The last few months have seen an unprecedented cost of living crisis grip the country and affect all levels of society. Rises in energy costs have combined with runaway inflation across the board to see budgets squeezed more than ever. Young people and students have been some of the most heavily impacted, as many are non-earners who do not qualify for the available government support packages. Now, a survey by Cherwell can reveal that Oxford students are by no means immune to these pressures, with many are fearing the ramifications of rising prices as the term begins.
Firstly, the survey asked whether or not the increase in the cost of living changed the respondents’ behaviour in the build-up to returning to university. The responses were, as expected, overwhelming. 88% of people said that they had changed their preparation and all those surveyed said they anticipated their behaviour changing once they arrived.
Perhaps even more concerning for the University itself is that more than 77% of respondents thought their academic performance would be affected by rising prices in the coming year. This may go hand in hand with the fact that two-thirds of people identified food as the main area that they would have to cut back on. Countless studies, including one from 2017 by the US National Library of Medicine, identified a clear association between unsatisfactory nutrition or changes in dietary habits and academic performance.
Students’ social lives are also a significant part of their university experience which stands to be heavily affected. Aside from simply adding enjoyment, a diverse and lively social life is vital for maintaining positive mental health and a healthy work-life balance, something often stressed by the university itself in advice. Again, 88% of people said that they would be forced to change their social patterns when returning to Oxford, a fact which also signals a worrying term ahead for student-relient entertainment venues across the city.
Some participants were willing to share their personal stories anonymously, showing the severity of the situation faced by students from a wide range of socioeconomic backgrounds. One mature student said that the stress is already “very oppressive” and that with groceries and bills as their only expenditure, they “won’t be able to eat in hall, get coffee, or buy clothes.”
Another told of how they had reached the limit on their overdraft and “can’t afford to wash their clothes” until they get paid next week.
The survey went on to look at the response of the University and the various support packages that different colleges are offering. Some students have already criticised the support as insufficient, with one highlighting that although they were initially “relieved” to see that their bursary had increased by £300 it didn’t do much to counter the £500 rise in the cost of living in college. Only one respondent said they had received any kind of confirmation of support to come from a college fund and that was ‘non-specific’. In total, just 11% of people said they were satisfied with the university’s response.
There was no shortage of suggestions of ways to help combat the situation, meanwhile, with multiple people suggesting some kind of living allowance for students, almost everyone calling for lower-priced subsidised meals in college, and others a rent freeze.
Oxford University faces particular scrutiny in this matter due to its policy of prohibiting jobs inside term time. The rule has been highlighted as exclusionary in the past as it could be seen to prevent those with less money from supplementing their income, and this problem has only been exacerbated by recent price rises.
The most striking response perhaps came from a History student, who concluded the survey by writing, “As things stand, I anticipate freezing this winter. I anticipate social life decreasing because a number of cafes, pubs, and other social spaces will have to close. I’m scared and have already begun thinking about quitting if things get too dire.”
This week, I sat down with Kyle Kondik, Professor of Politics at the University of Virginia and Managing Editor of Larry Sabato’s Crystal Ball, one of America’s foremost newsletters on elections. We discussed whether the Republican or Democratic parties in the United States are more likely to win the majority in the upcoming Senate and House elections on November 3. Many of our readers may be focused on the continuing political turmoil engulfing the UK. However, across the pond, the elections, commonly referred to as the “midterms,” are a litmus test for a host of political issues racking the nation.
The midterms crucially determine the party composition of key institutions: the Senate (the legislative upper chamber) and the House of Representatives (the lower chamber). Also decided are a number of gubernatorial races (each state has an executive, or ‘governor’, who wields considerable power over local issues such as abortion access and the running of statewide elections. Midterm elections historically have not been met with the same degree of media and public interest as presidential elections, but 2022 seems to be bucking the trend for a number of reasons.
First, former President Donald Trump has not desisted from making the false claim that he won the 2020 election, and a number of Republican nominees in gubernatorial races have promised not to certify “fraudulent” election results in the future. Given the fact that in the US, statewide election results do need to be legally certified by certain elected officials, the prospect of the election of officials who have promised not to heed statewide results has increased the notoriety of these elections.
Second, the US Supreme Court’s overturning of Roe v Wade, which guaranteed abortion access as a federal right (which individual states could not restrict) has meant that several states have banned abortion outright, even in cases of rape, incest, and imminent danger to the mother. This has caused a predictable electoral backlash; women in particular have been registering to vote Democrat in large numbers as a consequence. In the month of August, new female voter registrations outnumbered those of men by approximately nine to ten points (Forbes). Even in solidly Republican states such as Kansas, abortion has proved to be an issue that Democrats can campaign and win on; over 70% of the US population believes that women should have some access to abortion during the first sixteen weeks of their pregnancy.
While Republicans, as a self-proclaimed “pro-life” party which by and large opposes abortion in most if not all cases, would seem to be in a difficult electoral position as a result of their intensely unpopular position on abortion, they are in fact the frontrunners to take the House of Representatives (and possibly even the Senate); both chambers are currently controlled by the Democrats. This is because they are trusted more on the most important issue of the day: the economy. Much like the UK, rampant inflation has been dogging the US economy for over a year, and as the governing party, the Democrats have taken most of the blame for it. In the twelve months before August 2022, the annual inflation rate was at 8.3%, a level not previously seen for decades. While the Democrats have taken credit for slowing down the pace of inflation, the slowdown has evidently not been fast enough to restore voter trust; when asked about which party they trust more to competently handle the economy, voters give the Republicans a roughly fourteen point edge.
As election day approaches, one might benefit from looking at polling averages. However, the polling predicts a very close election (in some cases, a slight Democratic lead is present), in line with these competing trends. Moreover, polling before the 2016, 2018, and 2020 elections was marred by inaccuracies and typically under-reported Donald Trump’s support.
Back view portrait of young African-American people standing in voting booth and thinking, copy space
With all this in mind, my first question to Professor Kondik was whether Donald Trump still has the stranglehold over the Republican Party that many make out. “It is strange for a former President, in particular a defeated former President, to remain a significant figure in politics following a presidency. While Jimmy Carter has had an illustrious post-Presidential career, he never became involved in political minutiae after leaving office (having been defeated by Ronald Reagan) the way Trump has”. This seems true to me; after all, research has shown that having Trump’s endorsement is the biggest factor in whether Republican voters support their candidates. The next logical question, then, is whether Trump is a liability or an asset for the party. While his demagoguic rhetoric may have put off moderate voters, I wondered whether he has a record (particularly during the 2016 Presidential Election) of garnering the support of disaffected former Democratic voters in blue-collar America. While Kondik agrees with the latter statement, he concludes that “Trump is ultimately more of a liability, particularly after the January 6th insurrection” (during that event, he incited his own supporters to invade the Capitol Building in order to prevent the orderly transition of power). “Ultimately,” Kondik continues, “Republican candidates need to find a way to keep the Trump ‘base’ onside by incorporating some of his policies but without showcasing him front and centre”.
Next, I ask him the obvious question: will the Democrats’ momentum on the abortion issue, along with their other legislative victories this year (in particular, their infrastructure investment bill and climate change legislation) outweigh voters’ disappointment with their economic performance? Kondik agrees that the abortion issue is a potent one and can potentially help the Democrats stem their losses, pointing to recent Democratic victories in formerly solidly Republican states such as Alaska and Kansas as evidence for this contention. However, he also contends that if the economic situation does not improve by November, it is unlikely for Democrats to retain control of the House of Representatives without a marked improvement in the economy (in particular, inflation statistics) given the salience of the issue among the electorate. That being said, the Democrats have a much better chance of holding the Senate, where Republicans have nominated a slate of very unpopular candidates, one of whom is currently accused of having paid for his mistress’s abortion (while he was married), despite publicly advocating for the prohibition of abortion in all cases, including those in which the life of the mother is in danger if the pregnancy goes ahead.
Elections are incredibly unpredictable, and the 2022 midterm is proving to be no exception. Veteran political strategist James Carville, when asked about which party would win the 1992 election, once said “it’s the economy, stupid”. Only time will tell whether Republicans can rely in this conventional wisdom to pull them to victory in 2022.
The river Cherwell hasn’t turned to blood. It hasn’t hailed since February. There are no locusts on Broad Street, nor frogs in the Bodleian, nor lice in the Covered Market (actually, who knows). Why, then, are we still plagued by the Single Sign-On?
The older, simpler authentication service, Shibboleth, I could begrudgingly respect; its reptilian cousin, the SSO, I cannot. This perverse imposition of about 2 minutes of inconvenience each morning introduces an unparalleled irritation to the daily routine. The requirement, as many will know, is this: you have to authorize your identity via a mobile phone to access any online university service. One wonders what the point of passwords is.
The function must be security. I might almost appreciate the sentiment, but the non-consensual element seems bizarre. We are no longer at liberty, it seems, to leave ourselves open to the option of potentially having our e-mails hacked. Given the relatively low stakes of student information exchange, the SSO appears pointless. Who could possibly be after my e-mails? For those of us that sleep with college librarians or share salacious images online with dentists, I can understand the urge to opt-in. As I’m not I’d like to opt-out.
If the university IT department wants to play CIA, leave me out of the game. Trust me, no one’s trying to hustle JSTOR. Well, apparently, there is a market in Asia for filched academia, but who really knows? What’s really troubling, though, is the lack of explanation and warning. How has the SSO so swiftly convinced us that it’s special? Don’t be fooled by its warm bluish hues and comforting Calibri font. It is fire and brimstone, James Corden and Bridge Thursdays. It is all the worst parts of Oxford life succinctly condensed into one IT micro-aggression.
Most insidiously, it reduces productivity. Not only does it add to the clutter of pestering responsibilities that rob us of our ergonomic morning freshness, but it now means we have to have mobile phones with us at all times. Never again can a trip to the library be unaccompanied by technological distraction and there are few facts about student life that are as depressing. At a time when ADHD diagnoses are skyrocketing and most university counsellors recommend limiting screen time to improve mental health, the SSO seems almost Orwellian in its grim, self-justified necessity. How bored, one wonders, must the IT fellows have been to think up something like this. Still, it’s an impressive achievement: they’ve managed to bureaucratize SOLO.
This kind of tokenistic “look-we’re-doing-something-helpful” attitude has seeped into every corner of routine Oxford life. Meals in some colleges still have to be signed up for online like flu jab appointments. Also, what feels like an inexplicable hangover from COVID regulations, some libraries still limit available desks. Even now, the Law Library maintains its rather theatrical red and white ticker tape over prohibited desks. Regrettably, many of these condemned seats are in the quality spots.
I’m afraid there’s little we can do. The Oxford IT lobby won’t reply to my many e-mails demanding answers and there is now seldom a desk in the Rad Cam unadorned by an iPhone. We are seeing a second Alexandria in the death of the Oxford library experience. This death, however, is not of one disaster but of a thousand minuscule frustrations. This frustrating front has found its charismatic leader in the SSO.
On October 11th, 2022 at 3:00pm, Oxford University students and members of the broader Oxford community gathered at Bonn Square to protest the death of Mahsa (Zhina) Amini. Amini, a 22-year-old Kurdish woman, died while in custody of the Iranian morality police. Her death has ignited protests not only across Iran, but around the world.
The protest got off to a slightly rocky start as members of the Iranian community and University students disagreed over the use of flags. Some members of the Oxford student body at the protest felt that because it was a human rights centered event, political flags were not conducive to a peaceful protest. There were concerns of anonymity, as many students did not want to be photographed with the Iranian flag used prior to the Islamic Revolution. An Oxford student who wished to remain anonymous noted that it was important to focus on women’s rights during the gathering. They also understood the confusion regarding flags, as it was unclear exactly who the organisers of the event were. However, many members of the community felt that it is impossible to separate human rights and politics in this case. A member of the broader community who wished to remain anonymous felt that not allowing people to hold politically focused flags was inherently illogical. They believed that fighting for freedom in Iran, and simultaneously human rights, is political in nature.
“Say her name!” the crowd chanted, “Mahsa. Zhina. Amini!” More and more people gathered to hear and ask questions about the issue and the protesters were more than happy to answer their questions and tell their stories. Sepideh told me her story about going to school in Iran, and the mandatory studying of the Qur’an. She emphasized the need for women to have choice and told her story with much passion and conviction.
In a similar tone, a Kurdish woman named Dana highlighted the erasure of Amini’s Kurdish background. Many individuals outside the Iranian community aren’t aware that Amini was Kurdish. Dana felt that it is important to uplift minority groups within Iran. “This change needs to be a renaissance,” she explained. She also noted that for this change to be productive, all groups in Iran need to be included. Dana wanted to call attention to the idea that embracing all minority groups in Iran is necessary to produce effective change.
Among the Iranian community, there has been significant talk around the former Shah Pahlavi, and wanting the return of the royal family. Another member of the community who wished to remain anonymous felt that it was important to say that the former Shah was not without his flaws. After all, it was many of his actions that led to the initial Islamic revolution in the first place. However, this person felt that whatever the case, the number one priority was restoring democracy to Iran.
Following Amini’s death, many other women have been reportedly killed by the Iranian morality police, including Sarina Esmailzadeh and Nika Shakarami. Niloufar Hamedi, the Tehran based journalist who initially broke the news about Amini, currently remains in the custody of Iranian authorities.
As the protest drew to a close one of the primary speakers stressed, “Mahsa was killed by the morality police, but there is nothing moral about what happened to her.”
Welcome back everyone. I trust you’ve followed your summer training programmes religiously and you’re ready for a big week of going from the club to your outings, the grips of your third boat blades ripping the skin off your butter smooth hands, and somehow convincing novices that what we do is fun, chill, and definitely not a cult. If you’re a fresher reading this, please ignore the above and do consider signing up for your college boat club. You and I both know you’re in desperate need of a personality, and rowing comes with some added benefits like being able to eat unlimited amounts of food and an above-average looking dating pool.
As much as we need them, training novices is truly a character-building task. It never fails to amaze me how this country’s best and brightest can manage to turn sliding back and forth on a seat into something resembling a rodeo ride. Maybe they’re just overqualified – to quote one of my coaches, “rowing is a stupid sport for stupid people, that’s why Oxford Brookes do it so well.” Indeed, what would college rowing be without this factory farm of Team GB rowers, willing to bless us with their coaching expertise for nothing but £15 an hour and an opportunity to sleep with our coxes.
Putting your freshers on Olympian training programmes in hopes of securing victory at the annual Christ Church novice regatta is a tradition that was threatened with a sudden end when Christ Church announced they would no longer host the competition. Whether this was because the college intends to mourn the death of Her late Majesty for the entirety of Michaelmas, or because they spent all their funds paying Blues to prop up their Summer Eights campaign, thankfully Linacre stepped up to the task and will host the regatta this year. They’d probably already promised the naming rights to some Vietnamese billionaire.
While everyone that’s actually any good at rowing is off to trial for the Blues (or the Lightweights, for those who God hasn’t blessed with tall genes), there are a few competitions coming up this term that might be worth training for, I guess. If you’ve spent your whole summer in the gym in pursuit of vanity and lost your entire aerobic capacity, the 800m distance at Nephthys Regatta should be just right for you. If, on the other hand, you’ve already gotten dropped from the Blues, don’t despair as you can still row the entire boat race course without any of the glory. Just enter the Head of the River Race and maybe you’ll catch a glimpse of the Brookes second boat beating their first boat to the headship trophy.
As the river gets busy this week and we partake in the ritual humiliation of start of season 2k tests, remember to be kind to your coxes, patient with your novices, and don’t bring your nice shoes to a crew date.
Image Credit: Gillie Rhodes/CC BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons.
She came to Regents forty six years ago and quickly became a fixture of college life. During that time, she won many victories for Regents in the annual Corpus Tortoise Fair and other intercollegiate races from the 1970s-90s. These competitions saw her eat her way through a circle of lettuce faster than her rivals many times. These exploits are recorded in a special extant of the college archive, called the “Emmanuelle Cup”.
Her impact has extended beyond these glory years. She was appointed an honorary member of the JCR and a ‘Tortoise Keeper’ was elected annually to attend to her. Students threw her an ‘eleventy-first’ birthday party in 2014, although it is estimated that she is about twenty-five years younger. Raising 700£ for charity, this event was not only a celebration of a long life, but also of the unique role she had and the affection she inspired. Emmanuelle ‘belonged to everyone in the College, and in turn she created a sense of belonging’, wrote the college, describing her important role in the community. Current students say that the college is genuinely saddened by this loss, Emmanuelle was not merely a college pet, but a beloved member of Regents’ Park, immortalized in the college’s new stained glass windows and lovingly cared for by many students.
Emmanuelle’s birthday charity celebrations continued up until 2020, when she temporarily left her home due to the COVID-19 pandemic. She returned with vigour in 2022, taking part in the Corpus Tortoise Fair, but falling short to Tortilla of Lincoln. Three other real tortoises took part in the race, as well as four human tortoises.
The college cites multiple conditions related to old age as her cause of death and estimate that she was between eighty and one hundred years old. Image Credit: [Regents Park JCR]/via [https://www.rpc.ox.ac.uk/]
Scotland is an unknown for most of the English population. Yes, the population is very aware of the dominance of the SNP in its politics and we include it on all our national maps. But few venture onto its soil. For my solo trip to Oban, a port town in the Scottish Highlands, I took a train from Euston into the great unknown. It shot across the West Coast Mainline and was relentless in its pursuit of the Scottish border. Each stop along its route changed the accent of the packed train carriage progressively northern, albeit with a heavy and distinct Scottish presence. This streamlined train was a bit different to the trundling Metropolitan line I was used to back home, and its unsettling tilting thrust into sight the visible difference between the north and the bubble of Oxford and the home county that I inhabit. New perspectives were what I hoped this trip would give me, and I was getting them before I had even crossed the border. Perhaps this is a reflection on the suburban populace of the South and the unintentional but very present ignorance of the divides that persist in the country we live in. Even the £120 ticket price is evident of that.
After the four hours it took to reach Glasgow Central, I emerged into a city with stylistic buildings that felt similar to Oxford, yet far busier and a lot colder. Leaving the heatwave temperatures of 25C to be confronted with temperatures nearly at single figures was a bit of a shock – especially as I had just returned from the Canaries twelve hours before. And while the street did have a sense of familiarity, I was very aware I was in a different country. Upon entering Queen Street Station the Scottish voice on the tannoy announcement took me by surprise – why should it though? I guess this is a concrete example of my abject expectancy of Southern locale onto the rest of the UK. Even the rail operator – nationalised ScotRail – marked a distinct difference. My train from Glasgow to Oban was a near four-hour trundling affair with spectacular views of the Clyde and plentiful lochs and glaciated valleys as we weaved our way through the single line – which at some points was not for the faint hearted. As the train passed a glassy loch with impressive Georgian mansions, I remarked how it now made sense why the Royals spend so much time at their retreats here – It was lovely. I almost felt foolish for snapping away on my phone when I passed through the Lake District earlier – even under the gloomy light of early dusk it paled in comparison. Dusk was a good few hours later than down South which made the final stages of my journey bearable. After nearly 12 hours since I shut my front door and haphazardly marched to the station under the weight of my backpack – my two-week journey had begun.
I was staying in the centre of Oban at Backpackers Plus – a hostel in a converted church that was started by my great uncle. As I traversed the seafront from the station to the other side of the bay, I was nervous for what lay ahead. I had rarely been further north than Norfolk and only ever as far as Yorkshire. The hostel was homely, and a living area dotted with sofas and lamps occupied the spacious top floor with church eves creating a triangular hub – and glimpses of the yachts moored in the bay could be caught through the skylights. After unpacking into the dorm I was staying in, I strayed out along the promenade stopping to remark at the young bagpipers playing to a sizeable crowd. This was Scotland. The scenery was already spectacular with a broad expanse of bay surrounded by rolling hills. It was only in heading to Tesco where a sense of normalcy remained.
Oban is a small town of 9 thousand that more than doubles during the summer to over 20 thousand. Yet almost immediately I was surprised by how quiet my hostel, and the town in general seemed. Oban is a hub of the government subsidised Cal Mac ferries who service the Outer Hebrides, and inner Isles in this part of Western Scotland, it is therefore a transitory place, and one where dynamism is a key. It is a regional hub but as I settled into hostel life and helped with the running of it, it was clear that two big factors had made an impact on life.
For context this hostel provides free accommodation to volunteers in exchange for a few hours work each day – and before Brexit there were normally a dozen young volunteers who created a sense of community in and amongst the transitory. Since 2019 – the last pre-COVID and pre-Brexit year – volunteer numbers have dropped drastically, mainly due to EU citizens now needing a visa to volunteer here. This has been fully felt across this part of Scotland, which relied heavily on EU tourists and workers to sustain the industry here. There are many unfilled vacancies and the situation for the entire town is uncertain. Even I was one of only three volunteers at the hostel, and the scribbled messages left by previous visitors in the corridors over the past decade suggested the current hostel was only a shell of its past, and something had been lost. Regardless of the cause, it made my plans undergo a radical change. I was expecting to enter full social mode and go with the flow of the rest of the group. What I had to do now, and what I was unprepared for, was to explore this area solo. It was a fact, not a choice; and I seized it with determination.
The first day was spent exploring my immediate surroundings through the pouring rain which turned to hot sun in a matter of minutes and made for a long regret of my outfit choice for the remainder of the day. I walked to Garavan Sands, a large expanse of beach with stunning views, and then hiked over some cliffs along the coastal path to the settlement of Dunstable. It is the site to the Scottish Association for Marine Science and new European Marine Science Park – perhaps planned in a time when European collaboration seemed forthcoming. It was an odd sight, rows of new houses in an estate in the cradle of the peninsular between slopes of grassy expanse. Whether it is still being developed, or if European science has upped and left, the emptiness of the site was eerie and almost movie-like.
Thankfully it was a brief walk through the estate and science buildings to reach something completely different: Dunstaffnage Castle, one of Scotland’s oldest stone castles. While it was not impressive in its physical presence – castles are more plentiful than coffee shops in this part of the country – its prominence on a protruding jagged arrow of rock was. Walking through the ancient woodland that surrounded it, I came across the ruined Chapel – dating back to an equally impressive 13th Century. The small bays of this peninsular seemed almost from an era where Celtic clans battled for control of the land. It seems that history is everywhere in Scotland and history is living and breathing. Oban has its own castle, Dunolie, the historic home of Clan McDougal. And the human presence of 8,000 years is present in the caves that lie in the cliffs set back from the sea and from an era of higher sea levels and differing climate.
Following my first hike I decided to tackle the Isle of Kerrera – a sparsely populated and low-lying island that spreads into the bay of Oban. The ferry was a short five-minute trip, and I walked solo along the path to a tearoom and castle. I was struck by the friendliness of everyone – who all greeted me in return as I passed them. Down South and especially in London this is an unfortunate rarity. The Gylen Castle occupied a dominating position and I was able to enter and explore the ruins where I met a couple who I walked with. The impenetrable fortress withstood months of siege until it ran out of water – of all things – and the irony is not lost even today. As we vied to make it back for the last ferry a family of Germans joined our party, and we made headway. Despite my feet protesting for the following evening, I thoroughly enjoyed my exploration. The dreamy living the islands enjoy is being changed by the construction of a new road that runs around the island and allows e-bikes to be rented. Still, Kerera has embraced progress – an obelisk dominates its tip memorialising the man who brought steam ferries to the area and revolutionised Island life forever.
As I explored Oban more, I came across McCraig’s Tower, a building modelled on the colosseum and built as a memorial to the namesake family. Never finished, it became a public park and now offers spectacular views over the bay of Oban. The weather persisted to be dull, and I realised how depressing even just the weather was. Oban was built in a grand style that reflected its holiday resort heritage in the railway age. The buildings emit an air of grandeur and make the town seem important to the economy and people of the region. They’re typical for the country and similar styles can be found all over.
That night I went to a live music event at a local pub, which finally felt like I had entered the local life as opposed to the tourist one. For one the two young lads playing folk songs with an accordion was a marked difference to anything I had experienced in the UK, bar Burn’s Night which isn’t the best example to prove the point. Alcohol seemingly flowed freely the whole night and by midnight it was a very jovial affair with traditional dancing filling the room and singing echoing through the rafters. One tradition seemingly was to shout in a primitive roar in the faces of the musicians to show appreciation – it did shock me the first time. Everyone seemingly knew everyone and while I felt like an observer to the event, I didn’t mind it as it was an experience I felt privileged to be able to enjoy. The blatant alcohol abuse is emblematic of the epidemic sweeping the country, but the sheer joyous nature of the event was overwhelming. I laughed in disbelief as I walked home with my newly made friends huddled under an umbrella and shivering in two jumpers and a coat, while I knew that England was basking in a heatwave that was steadily turning into a drought. It seems that Scotland’s weather is becoming wetter and more intense and is a contrast to the warming elsewhere in the country.
I was thankful when a week had passed and my uncle arrived with his car – and brought some good weather with him. Public transport is temperamental at best and unusable for anything less than a daytrip, with only a morning and evening service on most routes. We drove to the historic Glen Coe, a deep glaciated valley with towering peaks, and stunning scenery that regularly graced the Harry Potter franchise. On route we stopped at the Castle Stalker, a must-see for Monty Python fans – though I was seemingly too young to understand – but it was an impressive sight nonetheless. Transferred between clans after a drunken bet went wrong in the 17th Century, the history is as fascinating as the view. Completely obscured by fog in the late morning, but basked in brilliant sunshine by the afternoon, even in my short trip I saw it in a variety of scenes. Adjacent to the causeway leading to the castle is an abandoned rail station, scrapped under the sixties reforms and highlighting the reliance on the car that prevails today. The road to Glen Coe is dotted with road signs that have Gaelic translation under every road – perhaps this is the best example of the difference between Scotland and England – it certainly is the most obvious. European number plates nearly outnumber UK ones in this area, and the tourism industry is visible with various nationalities flocking to witness the stunning scenery.
East Dale was a day trip my uncle took the other volunteers on. As we made our way along the funeral route Macbeth’s procession took to Iona history breathed deeply. We passed a pub named Tigh an Truish (House of Trousers) which lay across the Bridge Over the Atlantic (Clachan Bridge) on the Isle of Seil- a bit less impressive than the Golden Gate Bridge but still a notable attraction. The Inn is notable for the role it played during the British oppression of Scottish culture after the battle of Culloden in 1746, when wearing of the kilt was outlawed in Scotland. In defiance, the islanders wore the kilt when they were home but used the Inn to change into the hated trousers or trews when they went to the mainland. A stuffed scarecrow-like figure of a ‘redcoat’ hangs from the window. History is still very much remembered in this area even if England has long forgotten its actions here.
After a short drive across the Isle, East Dale emerged into view – a two minute boat ferry ride across to the only slipway. The island was a slate quarry and about a third of it is missing as it now consists of deep and in ordinarily rectangular quarry pools that have water so still it’s no surprise they are used for the World Skimming Championships. The community on the island lives without cars as it is so small – a barely hour walk let us circle the entire perimeter – and occupies the old quarry workers houses. It seems like a close-knit community, intertwined with some holiday lets, who weren’t very responsive to our welcoming smiles – but who could blame them for their frustration of eager tourists spying on their lives. This was the most beautiful island with panoramic views from its summit of various isles across the sea and on the most beautiful of days: it was breath-taking.
But Scotland never stops surprising, and the next day was a trip to the Isle of Mull. Despite the interrogation of the service in the Tory Press back in England after timetable mishaps the £7 return fare for an hour trip seemed pretty good to me. There are not many places you can buy breakfast in a ship canteen and watch the sea go by for that price. But that wasn’t the purpose of the trip. I was excited to visit somewhere that was on my bucket list. Tobermory. Or as it is better known: Balamory. While I was fast approaching my 20th Birthday, I was still excited to explore somewhere so present in my childhood. The coach ride captured more stunning scenery as we wove our way round to the other side of the island. The flags here were interesting – for every Scottish cross there was a Union Flag in the next garden to compete. We even passed a Confederate flag on one garage – much to my unsettled amazement – from which the two US tourists sitting next to us codified the shock.
However, Tobermory itself was stunning and similar to Oban in building style. While the only shops were all for tourists, spending the day there was a breeze. One notable outlier was a Nepalese community shop in a converted church that had funded the rebuilding of a community centre after the devastating Earthquake. Wandering inside through the air infused with incense, arrays of authentic items could be bought, and it was a fitting way to see how the repurposing of Churches is readily prevalent – Oban has a preschool in one now. The dominance of the church is shrinking in these areas – though with over 10 in Oban alone it is clean to see the imbalance between supply and demand. Back in Tobermory, it was a short walk along the coast to one of Stevenson’s lighthouses – supposedly the one that inspired his son to write his infamous novel. As we sat and had afternoon tea at a hotel overlooking the bay, I felt fulfilled. The one thing I was realising was that when the weather is good, there is nowhere prettier to be in the World. It is quite literally stunning. This was evident on the ferry back, where the sunset bathed the entire scene in an orange glow and was an atmosphere I wanted to bottle up and keep forever. With my uncle having lived in Oban for ten years, I was able to experience and connect with many locals and realise what a kind, caring community they truly are. A pro-independence ‘YES’ marquee and stand was fixed along the promenade with big smiles and photo opportunities – even in craft stores ‘YES’ badges were placed proudly on the counter. For these people Europe seems more important than any previously oppressive neighbour and the EU flag overlaid on the campaign posters shows these people are very aware they have every right to request another vote: the EU changed everything for them.
Before long, my Uncle left and it was only a few days before the weather turned bad again, but for once it was a welcome reprieve as even temperatures of low twenties were unbearable in the humid climate – I took to lying down in the shade with an audio book. And then my final days in Oban passed in a haze of coastal runs, conversations with passing travellers and peaceful reflection. I could never tire of watching the goings-on of the harbour and the various watercraft milling about; and even on dreary days a sunset still managed to punch through and glow vividly. Despite the eventful train journey back home on the eve of industrial action I left feeling thoroughly fulfilled. The Scots are a proud people, proud in ways that the English cannot even imagine. They have a strong sense of place, of history and of the legacy of an oppressive British government led from London. It is easy to understand why nationalism here persists. Upon discovering my own Scottish heritage and Clan Mackenzie roots – albeit distant – I too feel a great deal of pride in this country. England could learn a lot from our northern neighbour and could resolve a lot if it listened instead of ignored.
This is the very official and very empirical ranking of college sport as per the expertise and excellence of the deputy editor for the Cherwell Sports section. Now that I’ve established my credentials, it is time to get to the serious business of weeding out the good from the bad when it comes to sports in Oxford. My meticulous ranking scheme took under consideration many diverse factors that I cannot enclose, but trust me, there was a lot of thought put behind this list. So, without further ado, here is the only ranking that you’d ever need to the different sports offered at Oxford.
Aikido
My fleeting experience of this sport involved an hour-long session where I learned some valuable defense tactics. I can now avoid any and all blows to the head with a flick of the arm. Apart from this skill, I also took away some lovely vibes from the group so I cannot recommend this sport enough. There is still talk around town of my impeccable head-related defense tactics.
2. Ultimate Frisbee
Now do I even need to explain this? Show me one person who does not enjoy being outdoors, catching flying objects, and living out their golden retriever fantasies. Give me a frisbee and a sunny day and my serotonin levels are sorted for the entire year. However, beware: this sport is not for the faint hearted. Frisbee related injuries are more frequent than one might expect…
3. Table Tennis
Ever since watching ‘Forest Gump’ I’ve wanted to become a master at table tennis. Maybe I will fulfil this dream at Oxford.
4. Cheerleading
Dancing in pretty leotards and having the best gymnastic time sounds amazing. The pep and cheer required for those six am training meetings is truly admirable. But the crowning achievement of this sport is all the bow paraphernalia that comes along with it and that iconic rad cam pic.
5. Fencing
Not only have I watched ‘Bridgeton’ where Anthony violently expresses his emotions to his brothers through a sexy round of fencing, but I also truly admire the mesh helmet that comes with the all-white uniform. Need I say more?
6. Clay Pigeon Shooting
Now to truly understand the glory of this sport, you need to know that I am extremely afraid of all birds. With that said, I also hate animal cruelty. Now, clay pigeon shooting falls perfectly in the sweet spot between exerting revenge on pigeons that terrorise me on a regular basis, and protecting animal lives.
7. Real tennis
Who doesn’t like a really obscure sport that 90% of the population does not know exist? Don’t ask me what real tennis is, I cannot tell you. All I can say is that a sport that makes such a strong statement by establishing itself as the purest form of another very popular sport, can only mean power.
8. Squash
I spent two years in secondary school playing squash with my maths teacher (it was not weird, I promise). Now my take away is that I love wacking stuff against walls and I hate getting hit in the eye by said-wacked stuff. But this experience taught me that pain is part of life, and that I should really go out a bit more often rather than play a middle-age sport with my maths teacher.
9. Orienteering
According to the University page, this sport is ‘getting between a series of points marked on a map as quickly as you can, with only the aid of a compass and your own navigational skills’. Now if this description does not resonate with you on a deep level of selfhood, identity, and your place in the world, then I’ll be damned. I too am just a girl trying to navigate this crazy world with only a dream and a kick-ass hairdo to aid me.
10. Octopush
I have indeed saved the best for last. Have you never heard of Octopush? Then you my friend, haven’t lived. Once again, I will quote the University page because once again, this is a serious and legitimate ranking of Oxfordian sports. Octopush is ‘underwater hockey and is a supreme aerobic game’. It has everything: water-related fun, a lot of underwater pushing, and the ultimate dream of mankind to unveil the mysterious world of octopi.
Towards the end of my year abroad, I spent a month interning in and travelling around Tokyo. With the emergence of influential Japanese designers such as Issey Miyake and Yohji Yamamoto in the 1980s, Tokyo became an established fashion capital, home to top fashion schools and countless designer stores. Naturally, I was excited to see the streetwear outfits I was so used to scrolling past on Instagram for myself on the streets of districts like Ginza and Shinjuku.
Globalisation and the impact of social media has meant that (amongst younger generations in particular) people tend to dress in similar styles across the world. In Japan, influences from Korean fashion are apparent in men’s fashion, and Western brands such as Zara and H&M are ubiquitous in shopping centres. Vintage stores boast extensive collections of American apparel from the likes of Carhartt and Levi’s.
At the same time, minimalistic Japanese styles as seen most often abroad with brands like Uniqlo and Muji remain popular.
On one of my days off, I set out on a trip through Shibuya, one of Tokyo’s most bustling wards known for its nightlife, skyscrapers, and confusing train stations. Considered one of Japan’s fashion centres, it’s home to many shopping malls and streets, including the famous Harajuku district.
Coming out of one of the train station’s many exits, I headed towards my first stop, a department store named Shibuya 109. The tubular tower is hard to miss, boasting ten floors of clothing, beauty, and accessory stores. Upon entry, you navigate each floor in a circle as you advance to the very top. Here you can find almost every style of clothing you will see a young person wear in Japan – whilst the different stores are not fully separated, it is easy to distinguish them based on the variation of the products they have on offer. Getting off the escalator on the sixth floor, I was met with a classy-looking store displaying simple designs and plain fabrics, aimed at slightly more mature women. Next to it was an accessory shop filled with polymer clay-charm jewellery shaped into wearable miniature waffles, noodles, and coffee cups. Goth and Lolita-style brands were juxtaposed with athleisure stores, including an Adidas selling exclusively women’s pieces.
After an hour in the dizzying department store, I left for the comfort of some slightly less overwhelming thrift stores. Usually located on basement floors, the average second-hand shop in Tokyo is often the same: concrete walls and open ceilings housing racks of clothes organised by styles and brands, which you could browse while listening to rock music blasting from the speakers. Sifting through racks of college sweaters, band t-shirts, and flowery dresses in one of these stores, I found an oversized white shirt which I ended up buying for £10. Pleased with my purchase, I stopped by a bakery in Ura-Harajuku for a hot latte and donut. Sat around me were groups of friends and couples chatting away with shopping bags beside them – clearly, we were taking a break from some serious shopping. Deciding that my day had been an overall successful one, I made my way back to my hotel through the cobbled streets of Harajuku. In contrast from the indie brands and vintage stores dotting the backstreets of Ura-Harajuku (literally translating to ‘the back of Harajuku’), the Harajuku and Omotesando districts boast big names and designer stores including Chanel, Coach, and Vivienne Westwood – all hugely popular in Japan.
One of Japan’s most iconic fashion magazines was FRUiTS, a monthly publication showcasing fashion subcultures and street style photographed by the editor Shoichi Aoki around Tokyo. Founded in 1997, publication ceased in 2017 as Aoki claimed there were ‘no more cool kids to photograph’. The rise of fast fashion led him to question the future of fashion, but since then Aoki has stated that he has regained faith that young people can still express themselves originally through style, hinting at a possible comeback of FRUiTS magazine. Nowadays, fashion photographers have been sharing images of outfits worn by these “cool kids” on Instagram, including Shoichi Aoki himself, who has recently travelled around Europe, where the influence of Japanese style can also be noticed.
Walking around the streets where so many creative outfits have been snapped, and seeing the inspiration for fashionable young people living in the always-exciting and busy capital city of Japan, I hope that publications like FRUiTS do come back. Tokyo and its style have certainly left a deep impression on me, making me question the authenticity of my own style.
Nursery, school, university – most of us will have travelled down this linear path, jumping through the hoops of education, with autonomy increasing as we progress, like gaining access to new levels of a video game. At each new level we unlock, we gain more power and freedom of choice.
However, for some people there is a bonus level in this video game – a new and unfamiliar interface with new characters and different landscapes. The coveted gap year. The aim of this level in the game is unclear. Are we meant to earn money? To learn a new skill? To…’find’ ourselves?
Though the words ‘gap year’ invoke images of 18 year-olds sipping pina coladas out of pineapples in Bali, it doesn’t have to be littered with island hopping, voluntourism and elephant sanctuaries. In fact, you don’t even have to be 18.
Whilst many people will consider taking gap years between finishing high school and starting university, I never did. I fast-tracked to the next level in my game, bypassing the bonus option. However, little did I realise that I would have an opportunity to complete that level later on, five years down the line.
I unintentionally took a pseudo-gap year in 2021/2022. I graduated my degree, with little intention to carry on in the subject I studied for five years. The path was no longer linear, it began to loop and bend and branch off into hundreds of different directions. Though I loved university and academia, I decided not to go down that route. I didn’t want to lock myself in for another however many years, studying something I wasn’t even sure I liked.
So as many people do, I decided to enter the workforce, roll up my sleeves and get out of my academic bubble. I started in a job so far removed from what I studied that it gave me a fresh start – and a fresh perspective. Though I wasn’t watching orangutans swing from trees, I was detached from my university career. Which only made me realise how much I missed it.
My year became a gap year because I wanted to be part of a university community again. I love learning and I wasn’t quite ready to give it all up just yet. But this time I had something that I didn’t have before: time. I didn’t have to juggle my dissertation, job applications and searching for potential PhD projects. I could focus on what I actually wanted, look for areas and subjects that sounded exciting. Mind, it wasn’t an easy process, I began the whole ordeal by googling: ‘fun science subject that lets you travel’.
I don’t think I would be where I am without my accidental gap year. Though we can poke fun at those who come back from Phuket with tattoos that mean ‘soul’ or ‘love’, I am grateful to have taken some time away from studying to be able to determine that I actually want to keep studying.
I am now so excited to upgrade to the next level in my educational video game, having gained some extra bonus skills that should hopefully help me to keep unlocking levels as I progress. I am not sure I would have passed these levels had I jumped straight into a PhD or Masters straight out of my undergrad. Though my gap year began without that purpose in mind, it reignited my desire to keep learning and soon bridged my two university experiences. I may not have found myself spiritually on my break from academia but I found my next step, the next level – I just hope I can complete it.
