Roberta Klimt investigates the fickle world of the celebrity and wonders what lies behind the rehab doors and the layers of make-upIn the words of Morrissey himself: to say the least, I was truly disappointed. Having leapt aboard the X90 early on the morning of Friday 25th January, arrived at Camden’s Roundhouse theatre with oh, let’s say, seven hours to spare until the great man was due to take the stage, and been lucky enough to stand fourth from the front of the queue, I could have been forgiven for allowing myself a little elation. Pressed up against the barrier, almost as close to La Moz as a gal can get, I couldn’t help but feel as if the evening was going well – a sentiment I rued when, after completing just three songs, Morrissey’s voice went and then so did he. After my dismay at this turn of events had somewhat died down, along with my astonishment at the announcement of it by the surreal trio of David Walliams, Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand, I began to reflect upon whether some of my fellow audience members hadn’t been a little precious in their shooting of the messengers relating Morrissey’s desertion. There is an entertaining video on Youtube of Brand being pelted by irate Mozophiles with drinks and foodstuffs and told in no uncertain terms to hie him hence by people indignant at having paid handsome sums of money for a gig which was then cut so short. My behaviour, on the other hand, as my sister lovingly pointed out, bore less of a resemblance to that of these angry folk than that of the forty-something, paunchy men gently weeping into the necks of their girlfriends.Either way, though, the Morrissey throat infection/gig cancellation débacle set me thinking about celebrities and their effect on us. Why had the irate and the beer-bellied and I felt so terribly, personally let down at the Roundhouse by the no-show, or the so-so-show, of someone whose music we enjoy, yes, but whom we have never even met? It appears that ‘fame can play hideous tricks on the brain’ not only of the famous, but of those who have made them so – and to cite from Morrissey’s oeuvre one more time …If we are looking to pinpoint the psychological need bespoken by today’s so-called ‘cult of celebrity’, the first thing to point out is that it is not such a new thing after all. Back in the day it was heartthrobs like Rudolph Valentino over whom the ladies really swooned, but society magazines used also to feature gentrified folk going to balls and country house parties, which – if the 1970s classic Edwardian drama  is anything to go by, and you can be pretty sure it is – servants below stairs in grand Belgravia houses would read as eagerly as some now pore over PerezHilton.com. Clearly there is an aspirational tendency in human beings which makes finding out about the daredevil exploits of the rich and famous attractive to us; there is also an extent to which observing the ‘hot mess’ (as I believe Perez terms it) which, by the law of averages and arguably by virtue of their high-pressure lifestyles, at least some of these celebrities manage to make of their lives, allows us vicariously to experience with all of the drama and none of the trauma some of the more extreme possibilities life has to offer. It is also noticeable that ‘civilians’, as Liz Hurley calls us non-celebs, can become fired up by the achievements or misdemeanours of the famous as they can by little else. We as a nation might be basically good-willed towards celebrities who seem to have done the right thing by a cause or a charity – Brangelina, Bob Geldof, Billy Connolly all get the thumbs-up in that regard – but we do also have a mighty store of wrath to unleash upon those who palpably have not done the right thing. Unfaithful husbands, shrewish ex-wives, no-good, drug-addicted boyfriends come in for a lot of public censure, considering their utter unknownness to most of the people commenting on their actions. Free commuter reading material like the London Lite or The London Paper (superior; it has much better horoscopes) are filled to bursting with pictures of Lily Allen, Paris Hilton, Mischa Barton et al going to clubs or theatres or art openings in London, and at least one member of Girls Aloud stumbling inebriatedly around town. These features allow us to ogle and covet these people’s beautiful clothes, marvel at their hair and make-up, and then sneer, if we’ve a mind to do so, at their more questionable life-choices. The gamut of emotions is provided for us to run. I don’t doubt, either, that this has been the case for as long as there have been social hierarchies of any sort: Henry VIII’s subjects too were probably highly entertained by his marital exploits (though maybe not by the resultant threat of war with Spain), but I’m guessing they were glad to miss out on actually having to live his gout-riddled, winch-dependent life. Considering the fragility of the human ego, the need for bolstering and affirmation, recognition and praise from which even the non-famous among us occasionally suffer, it makes sense that those who receive such plaudits just because of their job will be the object of our envy. It need hardly be said that part of what makes the notion of celebrity so attractive is the removed quality of these people from our everyday lives, which allows for the maintenance of their illusory perfection; there is nothing worse than meeting your favourite celebrity only to find them indifferent or impolite, or simply uninteresting.  To an extent, although this is hardly fair on the celebrities themselves, it holds true that the less we think or them as ordinary people with ordinary frailties (as distinct from extraordinary and somehow glamorous self-destructive proclivities à la Amy Winehouse or Kate Moss), the more curious we are about them.But the crucial difference between the issue of celebrity in our era and in that of, say, the silent movie stars, is one of multiplicity – both in the sense of there being a far greater number of stars for us to worship now than there has ever been, and that there is now a far greater number of ways in which we are exposed to them.  This is not the place to bemoan the fact that now someone can be famous without being talented or even remotely interesting.  But it is worth thinking about the fact that now we can officially be fans, in all the autograph-hunting, mobile-phone-picture-taking modern-day splendour of that term, not only of actors and actresses, but also singers and dancers, writers, photogenic politicians (O David Miliband, when are you coming to speak at the Union?), stand-up comics and reality TV stars.  Celebrity is a bigger business now than it has ever been.  And what I realised with a start at this failed gig was that despite having seen Morrissey live a good six times already, owning all his albums and DVDs and having  instant access to all his recent performances on Youtube, should I desire them, I still wanted more and was crushed when I didn’t get it.  And so were all the other fans, many of whom had an air about them of being an awful lot loonier about Morrissey than I am.  Clearly, celebrities’ availability has not devalued their impact on us. Can this all be the result of the consumerist tenor of these modern times in which we dwell?  Was the admirers’ ire at a few cancelled shows merely the consequence of our living in a society so materialistic that, the internet be damned, we could only look upon a tickle in the throat of the Mancunian miserabilist in terms of what it had cost us to see him appear live?  Does the sheer scale of the media’s intrusion into the world of our favourite stars only make us hungrier, in a rapacious and capitalistic sense, to find out more about them?  Maybe.  But maybe not also.  There is a scene in Woody Allen’s Annie Hall where the Allen character takes a vapid young woman on a date to see the Maharishi in New York City.  She observes breathily that ‘this man is God!  He has millions of followers who’d come from all over the world just to touch the hem of his garment,’ and Allen replies, ‘Really?  It must be a tremendous hem.’  That, I would suggest, is how best to view the proliferation of celebrity-proffering media which currently besets us – as an absurdly tremendous hem surrounding the same essential nucleus of desire and ambition.  The underlying prompt for our adulation of celebrities is not dependent for its existence on how many celebrities there are, or even how often we get to see and hear about them disporting themselves or releasing a new single, exercise DVD or Booky Wook.  These things might and probably do facilitate a tendency towards fandom, but they cannot alone sustain it. 
The bathetic end of the aforementioned scene from Annie Hall offers us the completion of this theory, when we see that the Maharishi has been for a quick bathroom break and Allen deflates his date by observing, ‘Look, there’s God coming out of the men’s room.’  What we really want from a celebrity is a combination of reticence and generosity – a plethora of public appearances, showing up unfailingly for signings, performances, and the like; and a holding back from manifesting the flaws or even just the ordinariness we all too readily glimpse in ourselves.  I suppose this is the real reason for which we Morrissey crazies were all so upset when our hero sore-throatedly flounced offstage in Chalk Farm a month ago, and why anyone is left disheartened by the failings of an idol: rather unfairly, for all our delight in those exploits of theirs which vivify the mundane, we cannot quite take in the fact that these characters, almost immortal to us, are actually human.
Rhian Harris is let down by feminist Shere HiteWhen I found out that Dr Shere Hite was coming to speak at the Oxford Union in January I was really excited. Hite is an outspoken feminist sexologist, who has written many influential books on female sexuality; and I am a keen feminist and was really interested in her research. When Cherwell offered me the opportunity to interview her naturally I was thrilled. I was due to interview and join her for dinner at the Union. I was warned that Hite was being somewhat ‘intense’ and had asked for my list of questions before the interview. Despite having only a day’s notice to do this, I prepared a comprehensive page of questions and e-mailed them to her. In the e-mail I admitted that I had not read her latest book, and said that I hoped it would not be a problem. The reply I received from Hite the next morning, the day I was due to interview her, asked me to buy and read one of her books that day, which I thought was a bit steep.When I arrived at the Oxford Union, Hite, a tiny figure, was perched on an armchair, surrounded by several men who all kept their distance from her – a valuable lesson I was about to learn. The Union member who had arranged the interview took me aside and informed me that there was a problem: Hite no longer wanted to do the interview. He thought that I should try to chat to her anyway, and perhaps then she might change her mind. ‘Chatting’ with Shere Hite hoever, was not a pleasant experience. She told me flatly that the reason she no longer wanted me to interview her was because I ‘had not read all of her books’. She has published at least ten. And besides, I had read a few. Hite said that she was afraid of being misquoted by ‘the media’. But it was she who had been asking for an interview with Cherwell in the first place, and it’s not as if I’m a hard-nosed hack from a tabloid eager for a news splash. From the books that I had read, I had expected her to warm to a female feminist journalist sympathetic to her cause – instead she proceeded to interrogate me on the last century of feminist literature and to belittle me; for example, after a completely incomprehensible monologue, he shrieked ‘did you understand anything I just said?’Hite proved herself to be a true celebrity ‘diva’ on a power trip. She became tetchy even when the coffee she had requested was slightly late arriving. Over dinner and when answering questions after her speech, she showed a complete unwillingness to consider anyone else’s point of view besides her own. Throughout the night there were many pointed references to my not having read all of her books, and I felt like I was being tested. Everyone around Shere Hite has to walk on egg-shells so as not to upset her or even disagree with her. Having been told that I could not interview her, I did not dare write anything down. The next morning, however, I received an e-mail saying that Hite thought my questions were ‘very intelligent’, and that they were happy for an article to be written. However, the article which has now been written is considerably different to the sympathetic article praising her research that I had planned to write. For a feminist, Hite prefers to tell other women what to think and to criticise them, rather than encouraging them to speak out and to achieve. So much for sisterhood.

The interval: Ryan Hocking decides to take a break Everybody has a favourite moment in a play: some go mad for melodramatic downfalls, some feel their hearts set a-flutter at romantic declarations, some can’t get enough of comic pratfalls. However, for most of us (if we’re honest, at any rate), our absolute favourite moment of any play is accompanied by bright house lights, a comfortingly familiar voice-over, and a chance to spend far too much money on a tiny, tiny tub of ice cream. Yes, it’s the interval. It doesn’t matter how good a play is. If it goes on for long enough, everyone’s dying for an interval (and not just the audience). It gives the actors a chance to re-group, congratulate each other heartily on a ‘Wonderful first half, dahling,’ and to have their greasepaint reapplied. It gives the technical director a chance to try and fix something that isn’t broken, resulting in an unintentionally hilarious start to the next act. It gives the director a chance to scream, shout, and coach the actors frantically, much like the manager of a losing football team.More than anything else, it gives the audience a chance to stretch their legs. Acting is difficult, it’s true, but do we ever ask our beloved thespians to hold a tableau patiently for the entire duration of a play? No, because they’d be chronically arthritic by the time they’d finished one Shakespeare tragedy. Yet the audience has to. It’s true that there aren’t really many places to go in a theatre when you’re not actually watching the play, but the importance of the snack-stall cannot be overstated. Let’s face it, the interval is a little drama all on its own. Ice cream that requires a second mortgage, chocolate bars small enough to lose in your pocket, white wine more acidic than your mother-in-law: what is the snack bar but the third wing, storage place of the most important props? The audience members stop off at the snack bar for a quick break before becoming a cast in a very different kind of theatre: the messy drama of life. During the interval we get to watch the audience become characters interacting, their own complex plots unfolding before our very eyes. The interval is full of quirky little soundbites, couples fighting, people flirting, and – at Oxford at least – thesps gossiping. Ah the interval. A release from the tension of the play, a stage on which audience members play out the drama of their lives. The interval is also an opportunity – to show off about being ever-soknowedgeable about theatre, to chat about which actor is the hottest and which thesp pulled yesterday night. Let’s face it, this is the reason why we come to the theatre. By Ryan Hocking

4/5 O’REILLY THEATRE, KEBLE
TUESDAY-SATURDAY, 8PM Nine actors form the cast of David Hare’s play, Fanshen, but the effect is of a single, shifting character: a collective of Chinese villagers. The crowd veers, chameleon-like, from peaceful cooperative to mob and back again. The village fractures at times into individuals, yet never loses its central identity. The play is set in post-war China. It’s 1946, and the village of Long Bow is undergoing land reform. The village is a microcosm for China, as communism flows into the power vacuum left by the retreating Japanese. Hare bases his play on the notes of William Hinton, an American journalist who spent 7 years in the village. The production is performed in the round. The actors are identically costumed and have no fixed identity. Casting often runs against gender lines or type, adding to the blurring of the individual. The play shines in its visually impressive set pieces, frequently throwing the audience offbalance. The sense of menace is palpable; in one scene, the set is plunged into darkness without warning, and four figures with torches encircle a succession of friezes displaying the torture of the landlords. As the friezes change, the complete darkness, coupled with the sound of heavy breathing, is pretty sinister. The weight of amassed injustice and rage comes across effectively. We also see the political process in action as the peasants probe questions of ownership rights, participation and individual responsibility. These questions are integral to a play whose heart is the exploration of evolving politics, and they certainly contribute a sense of authenticity. The problem is that they are rather boring, and lack the drama and emotional intensity evident in other scenes. An extended debate on ‘who depends on who?’ takes places, complete with blackboards with questions chalked on them. Yet this is a fault of the script, not the direction or staging. The acting ranges from competent to good, with XY Lin as an effective obsequious landlord, and none of the cast putting in weak performances. The emotional intensity makes it worth seeing, even if the over-serious politics drags a bit.By Elizabeth Bennett

Oxford 30 – 25 CambridgeFirst to take their positions on court, Oxford’s Blues netballers dominated from the very first minute of this game. Going from strength to strength as the game progressed, they were confident in each area of the court and showed dogged determination to pull off a convincing and well-deserved Varsity win. When the Cambridge shooter missed a chance after her team had taken the first centre, the home team pounced on an early opportunity to disrupt their opposition. After a few minutes of nervous play from both sides, a terrific interception by Katelin Fuller in the middle of the court set a standard of play that would be maintained until the final whistle. GD Zillah Anderson soon followed suit, pulling off a similarly impressive interception at the back of the court which set the centre court players in motion. Before the Light Blues had a chance to take stock, the ball had flown down the court into the capable hands of the Oxford shooters and the home crowd erupted to cheer the first goal. With the first quarter under way the two teams were fighting hard, but it was Oxford who slowly edged in front. As initial nerves began to settle, Cambridge failed to stamp out careless errors, under constant pressure from the confident Iffley girls. Unable to keep up with the pace of the game, they overthrew the ball which resulted in an Oxford throw-in on more than a few occasions. Holly Woolven did well to keep the Dark Blues settled and fluid in centre court. Coming back on court for the second quarter, the score was 11-6 to the Dark Blues, who again asserted their presence from the whistle – tireless marking in the goal circles saw inspiring interceptions at either end from seasoned Blues Alice Kelly (GK) and Venetia Barrett (GS). It took Cambridge over two and a half minutes to score after taking the first centre pass, and they only managed to slot one more in the net before half time. Oxford, on the other hand, worked the ball up the court with ease, and some fantastic overhead passing to the shooters came up trumps. At half time the Blues had a comfortable lead of 17-8. With renewed vigour, the visitors came out on court in the second half of the match with the finishing ability they had lacked at the start and, having rearranged their shooters, they started to gain on the Dark Blues’ lead. Oxford continued to make interceptions, but a temporary slip in concentration saw some rushed passes, which the Cambridge women capitalised on. However, when the Light Blue GS failed to make a shot just before the whistle, despite having both Oxford’s circle defenders forced to stand by her side, it was clear which team had the winning mentality. Oxford’s early fight had paid off, so despite losing a rather weary third quarter 10-7 they were still in the lead, 24-18. With fifteen minutes to play, the stage was set for a closely fought last quarter. When the visitors deftly slotted two goals in the Dark Blue goal, the lead was narrowed to just 4 goals, and the noise levels of the Iffley crowd rose significantly. GA Lerryn Martin (Player of the Match) shone in this last quarter, helping to bring the ball up into the Oxford circle and pulling off a couple of impressive shots from far out. With 7 minutes to play and 7 goals to pull back, Cambridge’s slim chance of victory was resoundingly denied them, by a display of confident team netball at its best. From determined dodging by the substitute WA Georgina Weetch and WD Leonie Smikle working to move the ball up the court, to jumping for rebounds at both ends of the court, the Oxford women knew exactly what needed to be done. And they did it. The final score of 30-25 topped off an excellent performance from Oxford’s netballers, with the Roos (2nds) winning 41-34 in their match. Unexpected drama at the beginning of this match saw Captain Cat Clark unable to remove an ear piercing and unable to play, so the team that started was composed entirely of Freshers. They coped exceptionally well, however, with Jess Murphy filling the captain’s shoes on court with impressive poise, and Katie Leahy shaping a solid defence. Despite being dangerously close to losing their early lead in the third quarter, the Roos managed to hold their nerve. Thanks to consistent shooting by Player of the Match Rhian Price, they draw ahead in the final quarter to win the match with a convincing seven goal victory. Having had a rather inconsistent season, the Blues went into their match having beaten Cambridge at home but had narrowly lost to them over in the Fens, which put them three points behind their Light Blue rivals in the BUSA league. But, as it has been proven time and again, Varsity is all about being the best team on the day. Whether it was due to meticulous preparation beforehand, unfaultable determination over 60 minutes or pure team spirit, the Oxford squads had it all. Fitter, faster and more agile – they brought all they had, and gave it.by Stephanie Hardwick

When it comes to anything space-related, the UK kinda sucks, or at least pales in comparison to the monopoly of the USA and the deflated yet nevertheless impressive reputation of Russia. Nevertheless, Oxford is doing its bit for planetary exploration, suggesting that even those dear academics we know and love believe in the classic phrase, ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’. A team based at the University has been working in conjunction with NASA on their Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter. Hardly the most catchy project title of all time, but it’s actually just ever so slightly interesting. Alongside the Americans, Oxford scientists are working on a programme that aims to use infrared cameras to find ice deposits in the craters of the moon. If such deposits are indeed found, then this is the next step in establishing a base on the Moon for future generations. In short, water signifies a sustainable environment, meaning that if the project succeeds, Oxford scientists will be partly responsible for our kids’ kids scurrying around on the surface of the big cheese wheel in the sky, or the honeymoon on the Moon that you’ve always dreamed of. But this isn’t the only space-related venture that Oxford’s been dabbling in. Go one planet along from Earth, and you get to Mars, where even the perfect combo of Oxford and NASA doesn’t always get the best results, as illustrated by the rather miserable failure of the Observer project a while back. Undaunted by this initial lack of success, the boffins came back with a vengeance, eventually creating the Mars Climate Sounder, currently orbiting rather successfully around the red planet. Meanwhile, back on Earth, Oxford scientists are working on the ‘umbilical cord’ for a mechanical ‘mole’, currently being designed to be sent beneath Mars’ surface in order to unveil the secrets which lie below – and just deciphering that mixed metaphor seems like enough work for several PhD students. It doesn’t even stop there, with projects based on Jupiter, Saturn, and even further afield all within the orbit of Oxford’s questing minds.And so it seems that, while the UK may be severely lagging behind the rest of the world when it comes to space exploration, Oxford’s researchers are trying their best to make sure that Britain manages to get on the planetary map. Even if you need a telescope to see it.
by Gareth Peters

4/5 BURTON TAYLOR
TUESDAY-SATURDAY, 7.30PM ‘Babies grow in rubbish,’ states Michael matter-of-factly, explaining how he found a baby on a trash heap, named it Debris and began to care for it. Unlike much of the dusty drama that finds its way onto the stages of Oxford theatres, Debris is a modern play written in 2004 by up-and-coming playwright David Kelly. The play explores the lives of dysfunctional siblings Michael and Michelle, who have a drunken, abusive father and a dead mother. Debris portrays people whose lives are thwarted by their difficult and dysfunctional surroundings. Director Will Maynard has chosen a difficult play, full of lyrical flights and unexpected imagery, and navigates it brilliantly. Despite sometimes tipping into the bizarre or sentimental, the overall result is an intelligently directed, insightfully acted play. This is even more impressive given the inexperienced cast. Michael, played by Matt Malby, has all the nervous, gangly energy of a teenage boy. He really comes alive when discovering the baby; this is awkward teenage tenderness at its most powerful, a deep instinct to protect coming through excellently. Michelle, played by Sarah Milne-Das, is a more balanced character and, although sometimes bland, has flights of anger and fear which are both believable and passionate. Audiences could be bemused by lines like ‘Plant child sucking death through a potato tongue,’ and although Milne-Das does her best, sometimes the bizarre imagery doesn’t quite work. What does, though, is the pair’s poignant relationship as siblings, caught between love and hatred as only siblings can be. This could have been a soap-opera abusive-home scenario, but instead, the play becomes a moving, often surprising, tale of the love and tenderness which can struggle out from tiny cracks in rubbish heaps. By Elen Griffiths

4/5OFS
TUESDAY-SATURDAY, 7.30PM When so many larger-scale Oxford productions play it safe, it’s heartwarming when one sticks its neck out, especially when the risks pay off. Measure for Measure is usually thought of as a ‘problem’ play but its director Pippa Needs has found original and intelligent solutions to its uneasy tragicomic balance. Needs has transposed the setting to the Eastern Bloc’s twilight years, yet thankfully shied away from overly specifying the location. Interpreting the Duke as a Shakespearean Ceau?escu – the Romanian leader who kept control through personality alone – freshens the play’s meditations on authority and reminds us that this is no Solomon we’re dealing with here. Likewise, the news that Vienna’s suburbs are to be ‘plucked down’ conjures up images of the cold concrete slums that still litter the Eastern European landscape. Leo-Marcus Wan is a constant delight to watch as Angelo, exuding an unsettling serpentine energy that enlivens every second he’s onstage. Rather than opting to play him as a vaudeville villain, Wan finds a human side to Angelo’s moral conflict. The best moments are his thrilling exchanges with Isabella. As little more than a virtuous damsel in several different kinds of distress, she is not quite as interesting a character. Nevertheless, in Roseanna Frascona’s hands she has far more vivacity than the writing warrants. These successes are all the more important given how difficult the play must be to pitch. Needs has opted to emphasise its darker undercurrents, but the comedy is clearly there, sometimes to detrimental effect. Liam Wells has good wit and range as Lucio but his (perhaps unintentionally) amusing interruptions would ruin the Angelo/Isabella tension were the two not played so strongly. Few other cast members find the correct balance between making Shakespeare’s dialogue presentable in a modern setting and ‘Ac-Ting’ by ‘Ac-Tors.’ As Escalus, Jack Chedburn is unacceptably flat. More than anything else he seems to be wondering whether he left the oven on, and his scenes drag horribly without the dynamic presence of Wan. Admittedly he wasn’t off book, but he’s going to need a lot of work when Wan and Frascona are so good. It really is an excellently drilled production. Needs is an uncommonly sharp director, with a keen eye for detail and a rare will to explore the full potential of the space. This is that rarest of things: a student Shakespeare show with the nous and daring to breathe some new life into the text. Assuming the Duke, who missed the press preview, is up to standard and that a stage covered in Socialist-Realist posters of Krishna Omkar (for it is he) doesn’t put you off, this should be a cracker.By Max Seddon

Merton College has angered Mansfield and Merton sports teams by announcing the permanent closure of its gym.Rowing teams at both colleges depend on the facilities for their training programmes, but Merton has taken the decision to close the room at the end of Trinity term for health and safety reasons. The decision to close the gym, which is based at the Merton Sports Ground, was taken after consultation with both the University’s Director of Sports and independent health and safety consultants. Tim Softley, the sub-Warden at Merton said, “Considering its legal liabilities, the College has no alternative but to close the facility on a short time-scale.” There are currently no definite plans to provide any alternative facilities for students.Merton JCR and MCR Presidents suggested a series of possible solutions, including the installation of CCTV cameras; additional telephone lines; and strengthening the sign-out arrangements for the use of the facility, to ensure no-one could use it alone. Merton JCR President, Danielle Quinn expressed her disappointment at the decision. “Our two main concerns at the moment are what will be done in the interim, as College hasn’t yet made a firm commitment in that respect, and whether or not they’ll allow Mansfield to use the new facility.“We were surprised that College hadn’t planned to allow Mansfield to use it, considering the level of mutual dependence between the Colleges in terms of fielding teams.” The two Colleges often combine forces to produce joint sports teams.Mansfield JCR President, James Naish, said, “The manner in which the gym was shut is particularly disturbing. If it were not for the Merton JCR President, the weights room would have been shut without any consultation with Mansfield. It hasn’t exactly been the best way of going around things.”
He added, “The College Bursar is looking into the possibility of group membership at Iffley Road University Gyms and expanding gym provision at the Boat Club. I’m confident that a solution can be found – it is only to be hoped that the closure of joint facilities will not be to the detriment of team spirit in future Merton-Mansfield sports teams.”Dan Harvey, a Mansfield rower and one of the many students to be affected by the closure, said, “Closing one of the key training facilities available to the College is bound to have a detrimental impact on Mansfield sport. It is used frequently by many of the College’s sports teams, all of whom will suffer as a result of this action.”  Softley insisted that Merton was doing all it could to find an alternative facility.  He said, “The College is actively and urgently considering plans for a modern fitness room on the main College site, but in view of the need for formal agreements and permissions cannot guarantee to open such a facility within the present calendar year. ” Merton is currently considering the development of a new fitness facility in Rose Lane although the proposed project, should it go ahead, would not be ready for Michaelmas term.