Monday, May 12, 2025
Blog Page 195

How to effectively pair food and wine

Archie Moss
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<a href=How to effectively pair food and wine" title="How to effectively pair food and wine" />

It was only six months ago that I began to take a real interest in wine, and it has significantly enhanced my appreciation for good food. When ordering at a restaurant, or enjoyed a meal at home, I found that I would accompany my meal with water or perhaps a soft drink. However, water often dampens flavours from the food and a soft drink may annihilate them altogether. The effect of a well-chosen wine can help enhance these flavours, tying over the tastebuds between bites. Although discerning the correct wine from an array of choices can seem daunting, hopefully this short piece will help to shed light on the process and elevate your next evening with friends or date night.

         I would like to highlight a particular work that has really deepened my initially rudimentary understanding of viniculture, and that is Karen McNeil’s The Wine Bible. This book provides a reference for grape varieties from all over the world, which can help to give context to novice wine drinkers or act as a training manual for hopeful sommeliers. Also provided are some words of wisdom with regards to learning how to pair the perfect wine with your meal. For the student who finds themselves eating a variety of foods, McNeil advises consideration of a wine’s flexibility. A wine with high acidity will lead to you wanting to take another bite, which would be complimented with more wine and the meal is nicely brought together. Red wines with high acidity may include Californian Pinot Noirs or red Burgundies. Fruity reds will have a similar effect: think Zinfandel or a simple Italian wine, making these choices very flexible. Another simple trick is to match like with like. For example, a dish including pork and apple would be paired nicely with a white wine with notes of apple, which will usually be described on a wine’s label.

         For novice wine buyers, the number of varieties and countries of origin can be overwhelming. However, I encourage readers to venture into many of the local wine shops which operate in Oxford. Many of the offerings are surprisingly reasonably priced, and shop assistants are usually more than happy to provide advice accommodating any budget. If asked what kind of wine you are looking for, then let your dinner plans be your guide. Rather than mentioning a specific grape, mention which meal you intend to pair the wine with, and a suitable wine will be recommended to you. A final word: remember what you like! Make a note of wines you have enjoyed and buy them again and again. Everyone’s palate is different, and the best advice I can give is to buy what you like. With this in mind, I hope you find wine shopping a little easier in future and you enjoy your Christmas break.

Image Credit: Pixabay via Pexels.

‘After Life’: A review

Julia Males
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‘After Life’: A review

If you could choose one memory to live with for the rest of your life, what would it be? 

Despite their name, Last Minute Productions has us in good hands with their production of After Life (23rd-26th November). 

The original play by Jack Thorne, based on Hirokazu Kore-eda’s 1998 film of the same name, debuted in 2021 in the National Theatre’s smallest space: the Dorfman Theatre. With this in mind, Lucas Ipkendanz and Daisy Gosal’s refreshingly intimate, coordinated and dreamlike adaptation was very much at home in the cosy black box of the Michael Pilch studio.

The play sees those entering the afterlife asked “If you could choose one memory to live with for the rest of your life, what would it be?”. A team of ‘guides’ then re-creates this memory and it is recorded for the ‘guided’, to replace all other memories. Much of the play situates itself in the interview process, as the characters, with varying resistance, talk through their possible choices. Inescapably, the lives and attitudes of the ‘guides’ begin to interfere.

The bittersweet humour in After Life catches you off guard. It is at once sharply funny and sad, a bit like a good Black Mirror episode, but without all the violence. 

Composer Rose Olver’s expert original score was  professional, cinematic and dazzling, and the fragile, wobbling, ambient undertones gave After Life a strong finesse. Tom Anderson’s lighting and tech operation was accurate and well-done. Sonya Luch’s set design was minimal and effective: several large plastic crates served multi-functionally as table, chair, and platform. 

Many of the characters do not interact with each other, so it is down to The ‘Guides’  – those here to make us feel at home in the after life – provide a linking constancy in the play. They are a strong group, with fraught dynamics: Emma Pollock (Five) was a formidable and amusing boss with a harmonica. Gracie Oddie-James (Four) was a hilarious, emotive scene-stealer, with a beautiful dynamic with father-like Nici Marks (Two). Siena Jackon Wolfe (Beatrice) and Agnes Halladay (Jill) were excellent character actors in particular.  The ‘guided’ – that is, the deceased who are asked to choose their memory – rose from the Pilch’s seating in a stunning directorial choice which reminds us of the unity between Thorne’s protagonists and his audience. The play presents memories as permeable, fragile  and fickle, making it difficult to pose the same question to ourselves.

In After Life, some are frustrated with the lack of judgement they receive, while others just want freedom from the central choice that dominates the play. Hero (Ariadne Si Suo) was a sweepingly sympathetic character, whose chosen memory  – a moment with his ethereal, ghostly wife (Avania Costello) – was fantastically sad:

“I don’t feel like she loves me at the moment. But she is my best friend… […] I’m a good man.”

The script leaves the play in a state of significant cheesiness. Spoiler alert: the guides bid good-bye to one of their own. There are hugs. Teary goodbyes, but they’re just inescapably overshadowed by the strongly emotive and more sympathetic characters that have just left.   We are tired of goodbyes by the time one of the Guides – Nici Marks’ Two –  tries to follow them, claiming his own best memory, as the guiding process itself. It feels overdone, and the script ends with a whimper. 

But Last Minute Productions rescued it from this fate. The adorable concluding sequence, in which a series of home-made videos are projected onto the Pilch’s back wall, turns the central question outwards, to the cast and crew themselves:

“If you could choose one memory to live with for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

They draw their memory on paper as we hear it. It was an ending that was both tender and grounded in realism, a welcome awakening from the stage hugs and hamminess that concluded the script.

After Life was an understated joy – a brilliant, bittersweet highlight of Week 7.

Image credit: Last Minute Productions

“In here, it’s just pretending…”: ‘Posh’ and the brilliance of impersonation.

Julia Males
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“In here, it’s just pretending…”: ‘Posh’ and the brilliance of impersonation.

According to its marketing, An Exciting New Productions’ Posh promises to “bring ‘Oxford’, to Oxford”. A staging of the elusive, super-elite leagues of Oxford University, as seen in Posh’s ‘Riot Club’, is certainly relevant given the direct links between current UK Cabinets and the real-life Bullingdon Club on which the play is based. 

Laura Wade’s play Posh debuted a month before the 2010 General Election, from which Cameron and Clegg emerged as an infamous coalition. Twelve years later, wobbly Tory leadership is hardly unfamiliar to the audiences of An Exciting New’s November production at the Pilch. In the wake of Rishi Sunak’s Prime Ministerial ascension, without a General Election since 2019, concerns over who has power, and what they get away with, resonate more than ever. While it is no novelty to be confronted with the lack of accountability from those in power, enabled by enormous wealth and privilege, Brook and Trim’s production is a refreshing take. 

Harry Brook’s set design imitates the dining room, impressively elaborate compared to the typically minimalist sets one might expect of a black box studio like the Pilch. The dining table takes a central position in the small space, with seats about a metre behind the table, an ingenious echo that places the audience peering over the shoulders of the dinner guests. The chairs we sit on are the same Pilch-property ones that the rioters use. Further, the lighting, designed and operated by Orli Wilkins, beams not only over the supposedly riotous action but also casts an illuminating light on the audience. Like the characters, we are inescapably aware of each other, bar monologues accompanied by spotlight. But we are, of course, unwelcome guests at the Riot Club table. 

Working with the stark lighting, the cast do an excellent job at making us feel uncomfortable. Magnificently unpleasant performances must be credited to Maizie Lambert (Harry), Arya Nagwani (George), and newcomer Susannah Wiedman (Miles). Katie Peachey as Dmitri had a stunning stage presence, as did Frankie Kuczynska as Toby, particularly in one startlingly rousing monologue in which she stomped across the table. The tension between Dmitri and Guy (Hope Kelly) is energetic and uncomfortable, a credit to the actors. Flashes of what we might interpret as a conscience in vaguely more sensitive characters provided contrast to the over-the-top chauvinism, for example those of Leah Aspden (Hugo), Sarah Hussan (James) and Imogan Boxall (Ed). 

The production’s majority non-cis-male cast perform an entitled yet underlyingly anxious masculinity, as they stride, chests-first, around the small performance-space. Ailish Gaughan’s costume design straddles an interesting boundary, as beautifully fitted full tailcoats and suits were paired with the entire cast’s infuriatingly good hair. It was refreshing to see that no attempts were made to re-figure the gender presentation of the cast – long ponytails and glittering earrings swinging. It placed the emphasis instead on a self-aware contrivance of characters and types; these actors are performing a brand of chauvinistic masculinity, just as much as the characters they depict. This resounds well with the script’s emphasis on rehearsing tradition, imitating the past:

“In here, it’s just pretending, isn’t it?”.

Boozy political scorn veers from euphemism to explicit – “I fucking hate poor people” – slurs Alistair, brilliantly performed by Bronte Shelbourne. Emphasising this growing explicitness, credit must be given to the show’s prop design, placing more and more wine bottles on the table as the play unfolds and the characters develop (or rather, degenerate).

The much-anticipated trashing scene is of course a challenge to stage. Co-Producer / Co-Director duo Harry Brook and Ice Trim re-imagine the scene as a slow-moed, extravagant dance that comes to an abrupt halt at its climax. Brook’s classical soundscape, with advice from Cameron Hutchinson, supports the scene’s imitative quality, as the cast clamber onto the table, physically sparring over an armchair-turned-throne. Trim and Brook’s choreography sends the cast briefly, wonderfully, into a thundering and parodic ballet.

Whether or not intentionally, the set was destroyed by the play’s action. The night I saw it, one of the tapestries surrounding the stage-space was pulled down before the actual ‘trashing’ moment, an apt foregrounding of what was to come, as the cast wreak what feels like real damage, tearing at the set itself. We were reminded of our presence in the Pilch, as the props table, bearing handwritten notes and Sainsbury’s bags, was boldly revealed. It was incredible to see the fourth wall torn down by the club’s riotous energy, and whether this was a stroke of directorial genius or a fantastic accident, it felt like a metaphor for the wider social implications of the act.

Significantly, while much of the play centres on the inner workings of the Club, the confrontations between the rioters and outsiders were handled by incredibly hard-hitting, sympathetic, deft performances from Molly Jones, Jo Rich and Emma Pollock. 

At the end of it all, the audience are left in the wake of their destruction, while tellingly, most of the boys have left the scene, unscathed. 

An Exciting New Production’s Posh is brilliant student theatre, the key strength of which is its own quality of artifice. It lets itself be dismantled both conceptually and physically, to prove and highlight the destructive performances of those in power.

Image credit: An Exciting New Production

“We didn’t do Blackface, but you could argue that we did”: Mathew Baynton on Horrible Histories, type-casting, and his acting career

Meg Lintern and Sahar Rajabali
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“We didn’t do Blackface, but you could argue that we did”: Mathew Baynton on Horrible Histories, type-casting, and his acting career

On November 23rd, Mathew Baynton visited the Oxford Union. There was a frenzy of excitement around his attendance, with members queuing from 5:30pm to attend his 8pm talk. Baynton would go on to address a chamber filled to the maximum capacity, a feat only achieved by one other Union speaker this term: Malala. Before his Q&A with Charlie Mackintosh, he sat down with Cherwell to discuss his life and career. 

Whilst Baynton may not be an A-list celebrity by national standards, for those who watched his onscreen performances in Horrible Histories, Peep Show, and The Wrong Mans during their childhood, he is instantly recognisable. It was hard not to feel starstruck when he entered the room, but Baynton strode in with a disarming smile and an appeal to “call me Matt”. 

Baynton’s career trajectory has been far from smooth. Despite his early aspirations to be a musician, he trained with the esteemed “clown guru” Philippe Gaulier. From there, he realised his penchant for comedy. 

When his agent told him about Horrible Histories, he was reluctant to audition for fear of trapping himself in children’s TV: “you can really get on one set of tracks. And before you know it, you turn around and no one will let you jump onto other trains.” Upon reading the scripts, however, Baynton decided that “these are really funny”, and he was drawn by the fact that there was “lots of dressing up”. “The rest”, he says, “is history”.

For post-2000s babies, almost all of our early historical education came from Horrible Histories. Baynton says that the influence of the show is “humbling”. 

“Quite by chance, I ended up in this show that educated people [because] it was entertaining. And so for the first time in my life, I could actually claim that I was doing something of any real benefit other than just enjoying myself.” 

However, educating a generation about their national history comes with a significant burden of responsibility. The individuals that are chosen to be represented, and the shapes that this representation takes, significantly impacts popular memory of the past, especially as it is these memories that form the basis for our preconceptions of history. We ask Baynton about the process of choosing characters to feature in the show, and how this process would change today, especially in the context of race. 

“The first thing to say is, [I] didn’t create or produce it. I wrote a few sketches on it. But was originally just cast in it. 

“That whole issue is one worthy of continuous discussion. The line has been moving. We didn’t do blackface, for example, but you could argue that we did. Because I played Egyptians, you know, for example, where you’d get a spray tan, essentially, and stand in your pants. That whole sort of issue, I think, is one worthy of continuous discussion.

“It’s a really difficult one, because on one side, that was a gang show, essentially. And we were the gang and we were sort of portraying everyone. Now the producers obviously realised that there was a line, because when it came to dealing with Africans and African Americans and slavery, for example, which we touched on, [they] quite rightly cast other people.

“I’m sure now that the core ensemble is more diverse than we were as a core ensemble, where the approach then was basically a bunch of white people.” 

In comparison to much comedy that dates back over a decade, Horrible Histories has aged surprisingly well. “There was a real desire to shine a light on ignored figures. And you know, I remember we did stuff on Mary Seacole quite early on, for example.”

Despite this, there are still parts of the show that may not fit with modern standards surrounding diversity and inclusivity, especially considering the rapid changes to onscreen representation across the last decade.  

“It’s funny, because I look at things [like] Little Britain, for example. Well, you might think that that it have seemed obviously wrong at the time. But I never would have dreamed, then, that a few years later, I’d be looking back at Horrible Histories and going, ‘not sure I should have been playing that’. I think that just shows how we all have to be allowed to some extent to learn and grow and move with the times.”

Baynton is no stranger to comedy’s potential for controversy. He tells us, “there was a brief moment of controversy over Horrible Histories when the Brexit special got put together. And I was really shocked that just presenting history could become hotly political. It really surprised me; I was like, what? This is a song in a sketch in a sketch show on CBBC. And not just that, but one that was done 11 or something years ago.”

In his later Q&A with Union President Charlie Mackintosh, Baynton would go on to describe the backlash against the sketch as “a culture war thing”, with political commentators choosing to paint it as “anti-British drivel”. He disputed the idea that we need to move on from being ashamed of our past, telling the chamber that “shame has a really important function… guilt is a really important part of rearing a child.” 

He argues that children remember the discomfort of being told off for doing something wrong, and thus remember not to repeat their mistakes: “That’s what becomes a conscience. That’s learned through the community – same with a society. Shame has to have a function.” 

“It is a grown up thing to live with shame. It doesn’t mean that I can’t have pride. [We can] hold seemingly contradictory things at the same moment.”  

Another risk that comes with creating a comedy loosely based on history or historical figures is an audience misconstruing elements that serve purely as entertainment with education. Baynton told us, “A lot of people presume because we were the guys in Horrible Histories, that Ghosts is meant to be sort of historically accurate, and it’s really not like. For example, Humphrey, the Tudor, speaks like a modern person; and Mary [a ghost who was burned as a witch], who’s from a more recent time, still speaks… well, she doesn’t speak the way people spoke then, she speaks just this crazy way. 

“The truth actually was really rich, like, you can find a lot of inspiring stuff. So there are elements that are historically accurate, but we only use them if they help us write a story, or make something funny. You know, Mary, for example, was obviously burned as a witch, which didn’t happen. Really. I think maybe there were one or two, but for the most part –  and this is fun – women were hanged for heresy. That was the way it was, that was the way we purged these witches.”

During his time in Horrible Histories, Baynton played a broad range of characters from Charles II to William Shakespeare. However, he often ended up assuming the role of heartthrob or showboat. In Ghosts, a show aimed at an older audience but devised and performed by the Horrible Histories troupe, the process of choosing characters was based largely on the ‘types’ the ensemble were associated with. Baynton told us, “we were really just looking for a good ensemble, like a good mix of characters and archetypes and personalities. And so we spoke about it being like a family, and that you would need a moody teenager. It’s not as if there was ever going to be someone else who played [the moody teenager]. So yeah, initially, I think we all thought we were playing characters that we would find fun, that had nothing to do with us… And then over time, we’ve all kind of realised that there’s an awful lot of us in them. And there’s an embarrassing amount of me in Tom Thorne. 

“I’m not a sex pest, [but] yeah, there were some similarities. I think he and I both share a sort of ridiculous devotion to the idea of romance.” 

Indeed, a lot of Thorne’s artistic passion is derived from Baynton’s own. “I just have the highest appreciation for songs and poems and literature. It’s what makes life worth living. It’s what makes it tolerable even for me. So I didn’t really need to play a poet to have any kind of new appreciation. It’s quite freeing in a way to be able to channel my kind of own artistic failures into a character and make light of them. It’s like airing your slightly embarrassing teenage diaries or something. 

“My hope was to be a brilliant sort of singer songwriter like Jeff Buckley or something and break people’s hearts and make them cry when I sang. And that didn’t turn out to be possible for me. But I can enjoy that through Thomas and sort of laugh at the pomposity of [it]. Why shouldn’t a teenager dream that big? I should let myself off the hook a bit as well.”

Creating a comedy aimed at an adult audience offered Baynton and the Horrible Histories troupe new opportunities when producing Ghosts, especially in the potential for innuendo. Nonetheless, one of the rare qualities of both shows is their agelessness: they can appeal to audiences irregardless of generational divides. Baynton told us, “Everyone sort of cottoned on to the fact that [to] make it funny for kids, you just make it funny. And so, with Ghosts, [the] approach really wasn’t that different. And I guess by then we’d sort of got a taste for the fact that you get a bit more inventive if you can’t sort of swear, or if you kind of have to skirt around the subject. And you know, we take quite a lot of delight in people, entendres, and stuff like that.” 

Towards the end of our interview, Mathew Baynton rapped the Horrible Histories’ “Monarchs Song” with Charlie Mackintosh, remembering a fair majority of the words. In the following Q&A, a member of the Union asked him to sing the “King of Bling” song, and Baynton’s voice was joined by an ensemble of hundreds of Oxford students who had memorised every word. That entire songs can still be etched in the memories of a generation is proof of the cultural relevance of TV history. Whilst this has solidified Baynton and the Horrible Histories troupe as national treasures, it does urge us to question how we present our past, and which figures we choose to shine a light on. 

Editor’s note: This article was amended on Sunday 11th of December to correct an accidental misquote that purported that Baynton himself had said “we need to move on from shame.”, when he was rather paraphrasing the arguments of those such as Boris Johnson and Liz Truss.

“Do you want to be a leader or a follower?”: In conversation with Claire Adler

Wang Sum Luk
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“Do you want to be a leader or a follower?”: In conversation with Claire Adler

Practically all of us have, at some point, been unsure about where we’re headed after university. It’s certainly not an anxiety that’s unique to our generation—and, after having conducted this interview, I might be so optimistic as to say that it’s no bar to success.

When I met with Claire Adler on a drizzly Sunday morning, this concern was one of the first things we discussed. She explained that she had studied French and German at UCL, but that graduating was an “uncomfortable and painful” experience, since she’d enjoyed her time at university and found herself directionless afterwards. What little institutional guidance she received to help her choose a career consisted of an automated quiz, which informed her that she ought to become a factory inspector. She found work in educational publishing and charity for some time, but a turning point came when she decided to take a course on communications, titled “Introduction to Feature Writing”, at the University of the Arts London.

“This was the two days which I felt most prepared me for a livelihood”, she tells me, explaining that it gave her the confidence to pursue writing as a career. At the time working part-time in a telesales job, she set up a second office in her parents’ home and began applying what she’d learned on the course as a freelance writer. For over ten years from that point onwards, she wrote articles about the luxury goods market for a range of major news outlets (the Financial Times, Washington Post and Telegraph, amongst others), as well as for lifestyle magazines which you might find “in an airport lounge, or in Harrods, or on an EasyJet flight, or in a posh hotel somewhere”.

In 2016 she left journalism to become self-employed as a public relations consultant. “I kind of did everything by getting in through the back door, by teaching myself,” she says, noting that her career path was an unconventional route which wouldn’t suit everyone. Now, as the founder of Claire Adler Luxury PR, she represents jewellery brands and diamond-related businesses, specializing in “press relations”, or giving her clients visibility in the media.

Growing a small business via such an unconventional path is challenging, especially in the present economic circumstances, but she explains how she has gotten where she is: “what’s underpinning my clients is my own reputation; it’s why they come to me, it’s why they stay with me, it’s how I’m gonna get new clients”. As her job rests on communicating why her clients are remarkable to the media, she explains that she needs to carefully choose trustworthy clients who she is confident she can deliver results for. Notable journalists receive literally thousands of emails daily from companies seeking press coverage, she tells me, so a client’s story has to stand out for them to take notice.

One such client is Barbara Tipple, a prestigious bespoke jeweller who Adler points out received an honorary PhD for her work, an atypical achievement in this field. She recounts initially being uncertain about how she might represent Ms. Tipple to the media, until a meeting between the two at a Mayfair hotel provided Adler with the perfect detail to explain what set her jewellery work apart. At the meeting, Ms. Tipple had—quite casually—mentioned that she’d been commissioned to make a bejewelled key, at the price tag of thirty thousand pounds, for a “billion-pound (or billion-dollar, I don’t want to misquote) yacht”. The fact that Ms. Tipple’s work was admired by what Adler calls “crazy rich” people offered the perfect anecdote to demonstrate what made her so special.

But while punchy anecdotes and effective pitches might be what she’s expected to deliver now, she tells me that luxury journalism and PR wasn’t always like this. Having worked in this field since before the iPhone came out, she’d spent her days as a journalist dealing with press releases which had been obviously and poorly translated from French, sent in “from big luxury houses which should probably not be named and which should have known better”. This was part of what motivated her to do better and pitch more effectively, something which changes in attention spans and a shift to social media marketing has necessitated across this business.

Nowadays, she’ll showcase her clients’ products through social media or via influencers, but Adler points out that many clients still “want to be on CNN, on BBC”, using traditional media outlets to give an in-depth look at their work. This might involve promoting a product directly, creating articles about the history and expertise behind a firm, or presenting a client as an authority in a field capable of giving expert comment on relevant issues—though she tells me that her ultimate goal is to give her clients an audience that is “diverse, relevant and broad”.

However, we can’t talk about PR in the modern day without bringing up the problem of greenwashing, and more broadly how corporations pay lip service to supporting social causes to improve their reputations and sell their products. On this, Adler states simply, “At the heart of it is morality. Do you want to be a moral brand?…Do you want to be ethical in private?”. She tells me that her mother taught her the phrase “do you want to be a leader or a follower?”, explaining that brands can choose to merely follow the social trends of the day, but that there is also an opportunity for them to lead in making real change.

For her, vegan leather is an example of this phenomenon. Despite its buzzword-friendly name, she notes that there are concerns about the plastics which some vegan leather brands use, and whether those are biodegradable or environmentally safe. However, there are also manufacturers in this field—such as Mirum, a manufacturer of plant-based fabric which Ralph Lauren and Stella McCartney have invested in—who have taken this opportunity to truly innovate and create more ethical products. A company which is unethical and dishonest risks being found out and losing any goodwill it might have, meaning that from the perspective of morality and business, it’s simply better to “be a leader, and show your commitment to the right thing”.

One such “right thing” she believes in is the Brand Solidarity campaign. Founded in March this year by her mentor Marcel Knobil—who she speaks enthusiastically about her trust and admiration for—this campaign aimed to show solidarity for Ukraine by encouraging brands to, at minimum, place the Ukrainian flag in their logos. This campaign was also supported by Marina Pesenti, the former director of the Ukrainian Institute London, who linked its work to grassroots protests against brands such as Unilever and Turkish Airlines which had not withdrawn from Russia, stating that Brand Solidarity was “reaching well beyond [the] Ukrainian community, trying to mobilize brands”. Adler likewise has nothing but praise for Knobil’s project, calling it a way for brands to “use their audiences, their platforms, their influence, to garner support” for the Ukrainian cause.

Of course, not all of Adler’s work is centered around such social causes. My final question for her is about what, in a time when the problem of wealth inequality is being increasingly scrutinized, the luxury industry has to offer the average person.

She states simply that luxury “might not be relevant to some people”. Diamonds and other jewels are not just bought for their aesthetic value, but because “some of the items in the luxury world are investments for the future”, which retain their value even in times of economic downturn. Mentioning the auction of the Williamson Pink Star diamond this October, which sold for fifty-two million pounds—a record-setting price per carat for any diamond, especially in a time of economic uncertainty, and more than double the twenty-one million pounds Sotheby’s estimated it to sell for—she states that “one of the headline news stories is the cost of living, yet at the top end of the market, for the very, very rich, such items are fascinating, because they are proving resilient to recession in some cases”.

But luxury goods aren’t just valuable as investments for the ultra-rich. Adler brings up the recently released movie Mrs. Harris Goes To Paris, about a cleaning lady who dreams of owning a Dior dress, as an encapsulation of the non-economic value of luxury items, saying that “a bit of luxury, a bit of seeing yourself in a different light…can transport you and make you feel special”. What these items offer, more than anything, is “this idea of dreaming for something”.

She makes a passionate case for what she believes in, whether that’s doing her very best to represent her clients, using brands to support social causes, or the real value of luxury goods. As I leave our meeting, I continue wondering about the dream she advertises, and how it might fit with the world I live in.

Image credit: Jon Cottam

Films to romanticise Oxford

Darren Trisno
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Films to romanticise Oxford

Many of us came into the new academic year with bright eyes, excited to once again meet our friends, partake in fun adventures and relish in everything Oxford had to offer us. For freshers especially, we could not stop ourselves from snapping photos of the campus, the Rad Cam (inside and out), the quads, the chapels, and everything in between. But now, we are well into the term. The once beautiful chapel is now an irritating source of incessant bells, that distract us every time we start an essay. “I can’t believe we get to stay in this old-timey quad!” has now been replaced with “I can’t believe we have to stay in this old, broken down building.”

The romance, the twinkle in our eyes, is gone. Corrupted and destroyed by looming deadlines, complicated relationships and that one committee member from your society that will not pull his weight. Maybe it’s time to take a step back, pop on a film, and fall in love with Oxford once again. Here is my list of films to help romanticise it all: 

  1. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Yes, this was an obvious entry. More known for being in the site of these films than our academic achievements, many Oxfordians have resorted to pretending they are going to a Defense Against The Dark Arts class, not another boring lecture. However, let me make a case for The Goblet of Fire as the film that stirs up the most Oxford romanticism. This is the first Harry Potter film with actual romance: Ron and Hermione, Harry and Cho, dancing at the ball. Single or attached, enjoy that first hint of young romance and dream of being ‘Oxloved’ because of your cute outfit. The film also has a character embodying everyone you meet here in Oxford. The BNOCs in Cedric Diggory, the hidden beauties (with scholar’s gowns?) in Hermione, the helplessly romantically inept in Harry and Ron, the kind tutors in Hagrid, the not-so-nice ones in Alastor Moody… or maybe even Voldemort. 

So if you don’t have time for a Harry Potter marathon, watch The Goblet of Fire and pretend that your next problem sheet is a task from the Triwizard tournament.

  1. Dead Poets Society

Dark academia and Oxford are forever intertwined, and no movie celebrates the pursuit of knowledge and the joy of learning more than Dead Poets Society. It captures what learning should be like, the exuberance we should have when tackling our reading lists, allowing us to dream that one day our tutor would be exciting as Mr Keating. More importantly, for those worried about firsts, internships, applications, CVs, and other academic stress, it is a helpful reminder that there is more to life. 

“If you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? – Carpe – hear it? – Carpe, Carpe Diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.”

What small thing can you do today to make your life extraordinary?

  1. Before Sunrise

Much of the beauty of Oxford lies in the people you meet here. The conversations on the quad, or the dining hall, spiral into the most exciting conversations; whether it be existential philosophical questions about life or about what happened on the night of the bop. 

Before Sunrise takes you on a journey of two lovers walking and talking about nothing and everything as they walk the streets of Vienna for a night. The next time you are walking back from a kebab van or Atik at 2am with a friend, imagine you are the main character in this film. With the beauty of Oxford as a background, discover the inner beauty of the people around you. 

  1. X-men: First Class

Okay, a slightly unconventional pick and a very “bro-y” one. But let me justify myself. Firstly, Charles Xavier hits on a woman in a pub that is supposedly set below the Bridge of Sighs, while Mystique disapprovingly looks on. Yes, the pub does not exist. But how cool is that?

Besides that little cameo, this film is another way to embrace the differently talented and equally weird people you meet here. You swear some of them are mutants (how does he club till 3 and then hit the library?). Plus, if you read into this superhero movie deeper, the message for accepting oneself and working together to pull on others’ strengths is an important one to combat the crippling imposter syndrome many of us feel. 

  1. Election

You know those people… the ones who run for these ultra-prestigious roles and will do anything to get it? If you don’t, count yourself lucky. For those who do, take comfort in this film about a high school election gone wrong, with backstabbing, hijinks, and scandals. Of course, this comes perfectly paired with Legally Blonde, with Reese Witherspoon starring in both. If you want to laugh at the hacks after feeling empowered by Elle Woods, put on Election!

  1. Oxford Blues

Harvard gets The Social Network, an expertly crafted, David Fincher-directed, Aaron Sorkin-written, Oscar-winning film. We get Rob Lowe in a teenage rom-com about a red-blooded American boy who falls in love with a picture of an Oxford girl and cons his way into Oxford to meet her. There is rowing, ceilidh, formals, and everything else quintessentially Oxford. Is it the perfect film? No, it borders on “So bad it’s good”. But if you want to turn your mind off and watch a stupid film about stereotypically Oxford Oxford-ing from the most American lens possible, then who knows, maybe you will find yourself cheering the blues on the epic rowing finale (yes you read that right).

Films, and art in general, hold a unique ability to capture beauty, allowing us to see the grandest settings or the most every day places with awe and wonder. Oxford is a beautiful, radiant city. When the stress gets too overwhelming and things are not going the way you want them to, remember to take a deep breath, soak in the sights and let the beauty around you push you forward. If you need a little boost to channel that “main character energy”, turn to these films and pretend (just for a while) that you’re an X-man, a Dead Poets Society member, or a Gryffindor.

A Clockwork Orange: “Kubrick’s masterclass of surrealism, disillusion and delinquency”

Vlad-Silviu Coneschi
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A Clockwork Orange: “Kubrick’s masterclass of surrealism, disillusion and delinquency”

CW: Sexual violence

When we think of Stanley Kubrick, the first thing that comes to mind is a thought-provoking and experimental filmmaker and director, that was behind some of the most influential movies of the 60s, 70s and 80s. One of his most controversial and scabrous films is A Clockwork Orange, an ideological adaptation of the 1962 novel of the same name by Anthony Burgess about sadistic gangs living in a dystopian future filled with grotesque sins.

A Clockwork Orange was an absolute wonder when it hit theatres, bringing something completely new in a film industry that was slowly moving away from violent approaches such as this one. Coming just after Kubrick’s cinematographic masterpiece 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), the movie represented the entire surrealistic vision of Stanley Kubrick, marking this as his most experimental and outrageous creation yet. Although some of his subsequent works made use of some of the techniques and moments from this movie, it remains the one where Kubrick portrayed some of his most striking elements : violence, misogyny, rage, and of course his soft spot for nudity. The film did not hold back from anything, and the incredibly disturbing scenes of rape led to the withdrawal and ban of the movie in the UK, surprisingly at Kubrick’s demand. Stanley Kubrick was also associated with several real-life crimes that were supposedly inspired by the motives and ideas of the film’s main characters.

Apart from the whole brutality of it, the movie itself remains extremely influential and somewhat relevant to this day. It follows Alex, the young leader of the gang, ingeniously played by Malcolm McDowell (who was surprisingly not nominated for an Oscar that year and did the “Kubrick Stare” perfectly), who pushes the other members into acts of severe human deviance. But in the process of it he is caught by the authorities and becomes the subject of a new futuristic conduct-aversion clinical experiment, which reveals itself to actually be a method of torture. This is what makes the movie an instant classic and where the genius mind of Kubrick shines. Leaving aside the very dark and vulgar satire that is the first act, the second act portrays some form of dealing with societal issues. This highlights deeper meanings and ideas, which set it far away from the plain violent start-to-finish movies of the time. 

The accent falls on the sick mind of our main character, Alex, a boy full of obscene thoughts, desperate to set himself apart by acting in the most unhinged ways possible. However, this mind is then subjected to very harsh and most certainly inhumane torture, in order to remove the sinful side of it and leave behind a “normal” individual. But here is where some questions intervene, especially regarding what is left of Alex. Are we still alive if we cannot manifest our own feelings? Is it still a working mind, one that was emptied of personality and filled with neutrality? The experiment represents a test to our moral and psychological ideas, serving as a challenge to the viewers, who, in the end, feel bad for Alex, despite his mad actions in the first half. This represents the brilliance of Kubrick, in the way he ironizes the ultra-violence, only to leave a mark in your mind with the last scenes of the movie. 

A Clockwork Orange remains an absolute classic to this day, with many potent ideas and meanings. It represents the best of Stanley Kubrick’s vision and surrealism, and marks itself as completely unique. These types of movies represented a mental workout for the viewer, a way to leave the cinema bamboozled and desperately craving for a rewatch. Many 70s directors focused on making surrealistic films (Andrei Tarkovsky with Solaris and Stalker, Alejandro Jodorowsky with The Holy Mountain and The Mole), some of which stood the test of time excellently. But now films similar to this have come to an almost complete extinction, so a breath of fresh air in this industry would be very well received. 

Image credit: Rick Harris / CC BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Feline good: Names announced for St John’s kittens

Jack Twyman
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Feline good: Names announced for St John’s kittens

St John’s College has announced the winning names from their competition to decide what the college’s new kittens will be called. 

The three kittens have been named Laud, after William Laud, a controversial Archbishop of Canterbury who was president of the College between 1611 and 1621, later being beheaded by Charles I’s Parliament; Baylie, after Richard Baylie, who was twice president, as well as twice Vice-Chancellor of the University over the 17th century; and Case, after John Case, a former scholar at St John’s who was sent down after becoming entangled with a local widow.

They were welcomed to the President’s Lodgings by St John’s President Dame Sue Black. 

“Christmas has come early” purred the college twitter page.

Members of College were asked to submit name ideas for the newest arrival, which were then decided on by the college community. 

The three kittens are all boys which led some ideas to be discounted. 

Twitter users were delighted to see the announcement, with some declaring “wow” and “adorable”.

The kittens will now grow up on the College site and become prominent members of the St John’s College community, in the mould of other college cats like Simpkin IV of Hertford, and Walter of Exeter.

Image credit: St John’s Twitter

Seasonal Depression: otherwise known as the Michaelmas Blues

Katrin Shabgard
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Content Warning: Seasonal Depression

As Michaelmas draws to a close and the festive season is nearly upon us, the student body finds itself in the awkward interim period of the latter half of term, the Vac still just out of reach. The late November rot has begun to set in, and with it comes the dreaded, but for some unavoidable, seasonal depression. Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD, is a type of depression that waxes and wanes according to seasonal pattern. Whilst somewhat self-explanatory, it tends to manifest more severely in the winter months, as a result of a lack of sunlight exposure, but this is not to say that summer doesn’t bring its own forms of SAD.

The sheer powerlessness to cope with life, let alone the workload, makes university a uniquely miserable place for those suffering with SAD. The passage of time that seems to be set at 1.5x speed only ever accelerates, making missing a day both a shock to the system and to the books. A day missed begins to snowball, and for those fighting off the natural inclination to go into literal hibernation, there is no easy way out. For those struggling to conceptualise, a student when asked to describe their experience with seasonal depression this term, coined it ‘a perpetual 5th week blues’.

While obviously not everyone is affected by this, most people will experience some form of seasonal related blues within their lifetime and some useful things to look out for in yourself and others would be a loss of interest in hobbies, apathy towards daily activities, a low mood, heightened lethargy, or difficulty with concentration or socialisation. 

Emerging from the library bleary eyed and under the cover of darkness is objectively depressing – a lack of sunlight has been directly linked to a lower production of serotonin, known to cause symptoms of depression. Two million people per year in the UK struggle with SAD, and one in six, according to the NHS, struggle with depression. Rates of depression have been notably higher post-pandemic, and the academic environment of any university, but particularly this one, is a minefield of imposter syndrome, depression, and stress-induced anxiety. To add SAD to the mix can be incredibly debilitating for some and it is important to acknowledge and raise awareness about an issue that could be affecting people around you this time of year.

Michaelmas term for students, but particularly Freshers, is the time to socialise and put yourself out there, but for those suffering from SAD or SAD-like symptoms, socialising may be physically and mentally impossible. This only exacerbates the feelings of guilt that come with the overwhelming pressure to make friends in one’s first term at uni. The idea that these are supposed to be the best years of your life is somewhat incompatible when trying to balance academics and the lack of serotonin coursing through your body. For many, the oblivion of sleep calls and this is completely normal, given the disruption of the circadian rhythm during the winter months, as well as the surges of melatonin as a result of fewer daylight hours.

This time of year can be difficult for some, and while this is not a new discovery, it is more important now than ever to look after yourselves and look out for your friends, whether that be attending College Welfare events, talking to someone close or a GP, and even just taking a stroll through Christchurch Meadows. As we approach the end of term, check up on your tute partners, friends, and loved ones, and remember that better (and sunnier) times are ahead, and Christmas is just around the corner.

Image Credit: Mikhail Nilov via Pexels.

Diary of a temporary typhus patient

Duncan Pitchen
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Diary of a temporary typhus patient

Typhus isn’t your usual student gig.

The strenuous cycle up Morrell Avenue is likely unfamiliar to most; the slog past South Park and suburbia marks a strange transition out of the urban Oxford. The road leads past the Warneford and Churchill hospitals, a knotty complex seemingly designed by Daedalus, and eventually to Shotover Hill (Supergrass: 1999), petering out into leafy countryside. I’m not thinking about the scenery as I pound the Peugeot’s pedals (it’ll be up for sale come June, dear reader). Instead I am focused on what I am about to give. Today, I’ll offer up 96ml of blood, 5ml of saliva and 2 pots of virginal stool. In return? A cup of bicarbonate solution and an oral dose of Paratyphus; then rent for Hilary and most of Trinity; my wallet may appear bursting, but it is all loyalty cards, bus tickets and Clubcard vouchers. 

Settling into the hill, I remember making this same journey in my first Trinity. Feeling blue, and only narrowly in the black, I took part in a study on the effect of electrical stimulation on decision-making in adults with low moods – some sadist’s doctoral project I suppose. Twice I pedalled up there and twice they strapped a car battery (I think?) to a quasi-gimp mask on my head, buzzed me for a bit, measured something and looked at their results. Which were? A Guinea pig with goo in his hair and a feeling akin to stinging nettles on his scalp, with a brief abatement of his blues. 

To me, this, and my participation in what follows, were rational decisions. However, I can be a little self-destructive…

But enough of the amuse bouche! (or tête)

The entreé! Typhus!

Unheard-of in Oxford for more than a century, and now some of us are silly enough to bring it back. Why? Well, other regions of the globe have not enjoyed the improvements in sanitation that have overcome the natural rot of undergraduate boys in college accommodation here. In those areas, typhus spreads, and can be fatal in half of cases without a course of doxycycline or a similar antibiotic. I will likely be the best looked-after Typhus patient in history, which makes me feel perversely fortunate. 

My role in this noble quest? The brave Sir Lancelot, or, well, more of a Lab Rat. 

Screened and preened, over-and-over, I’ve cycled up the hill to be checked, vaccinated (or given a placebo), monitored and ‘challenged’, observed and eventually I will be cleared.

The highlights of this experience included an ultrasound for kidney stones, fainting, and, my favourite, guessing-my-temperature-before-one-of-the-nurses-can-check-the-thermometer-under-my-tongue. My strained, mumbled, ‘36.4’ might be met by a ‘36.8’, close enough for my pride, but scientifically imprecise. 

It was all reassuringly exact: when did my poo pass? ‘Around ten, or umm, quarter past?’ wouldn’t do. Decimal places and 20-point mood tests tracked me – the specimen – yet the team were tight lipped about the nature of my possible infection. While specifics were fine for blood pressure, my queries of chances, risks and likelihoods were rebuffed or deflected. Wikipedia might have propped me up until now but the literature on Salmonella Paratyphi A was indecipherable and of no help. Perhaps the enteric delirium set in prematurely? Before the big day? Surely not. 

I fasted the requisite 90 minutes and then my Birthday beanie and tattered Reeboks came on. Once more, my manganese steed hit the road. Down the High Street, over Magdalen bridge and up to the dreaded hill. 

Wednesday 26th. An exquisite podcast soundtracked my odyssey, and my bike’s lower cog got some rare usage tackling the monster hill, and dodging the sirens, as the sun sparkled my rods-and-cones beaming off the slick surface. 

Bludgeoned with an array of tests and questions for every fluid and facet, a slight reprieve allowed me to make a dent in some essays on Blade Runner. That’s one worth a revisit. 

Am I a replicant, to be decommissioned by this pox?

It’s probably just a lucrative role in Big Pharma’s global scheme. Certainly my girlfriend was unsure on the ethics, but after my Typhus treat and another 90 minutes of fasting I was ravenous and met her at the Saïd Business School for a lunch subsidised by I-don’t-want-to-know what. The pork was great value at £5.65, with taste superlative yet secondary: I hadn’t earned my money yet. 

Seven 9AM hospital visits followed, each incorporating the fearful Tour d’Oxford. I expect I am somewhat fitter now. 

Generally, those days rushed and blurred into one, as sweat was exchanged for blood (and poo). I could never bring myself to watch the puncture, that ‘sharp scratch’ that meted out my reimbursement. 

Come deadline day, I really couldn’t wrangle my head around evaluating customer centricity. Shortly after the tutorial, I knew why. I was ill. 

Properly rotten. Gram-negative bacteria filled me up, so Dr Robert said. 

Cue a too handsy examination, with nodes all over my body in the sights, as well as the usual battering battery of tests. Then a maudlin hour or so on the bus home, miring in St Clements’ traffic. In my pocket, the cure! 

Ciprofloxacin, twice daily and never near milk (I have yet to understand why.)

Bizarrely, a lethal sore throat cropped up, late on Day 9, after I had been out in the Chilterns rallying all evening and more alarmingly, it appeared my COVID-19 test from Doomsday (Day 7) had not made it to the lab at all. Surely I did not have you-know-what. 

Anti-climatically but reassuringly, I was better by Monday morning, Day 12 – my first day without an early start for some time. A few more doses of antibiotics and I was done, for now. Then came Day 14, the culmination of my bacterial challenge. Over the fortnight I had given nearly a litre of blood, plenty of my time and my health. Fair swap? 

I ruminated this over a little breakfast at La Croissanterie, by the traffic lights at the end of Headington – it’s my favourite place in Oxford so now I’ve told you where it is, please don’t go. 

Back to the point. 

Would I do it again? 

Well I can’t, for a year, doctors’ orders, and by then I’ll be a stiff in a suit who has to be in the office at 9AM, so I would never be able to make all the appointments. But you can, so – consider it – I fully recommend the great, gross, silly, sick adventure.  

Image Credit: Karolina Grabowska via Pexels.

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