 32 min. FML.”

Once the demand for places became clear the Varsity trip committee set about trying to arrange more accommodation, securing an extra 200 beds. In response to a query about the possibility of more space on the trip, a spokesperson for the Committee said, “We’re looking into getting some more but we’ve pretty much filled up the resort, and it’s a bit too cold to put up tents so our options are quite limited…especially this late in the day.”

The Varsity Trip is an annual snowsports event that plays host to the Blues Races, where the top Oxford and Cambridge skiers have battled it out since 1922. In recent years the trip has significantly expanded to become the largest student-run ski trip in the world, and includes an extensive entertainment programme featuring artists such as Calvin Harris.

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