Annie Skinner, co-founder of CROW, a pressure group campaigning for a return to weekly household waste collections, said that provisions for waste disposal were not satisfactory and the problem was worst for properties that didn’t have wheelie bins. "4,500 households are unable to have wheelie bins, for example houses without front gardens," she said. "These households are allocated two refuse sacks a week and are often houses of multiple occupation. Despite diligent recycling, for many, particularly for those in shared houses who have different schedules, two sacks are not enough. The rubbish has to be stored somewhere – inside the house, in the back garden if there is one, or in the street."
Eric Murray, another co-founder of CROW, added, "It’s hypocritical, it really is."

Ed Mayne, the Vice-President (Finance) who led the campaign to abolish his own position, said that the result of that referendum was a success for OUSU. "It will lead to better service provision and financial management," he said. "OUSU currently has too many politicians and not enough civil servants, and judging by the result of this referendum the majority of those who voted agree with this statement."
New College JCR President Lewis Iwu added his support for Mayne, saying, "I welcome the reforms, it will bring professionalism and continuity to an organisation that in the past has been riddled by financial naïvety."

Agatha Christie’s plays are often tightly timed and suspensefully wrought, simultaneously thoughtful and entertaining. The same, unfortunately, cannot be said of the present production. It dragged on for hours without any feeling of momentum or excitement. The first half alone, lasted a full hour and a half without any sort of plot development until the very end. The second half too, even after the expected murder, sullenly plodded on until the great Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot, finally revealed the who and how of the crime. The show was, therefore, quite disappointing; not particularly awful, but not special in any way either.

Various factors contributed to this sense of stasis, but chief among them was the cast. The play is very much an ensemble piece with characters as one dimensional place-holders all thrown together in a strange environment. Here we have the aristocrat, the star, the socialite, the Americans, the nouveau riche and so on, and much of the interest comes (or should come) from their interactions. Yet, the cast consistently failed to work together in any real way. At times it seemed almost as if they had only been rehearsed individually, with characters not physically reacting until their opposite number had finished speaking. The result was farcically disjointed, with actors staring deadpan waiting for lines to finish and then suddenly springing to life when it was their ‘turn’ to do so. There were standout performances by Gareth Russell as the dandy Timothy Allerton and Emerald Fennell as the washed up star Salomé Otterbourne, but even they were not so much acting as offering caricatures merely to draw laughs. Matt Lacey’s Hercule Poirot was less the quirky Belgian detective so absorbed by his work that he cannot see his own oddities than a twitching buffoon whose skill as a detective was only believable for the lines
he is given. Indeed, Lacey’s attempted francophone belge accent was so thick that he often tripped himself up.

Eventually we find out who and just how in the truly surprising style of Agatha Christie (don’t worry, I won’t give it away), but Poirot’s explanation of the crime came more as a relief to cold audience members than as the sort of shocking revelation that one might expect. 

Jay Butler

A narrow line crosses the island, untouched by either side: an isolation zone. Grubby concrete barriers split the cit of Nicosia in two. Peering through a gap, there’s a bizarre sight: a street, abandoned thirty years ago and untouched ever since.  The cars look like something out of Sunday morning TV: drawn lace curtains, grey with dust.  
 Cyprus is close to Turkey, it’s only 75 km away across the sea, and its other neighbour Greece is a distant 600. If you ever travel there, you’ll find beautiful weather, friendly locals and mediocre beaches. You’ll also hear a lot about Nicosia, ‘the last divided city in Europe’. 
 Cyprus has been ruled by Phoenicians, Franks, Egyptians, Romans, Venetians and Crusaders.  After three hundred years of being ruled by the Ottomans, Cyprus was nabbed from Turkey by the British after World War I.  It became independent in 1960.
   The joys of independence! Now you are free of the brutal oppressor you can turn your attention to the noisy sod next-door. Cyprus is split between ethnic Greeks and Turks, 80% to 20%. Traditionally they have got on reasonably well, but each side has always seen themselves as being primarily Greek or Turkish, not Cypriot. To shorten a long story, the two communities didn’t (and still don’t) trust each other, and so they failed to negotiate a constitution that both worked and protected the rights of the minority. The result: a bitter low-level conflict, which involved both motherlands. When a military junta took control of Greece (1967), they encouraged EOKA-B, a terrorist group that committed atrocities against Turkish Cypriots. A main street of Greek Cypriot Nicosia is still named after EOKA-B’s founder, Grivas.
Now, take a step back. It’s the cold war. Two NATO members are squabbling over an island in the Middle East, upon which Britain maintains sizable military bases.  The leader of this country, Archbishop Makarios, is supported by the local communist party and plays a major role in the non-aligned movement (avoiding both the US and USSR).  He has also come into conflict with the Greek junta which is rumoured to be backed by the US.  In 1974, the Greek government, with the foreknowledge of the US State Department (headed by Henry Kissinger, a man with a reputation for hard-ball), topples Makarios, and replaces him with Nikos Sampson, famed for demolishing Turkish Cypriot houses with JCBs.   In response, Turkey launches a massive (and well-prepared) invasion, with the stated goal of protecting Turkish Cypriots.  The army succeeds rather well and ends up with 38% of the island.  Feel free to insert your own conspiracy theory here. 
Take that situation and freeze it, for thirty years. During that time the forced migration of several hundred thousand people has taken place, encouraged by the British.   The Turkish army has stayed, and Turkish Cyprus declared itself a republic, which nobody other than Turkey has recognised.  Meanwhile, the UN patrols the dividing line, where the lace curtains get dusty.
 Enter wealthy uncle EU. The EU negotiates with Greek Cyprus, led by Tassos Papadopoulos, saying, in effect: “You join, then unite with the Turkish Cypriots under the Annan plan (a revised power-sharing deal).  The Turkish forces leave, and we’re all happy bunnies.”  Papadopoulos concludes the negotiations, then campaigns vehemently against the Annan plan in a national referendum.  Turkish Cyprus votes in favour, Greek Cyprus votes against.  Cyprus joins but as a divided island, with Turkish Cyprus frozen outside. 
Murky waters.  Turkey is desperate to join the EU, and wants its troops off Cyprus as quickly as possible, but it needs to maintain its face. Greece also wants Turkey to join, since it minimises the chance of future conflict (which would most probably see Greece being creamed by  Turkey). The Turkish Cypriot ‘republic’, which has been ostracised internationally, is dirt-poor and likewise desperate to join.  Finally, the US also wants Turkey in the EU, since that stabilises the Middle East and (if you’re cynical) weakens EU political unity.  However, anybody in Europe who doesn’t want the Polish plumber replaced by the Turkish construction worker, breathes a quiet sigh of relief.
And Greek Cyprus? Comfortable. Wealthy, with EU membership and plenty of tourists. Morally superior victims of invasion. Finally, they don’t have to share power (and funds) with Turks. The government is outwardly keen to continue negotiations, but they’ve been going on for fifty years. It’s debatable whether the devil is in those details.
Solution? The EU needs to get its act together, present a united front on Turkey, and sit on the Greek Cypriot government’s head. Prognosis? It’s going to take time, enough for those embittered by 1960-74 period to leave politics, and it’s going to take a whole lot of EU money, but eventually they’ll wash those curtains.
 

While student-written comedy is often a hit-or-miss affair, there is much in Jack Sanderson-Thwaite’s sketch-show which is original and very funny, giving new and bizarre, yet enchantingly simple perspectives on the world. The content of the sketches deals with altered perceptions and irrationality, creating an aberrant world where fairy tales come to life through mediums as far removed as the business of dealers and TV news reporting. The moment the audience thinks they have a handle on the action, that they can find a meaningful link between the sketches, enabling them to keep their feet on the ground, is the moment when personifications of day and night duke it out or the world is viewed from the point of view of a lamp post. It is quite clear that all bets are off.

Occasional recurring characters are all that tenuously links together some sketches, and it is truly the lack of rationality present in all which create this convincing world of madness and delirium. One fully believes that even
the most bizarre of the sketches viewed could occur whilst walking down the street in this self-proclaimed ‘wondrous realm‘. The difficulty of disentangling oneself from this world is a testament to Sanderson-Thwaite's
success in enticing the audience with the ludicrous goings-on.

The energised ensemble cast almost manages to saves the few sketches which run too long or lack pace, and adds to the accomplishment of those which Sanderson-Thwaite's surreal writing already illuminates. Alexander Craven and Ben Forrest are particularly worthy of mention for their impeccable comic timing – it is the scene consisting of only these two which is perhaps the funniest in the show.

James Callender performs brilliantly as Demetrius Skylark, the 'compare extraordinaire', our guide through the anarchic and tumultuous world created by Sanderson-Thwaite. Speaking directly to the audience, Skylark's comments on the characters and this bizarre world provide a surprising tone of downheartedness and uncertainty to the proceedings, as he struggles to express himself in logical terms in a world where no logic exists.

The oddball action culminates in chaos around our guide, in a sketch parodying the nature of sketch shows themselves. Making the audience fully aware of the writer's sophisticated talents, Skylark then delivers a Puck-like summation, addressing the desires and intentions of the characters in a suddenly sobering and not unwelcome turn.

The action is outlandish without being absurd, and the charming daftness of the better sketches is what makes them the most memorable. It's entirely likely that if the play lasted any longer than an hour, the topsy-turvy world would crumble into the preposterous or the laboured, but a jolting halt is put on the proceedings at just the right moment. Sanderson-Thwaite, always in control as both a writer and flawless director, drags the audience, busy peering at this surreal world, away from the brink just as suddenly as they were thrust towards it.

Laura Williams