Monday 23rd June 2025
Blog Page 1956

Michaelmas kicks off

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Cuppers Football

Cuppers is an intercollegiate knockout competition that runs throughout the first two terms and means that, unlike normal, all eleven players are obliged to turn up before the start of the match. There are Cuppers competitions in most sports played in Oxford, including croquet Cuppers, but football competition attracts the most participants and is keenly contested. The mens’ competition can be traced back to 1882 and, by the time of the final at Iffley Road sports ground, you can see why the competition is held in such high regard. The chance to experience a cheering crowd and hold a trophy aloft means that success in Cuppers is rightly considered the pinnacle of achievement in college football. Last season Lincoln won the mens’ title and Somerville the womens’ – both teams winning despite not playing in the highest league. The competition won’t be starting for another few weeks, but you can be sure that when it does there will be a flurry of extra training sessions (or the beginning of some training sessions), an insistence that people actually show up on time for games and a general sense of the importance of this tournament (until you get knocked out of course).

Varsity Rugby

Varsity rugby is the showpiece event of the rugby calender and a chance for the blues to earn their status as gods among men. It takes place at the beginning of the Christmas holidays and, despite a series of highly competitive games during the term, anyone with a vague grasp of what sport is all about in Oxford will tell you that Varsity is pretty much the only game that really matters. Anyone without such sporting knowledge will tell you that what’s really important about the varsity match is the opportunity it provides for a post-term, pre-Christmas catch up with friends and copious amounts of alcohol. The first varsity match betwen Oxford and Cambridge was played in 1872, and fans have been flocking to the pubs around the Twickenham ground ever since. Some even watch the match. Last year the dark blues were beaten 31-27 in a pulsating encounter, so some revenge will definitely be sought in this season’s event. The blues rugby season has already begun: the gruelling schedule and hours of work in the gym may seem unappealing at the moment, but if it leads to a Varsity victory at Twickenham – and the spoils of victory afterwards – then all will surely agree that it was well worth it.

Christchurch Regatta

Christchurch regatta has been cancelled twice in the last ten years as a result of appauling weather conditions. Dealing with high winds, driving rain and freezing temperatures will quickly dispel any idea that rowing is a glamourous sport: the Boat Race is hard work and high profile, but Christchurch regatta is just hard work. Fortunately, though, it’s also challenging, rewarding, addictive and even satisfying, and hundreds of freshers every year find out that it’s possible to make it to an early morning outing whilst still drunk and still fancy-dressed. Who cares if it’s dark and raining? Kukui’s dark and damp, too, so just close your eyes and imagine. There are mens’ and womens’ competitons and the standard is impressively varied, so you can indulge your sporting dreams even if you’ve never seen a boat before. And it’s not difficult to sign up: should thoughts of ‘perhaps’, ‘possibly’, ‘maybe one day’ trying rowing even cross your mind, you’ll find that an eager boatclub captain will materialise by your side, with a winning smile and a promise that donning lycra in the early morning really is what floats your boat. They’re like guardian angels, but more masochistic.

Oxford ethics

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‘It always seems to be the case that in the majority of relationships the boy is older than the girl. At school all the eligible, potential girlfriends had older boyfriends who at the time were working or at university. When I arrived at university the same thing happened, this time with the third year boys. Now that I am beginning my third year, should I feel bad about hanging about with the freshers with the ulterior motive of meeting girls?’

I wish you had let me know that finding a suitable partner at school would have been as straightforward as me getting out my driving licence. Not as proof that I either have a car or am able to drive which are so clichéd that they’re almost not cool anymore, but instead to brag about the fact that my date of birth was, albeit only just, in the eighties. This is the same driving licence that opens up the door to a wide range of other things girls might be attracted to: the rebellious teenage boy who buys perfectly legal tobacco and chain smokes, but only on Friday and Saturday nights, or being the one who purchases a large bottle of Tesco’s finest vodka to be drunk in the cold on a park bench. I also wish it was actually like that, but I am afraid it simply isn’t. There are plenty of younger boys whom, whilst not describable as hirsute, can be debonair and more than able to find a girlfriend. The age difference tends to be a result of varying maturity and similarly, girlfriendless boys tend to be a result of eligibility. So of course, you can try leading on a naive fresher girl who is desperate to make friends.

Yes you can hope to enter into an all too temporary and selfish relationship which will end as soon as finals mean you don’t have time for it any more. Perhaps the chat up line, “I am familiar with Oxford’s ridiculous one-way and library systems,” will work for you. But I have a strong feeling that it won’t, rendering your unscrupulous intentions moot.

Intoxficated

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Gin puts me in perfect spirits. Unlike other more aggressive drinks – vodka, for instance, which caused a friend of mine to punch a prostitute in Prague (disclaimer: it was an accident) – I find that a G & T’s effervescence is infectious. Still, it must be remembered that what is now the bourgeois drink of choice was considered the ‘Special Brew’ of the Eighteenth Century.

At twice the strength of what is today, the average Londoner was reported to drink 14 gallons of the stuff a year in 1743, and the highly unpopular Gin Acts of the 1736 and 1751 lead to mass rioting in the streets. Gin has never quite been able to lose its patina of seediness and always puts me in mind of Seventies’ cocktail parties – shabby tweed, wonky bow ties and yellowing fingers. Regardless, it’s a terrific tipple and gin and tonic is, for my two cents, the perfect post-work reviver, and one with elevenses makes for a very pleasurable lunch.

What’s crucial in a G & T is not the gin but the tonic – it should be a good brand (Schweppes is my benchmark, full fat to avoid artificial sweetness) and come from cans to guarantee fizz. Keep the gin in the freezer and serve with fresh lemon, lime or cucumber (niche but excellent, especially with Hendricks) over plenty of ice. Use large ice cubes to minimize melting.

At the supermarket I’d buy the cheapest ‘London Gin’ available, Gordon’s or Beefeater’s say. Legally, ‘gin’ has a very wide definition, but buying ‘London Gin’ ensures that it’s been redistilled and uses only natural flavourings. For a martini or pink gin, where the gin’s flavour is foremost, I’d recommend Tanqueray Ten, a king amongst gin. Right, that’s me finished, I’ve got tasting to do – another two fingers for the Cherwell’s Resident Ponce?

The beautiful game

‘The Game’ is probably the most interesting thing you’ll find in the biography section in Blackwells. Sure, you’ve got your politician’s autobiographies, and your Billy Shakespeare, and sure, they’ve done some pretty inspiring things. But they’re not going to teach you how to get laid.And that’s what Neil Strauss (alias ‘Style’) claims to do. But do these sure-fire seduction techniques themselves translate geographically? The differences between LA and its glamorous nightlife seem a world away from Oxford, sheltering from the rain in this quaint, antiquated bookshop. Surely techniques that work on a woman in LA cannot and will not work in Oxford University – home of a more ‘discerning’ breed of romantic; the sexually frustrated and overly intellectualised.

A Boy’s Take

The more I explored Strauss’ book (not the greatest paragon of literary achievement, I’ll admit) I realised I was already familiar with much of its advice. Pick up terminology such as ‘wingman’ and ‘cockblock’ are now firmly established into the popular consciousness of our generation. I do not consider myself a ‘ladies man’ by any stretch of the imagination, but much of it was also common sense. When has winning over a girl’s friends first to get her approval ever been a secret? Playing hard to get, which is at the core of much of Strauss’ views on seduction, I learnt aged seven in the playground during kiss-chase. Appearing unavailable, but also flirty, whether boy or girl, can clearly only add to your attractiveness.

Everybody knows that anything worth having is a challenge to get. Strauss believes that even if you don’t think that you are worth having, at least try to come across like you are. Confidence is everything; another thing that you don’t need to have read ‘The Game’ to have worked out.

With Strauss’ book, socializing and seduction are reduced to quasi-scientific jargon. Nothing to do with seduction is intangible or spontaneous. Absolutely everything can be broken down to logical steps to achieve a predetermined goal. Actually, the main character trait which Style and his buddies MPUAs betray is just extreme nerdiness. When he receives a phone call from one of his partners, you can’t help thinking this it’s more World of Warcraft than Sunset Boulevard: “I was in a two set and I was trying to neg the target but I got IOIs [Indicators Of Interest] from the obstacle, should I have DLV-ed [Demonstration of Lower Value] or DHV-ed [Demonstration of Higher Value], assuming that she was a SHB 11 [Super Hot Babe, on a scale of 1-10]?”

Though, at times you might pity the obsessive behaviour of Style et al., you can’t lie that they get extraordinary results, batting far and away beyond their average. Strauss, himself a skinny, balding, self-proclaimed geek managed to get Britney Spears’ phone number (back in the days when I assume she was considered attractive)
But should we feel bad consciously manipulating girls through Strauss’ techniques? It’s certainly different from how I’ve considered relationships with the fairer sex and dating in general thus far.

Whether through nature or nurture, I’ve grown up firmly believing that the best way for boys to attract girls is through being chivalrous and nice; genuine and honest. The right kind of girl would appreciate the subtleties of these qualities, I thought.

Wrong, according to Strauss. I had to rewire all my preconceived views on socialising and go out of my comfort-zone and against my instincts.

First off, I had to compete with AMOGs (Alpha Male of the Group) and indulge in ‘negging’ and ‘peacocking’, the two bastions of his routines. Where better than a Thursday night Bridge, the pinaccle of Oxford nightlife?

Strauss defines ‘negging’ as “actively demonstrating a lack of interest in a beautiful woman by making an ambiguous statement, insulting her in a way that appears accidental, or offering constructive criticism.” Set piece lines such as “You’d totally be my type if I wasn’t gay” or “I like your nails, are they fake?” apparently work wonders. Simple enough concept? I tried it out. Approaching a very pretty, curvy blonde girl with the line: “Hey, I like your jumper, is it meant to be that tight?” I would love to tell you that she completely bought it and we immediately started getting off, but all I received was an expletive directed and the sight of her back as she walked away. That’ll be awkward when we run into each other on Cornmarket.

‘Peacocking’ is another technique that Strauss lives by, defined as “to dress in loud clothing or with flashy accoutrements in order to get attention from women.” Staples in any self-respecting MPUA’s [Master Pick Up Artist] wardrobe must include: leather trousers, feather bowers and ostentatious dangling ear rings akin to Andre Agassi circa 1983. So a pink sequined cowboy hat and I’m in business? Excellent.
Sadly, dressing in ridiculous clothing to attract attention to yourself is nothing new to our university city. Everyone seems to be doing it already. I recently wore a cowboy hat out to a bar and rather than attracting girls’ attention, more than one person asked me which bop I’d just come from. ‘Peacocking’ was a resounding failure in Oxford where outlandish (fancy) dress is just an everyday occurrence. University towns are the places where strangers don’t bat an eyelid if you walked around the city 24/7 in black tie.

In the battle of the sexes, says Strauss, knowledge is power. If you can show somebody that you have them sussed out with your greater understanding of human behaviour to be able to read their personality like a book, then you can have them eating out of the palm of your hand. But do these techniques work? I couldn’t say. Perhaps sometimes in some situations with some girls they do. Another line of thinking would be that Strauss is in fact overthinking everything, he should just have gone to Fuzzy Ducks on a Wednesday night…

A Girl’s Take

Every wannabe lad worth his rock salt has read ‘The Game’. I’ve been explained the basic rules many a time, usually accompanied by reams of success stories, “I totally picked up this girl using this line from the Game and then we slept together.” Er, very unlikely. In fact, I’d say nigh on impossible in Oxford. Very few girls are going to go for ‘I’m gay’ followed by lunge, or listen to a half-hour long spiel of neg-isolate-kiss-close – I’ve just handed in an essay and I want to dance on the cheese floor with my girlfriends.

However, in the spirit of emancipation, liberation and all things feminist, I’m prepared to try out these moves myself. If they (supposedly) work for boys, then maybe they’re worth a try for me.
9.30 am, ready to set off to the Rad Cam with Shakespeare and Macbook in hand, I add a cheeky pair of high heels and a beret. Naturally, I bought it for a bop, but I thought as an act of peacocking it’s simple. But getting to an empty desk was embarrassing rather than a confidence boost, and I’m pretty sure that the looks I was getting were disdainful for the clip-clop noise my heels were making on the floor. Approaching two boys whispering by the photocopying machine, I tried out a literature-related neg on one of them. (Strauss rates his targets on a 1-10 scale, I’d say the two I had in front on me were a 5 and 5.5. Not great, but its slim pickings out there, and no amount of flirting is going to solve that.) Pointing to the Cambridge Companion to Hamlet, “Ah, wise move to start with the easy stuff.” After an initial quizzical look at my heels, conversation was facilitated, and email addresses were exchanged (we’re doing the same special author dontcha know?) although it was more along the lines of how far had I got in the faculty reading list than shall we go back to my room and have sex.

Encouraged by my small success I gave it a go in the Bridge that evening. I had little trouble with peacocking in this situation, my make-up and short skirt routine were surely the definition of it to begin with. But when I got into the Bridge, all psyched up and ready to get my game on, I realized that none of this was necessary for me. Because the brutal truth is, that with the majority of unattached boys (I won’t say every) a simple lunge works wonders. Seduction techniques are fundamentally unnecessary. Sure, Strauss’ rules will work, but a flirty neg and memorized opener won’t work any better than anything else – they may be clever, but these boys aren’t the hardest challenge to crack.

‘We must save Port Meadow’

Port Meadow has always been as close to my heart as to my muddy running shoes. The pleasure to be derived from escaping from the buzzing student swarm to burst onto a wide-open expanse of water and sky is unparalleled, and it’s there for free. Port Meadow has been ours since the 10th century, when it was bestowed upon the “Freemen of Oxford” as a gift, in return for their valiant help in battle against some invading Danes. Not many cities can boast a royal gift from King Alfred the Great that has endured to this day to be enjoyed by man and beast alike. Every citizen of Oxford has the right to graze his livestock on the grassy field, hence the high population of resident ponies, cows and other unidentifiable creatures, whose right to be there is sanctified in the Domesday book of 1086.

So imagine my shock when, trudging out to the wild space for a daily nature fix, I found five illegible pieces of paper pinned to the gate. Actually I was not so much shocked as confused and intimidated. What were these official-looking, legal-smelling and doom-tasting forms doing on the gateway to my sanctuary?

I was soon enlightened by a rugged passerby and his dog: it is a proposal order from Chiltern Railways to expand the railway line between Oxford and Bicester. This expansion would cut off a crucial patch of the territory, meaning that walkers and lovers of the field would no longer be able to pass through it to the nature reserve, and that the vegetable allotments would also become inaccessible from the meadow. The proposal order barks out the aggressive and heart-wrenching phrase, “Drain and bed thereof trees shrubbery, thickets and land”. It will also “Drain and bed” the allotments and the pathway. It sounds like rape. It makes me want to cry.

Before I could express my sorrow the lone gentleman excused himself to go and use the meadow to use in his own unique way – to practice his bagpipes. Having come to terms with the sadness (and surreality), of the situation, I note that Port Meadow can still be rescued and would encourage you to help, by writing to the council.

Above my own passion for the place, and away from the tight grappling fury of the city, this space is a haven and a refuge for peace, love(making) and dubious mayday rituals. It is speckled with pleasant pubs – I especially recommend The Perch and The Trout, if you hadn’t yet sampled them – and It provides nourishment for ponies, poets and people in the form of grass, sublimity and vegetables. There is plenty of water (and beer) to drink and mud to roll around in, and the occasional haunting melodies of a bagpipe-practising gentleman to delight your ears.

As I stand taking in the spiritual sustenance of the open water and rough country wind, I am reminded of how, a millennium ago, some plucky Anglo-Saxons took arms against a sea of Danes. And entreat in a similar fashion, the students of Oxford to save us from the trains.

Stressed? Blame the ‘rents

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Last week Amelia Gentleman wrote in The Guardian about ‘the great nursery debate’, assessing the evidence that being left in group care can have a damaging effect on young children. As soon as I saw the headline I could predict at least one name that would turn up: Oliver James, prominent psychologist and writer.

Meeting James over coffee, it did not surprise me that his was the most ardent voice in Gentleman’s article. He is nothing if not confident in his opinions.

Best known for his pre-crunch anti-consumerist diatribe ‘Affluenza’, his latest book, ‘How Not to F*** Them Up’, dives into the knee-high world of toddlers and their upbringing. In it he argues that meeting the needs of under-threes, best accomplished by full-time individual care, is a crucial point in reducing emotional distress in the Western world.

Much of the problem in modern childcare issues results from the way feminism developed in the UK, James adds. “Nobody asked the question: what the hell are we going to do with the babies?”

He argues that the media gives an unrealistic picture to would-be career mothers of the situation: “The prevailing idea that women of a certain level of education will be a miserable minority if they give up work to have children is simply not true.” He admits, though, that one should not simply encourage all mothers to stay at home. In fact, from his observations and interviews with women he identifies three attitudes to motherhood, which he labels ‘huggers’, ‘fleximums’ and ‘organizers’. I remind myself that he is a psychologist, and labelling is what they do.

He continues, “around a quarter of women are ‘organizers’, whose lives are not designed to have a baby in them. They may well be better off staying in their careers and having a full time career for their child – or better yet – having their husband stay at home.”

James acknowledges that this is simply not possible for those on a certain income, which is why he has repeatedly set out in his books that the best use of government money would be to pay everyone with children the equivalent of the average wage so that one partner – or a single mother – can stay at home full-time. On top of this, the greatest social change we could achieve, he states, would be for fathers to begin taking on toddler childcare in equal proportion to mothers. But he is skeptical about this change occurring: “An awful lot of men go coochy-coo, but they still have a desire to go and be breadwinners.”

He talks about the example of Scandinavian countries where the men – because of various factors including much stricter political correctness laws – are far more ‘feminine’ than in the UK.

Beyond this, James’ overriding point is that “we need a society that puts emotional wellbeing ahead of the profits of a tiny minority.” But he is quick to isolate the difficulty in this aim: how does one achieve emotional well-being? Of all the mothers he met for his latest book, he found only one who seemed to have managed it; the description is not promising for the average female university goer. All this woman had ever wanted was to get married and have children, and she had achieved it. She was also very attractive, though James insists he thinks this had little to do with her contentment.

While not completely agreeing with me on this, James does emphasise the importance of being able to live in the moment. “The problem with this is that for both of us – and probably most people reading this – is that [higher] education in modern life encourages the very opposite: dissociation, and a tendency towards hyper-critical responses. Most high achievers are basically personality disordered people whose achievement is countering feelings of personal lack of worth…pretty much everyone in Oxford is using cleverness as a defence.” No wonder we like a drink.

What’s more, James apoints out that the current system is not only cruel but ineffectual: “It doesn’t work at all – with grade inflation Oxbridge finds it ever harder to select pupils, and once you get your first how is the man at Morgan Stanley to decide which of the Oxbridge wankers to give a job to to rip off the next
generation?” His eloquent argument points to the need for not only a more nuanced testing system, but the encouragement of more varied life goals.

James believes greater wellbeing comes from stepping back a little from the competition; though, he concedes that this is more difficult when the financial future looks bleak. But there is hope. James thinks that, “just as now neo-liberalism is the total orthodoxy, in 50 years times zero growth will be seen as a good thing.”

So we return to the importance of caring for the under-threes: if we are going to raise a generation of non-materialists, we must give them comfort and satiety in their early years. To do this, James says we need fundamental change in how women – and potentially men – approach having a family. In preparing for that we can learn to readdress some other values, like planning to earn what we need rather than what we want. We also need to work out what are going to be the things that give intrinsic value to life rather than those signifiers of status – whether it be money, power or even the ostentations of intelligence – that we could do without.

5 Minute Tute: Ed Miliband

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Why did the Labour Party choose Ed?

It’s puzzling, perhaps, because as a Brownite and author of the party’s 2010 manifesto, Ed was associated with Labour’s poor election performance. The selection of David Miliband would have signalled a move back to previously safe electoral ground New Labour occupied. The genesis of Ed’s success can be found in Andrew Rawnsley’s report that the Blair Camp “regarded him as the most reasonable member of Brown’s court” and called Ed “the emissary from Planet Fuck”. Combine this with Ed’s youth and low public profile and you have a Brownite who has the potential for a fresh start, and therefore had a broad enough appeal to other factions of the party.

How on earth did he beat his brother David?

In the election David received more first preferences than Ed. In the two-way runoff Ed still lost to David amongst two of three groups – party members and MPs and MEPs (Ed also lost amongst those now vying for shadow cabinet positions). The deciding factor was that Ed secured the backing of the major unions who then campaigned for their member’s votes. Ed won handily at every stage in this third category of voters, amongst whom turnout was only 9%. There have been questions raised about the tactics used in support of Ed after some unions sent out endorsements for him on the cover of their ballot papers. Finally, remember also that Ed had the nous of Magdalen Politics Tutor Stuart Wood behind his campaign.

How red is Ed?

He lives in Primrose Hill in an expensive house, but that is not necessarily a barrier to being a comrade – see Engels. Ed’s father Ralph was of course an unabashed Marxist. When asked whether his father’s socialism could be achieved by the parliamentary path (instead of revolution) Ed replied “Yes, but it is not his form of socialism. It is my form of socialism which is a more just, more equal society”. He did use the word socialism (something that Blair and Brown shied away from), but he is well within the mainstream of ‘what works is what’s best’ politics. He believes in social democracy, a mixed but essentially capitalist economy, and a welfare state with building blocks similar to the ones bequeathed by Blair and Brown. If you were looking for redder hues than Blair, then Ed leans more towards equalising resources rather than just opportunity, and he has been mildly critical of New Labour’s heavy emphasis on meritocracy alone. He has written that “There is an important progressive instinct that in rich society, nobody should fall below a certain level of income, defined in relative terms”. In practice he has said that he doesn’t want the situation to prevail in which a banker can earn more in a day that a care worker can in a year.

How is he going to change the Labour Party?

In his first speech to conference as leader he distanced himself from the party’s record in government on Iraq, civil liberties, the banks (not the bailout), and the position taken on the alternative vote. It will require some imagination to answer the question of where the party is going next, because the obvious routes, and the ones down which there is no doubt the unions would like to push the party, are lined with pitfalls. It is going to be hard to carve out a distinctive, but at the same time popular brand for the party. The choice of direction is made nightmarishly complicated by the immediacy of the fiscal (tax and spending) options Ed is faced with. The temptation to oppose cuts is substantial, but in the absence of a double dip recession it is hard to see that simple or even just selective opposition will bring his party back to popularity by the time of the next election.

Down it…fresher?

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If you’re reading this with a hangover, you’re probably a fresher. If you have a hangover and you’re not a fresher, you’re probably a second year trying to get to know the freshers. (Freshers, if you don’t know what ‘sharking’ is yet, you almost certainly will soon – most likely at about the same time you learn what ‘sconcing’ and ‘pennying’ are). If, though, you are a third or fourth year with a hangover, I am afraid there is something terribly wrong with you.

What’s the excuse for it? Have you recently turned 18? Are you celebrating your first intoxicating taste of true independence by, well, intoxicating? Of course not. The fact is, there are many very good reasons for getting completely smashed when you’re a fresher, but in your final year, those reasons are irrelevant.

For a fresher, particularly in the two weeks leading up to matriculation (or matriculash), drinking, and indeed drunkenness, are the norm – necessary even – and will never again in one’s university career be quite so respectable or encouraged. Second years can just about get away with it, although their motives for drinking with the freshers are perhaps rather less than noble.

All this is well known and perfectly well established as an integral part of the Oxford curriculum. I don’t think anyone has a problem with it, except maybe the junior deans, whose job it is to see that binge drinking happens at an acceptable volume. No, it is not freshers and second years for whom I counsel temperance. It is rather the finalists who should think again about that second pango tonight. They should be embarrassed to be seen in such low venues as ‘The Bridge’. Does the Bodleian have a toilet attendant who advises “no spray, no lay”? For finalists, drinking is merely habitual: they should immerse themselves in actual culture, not merely drinking culture.

Oh! Bama, keep on Ba-ROCKIN!

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What could be more shagadelic than the constitution of New Hampshire? It guarantees the people’s right to overthrow the government in revolution. Now the Tea Party Movement doesn’t know very much, but it knows its rights – and on the matter of revolution it agrees with New Hampshire. Of course, when the government blows the jiminy jilickers out those diaper-hatted A-rabs in Eye-raq, we should celebrate it. But when it provides subsidised healthcare to the working, starving poor, then holy smokes! Get the placards down to Washington, chant some slogans and prepare to get mediaeval on Barry Soetoro’s drab half-white ass.

Not that the Tea Party is anywhere near sanity: most of them join the 18% of Americans who think Obama’s a Muslim. Who cares about what that lot think? Obama’s done a good job. He continues to. The mistakes he’s made pale into short-term prudishness when confronted with the strength of his achievements.

Alright, he’s failed in Afghanistan. Alright, he’s cocked up his bureaucracy. Alright, the economy is perilous. And yes, there’s no denying he’s made the deficit very very very big ($1.3 trillion; enough to buy seven NHS’s and still have change for a Royal Navy). America can basically get as much debt as it likes, but it still has to pay the interest. That bill will be paid in Democrat Congressmen in November.
That’s all very well, but in the long run Obama’s been the most revolutionary Democrat president since the icy ’60s do-badder Lyndon Johnson. (Johnson wasn’t a man to cross. He justified his own Civil Rights bill as follows: ‘this’ll keep the niggers voting Democrat for two hundred years’. Boom boom.) Obama’s healthcare bill, passed this March, changes the system entirely. In America private health insurers are the main way to get money for treatment. And these insurers have a right to refuse to give you healthcare on the grounds that you are ill – and I’m not even making this up. Insurers lose money on unhealthy people because they have to pay out to them, and make money on healthy people who don’t need to claim. No prizes for guessing who goes uninsured. Obama’s act will get rid of this horseshit and forces insurers to shell out for the uninsurable. Of course people still have to pay for their healthcare, but this is a big step into the twentieth century.

Obama wanted the bill to be a lot more radical, introducing proto-NHS state-funded health insurance. But he was defeated by the odious American system of government which basically stops anyone doing anything. All the same the reforms to health are pivotal. Combined with tax reform and environmentalism, they are a decisive departure from the days of Bush.

In Britain, the post-war Labour government introduced the NHS and the welfare state. The economy was disastrous at the time and Britain was haemorrhaging influence and wealth. These problems were short-term. The country recovered, and the long-term benefits of free health and social services are available for all to see today. That will be the effect of Obama; it will be what people remember him for. I hope.

But Republican victory in the Presidential election could turn the clock back. And that’s something that could easily happen. Sadly, although they’re desperately amusing, there isn’t much genuine mileage in making out the uber-right to be the rootin’, tootin’ gun-toters we all wish they were. The main problem for Bazzy O isn’t actually the bad, vocal minority of Tea Partiers. It’s the great, silent majority of Americans who’ll vote for the other guy, just so long as the other guy isn’t too mad. A moderate Republican, in other words. If moderates win the Republican nomination for 2012, Obama is pretty darn screwed as of now. So if you’ve got a vote in the Republican primaries- and why not?- vote for Basil Marceaux. Or indeed Palin. Just anyone who isn’t Mitt Romney.

Sod the pessimists. Obama’s done us proud. In any case he’s less than halfway through his term. If he loses the Congressional elections in November, then he can just veto everything the Republicans introduce. He’s achieved what he wanted: make America a more equal society.

Christine O’Donnell, the uber-rightwing Tea Party candidate in Delaware, remarked some years ago on how masturbation was morally wrong. Hypocritical, given that her policies are a pile of wank. But charitably cuckoo, and against these people Obama will romp home. Then he can set about his secret life-long aim: converting America to Islam.

Raunchy ‘Milton’ poem discovered

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A sexually explicit poem thought to have been written by John Milton has sparked controversy amongst academics.

The handwritten poem, titled “An Extempore upon a Faggot”, was discovered by Jennifer Batt, an English lecturer at Oxford, while reading a forgotten early 18th Century poetic anthology.

Although it appears to be signed by Milton, there is doubt over whether the work can be attributed to the author of ‘Paradise Lost’.

“To see the name of John Milton, the great religious and political polemicist, attached to such a bawdy epigram, is extremely surprising to say the least,” Dr Batt said.

“The poem is so out of tune with the rest of his work, that if the attribution is correct, it would prompt a major revision of our ideas about Milton. It is likely that Milton’s name was used as an attribution to bring scandal upon the poet, perhaps by a jealous contemporary.”

Dr Abigail Williams, who is leading the project at Oxford to digitise 18th Century poetic miscellanies in which this poem was found, said that at the time of the rhyme’s publication Milton “was much more famous for his politics and having sanctioned regicide than he was as a poet”.

The rhyme “could have been written to discredit Milton, who had set himself up as a self-righteous puritan. The verse is saying, ‘Actually, he was just as dirty as the rest of us.'”

An English student commented on the findings, saying, “Studying Milton would be much more exciting if all his work was like this”.

An Extempore upon a Faggot

Have you not in a chimney seen

A Faggot which is moist and green

How coyly it receives the Heat

And at both ends do’s weep and sweat

So fares it with a tender Maid

When first upon her back she’s laid

But like dry Wood th’ experienced Dame

Cracks and rejoices in the Flame.