Wheatsheaf Pub, High Street 8.00pm, Tuesdays, Odd WeeksJokes about paedophilia always go down well. Niall Gildea, the MC at Ministry of Mirth last Tuesday, started off on the right foot, with a comparison between Gerry McCann and Gary Glitter. And he didn’t stop there, but went on, probing the depths of our discomfort/enjoyment. Madeleine McCann was to become a running joke throughout the evening.

It may not be immediately clear why a kidnapped little girl and her grieving family should be a source of comedy. But it wasn’t really the subject-matter that made Gildea so successful – it was the way he danced delicately about the borderline of discomfort and taboo. Every time I felt he might have lost the audience – for example during a detailed description of his problems with diarrhoea – he had the courage to let us squirm, and then pull us back in with a well-placed joke and a wild-eyed grin.

Watching Broderick Chow was a completely different experience. There were whispers going round the crowd about this transatlantic import before the show, and he lived up to his billing. He waltzed on stage with a confidence and fluency that was notably absent in the other acts. Where Gildea was stilted at times, Chow’s jokes were smooth and comfortable, guiding the audience from one laugh to another with a steady hand. He had the knack of bringing together the pub’s diverse audience in sharing his embarrassment at life in general. A particular highlight was a description of his disillusionment when, finding himself by chance waiting in the supermarket queue behind Joni Mitchell, he looked into her basket to discover a jumbo pack of toilet roll and some chewing-gum.

For all Chow’s consummate ability, though, I enjoyed myself most watching Gildea. There were two different approaches on show here: Chow was slick, American (sorry – Canadian), and above all safe; Gildea awkward, British, risky, and rather exciting. When he picked out a member of the audience and began to flirt disastrously with her, there was a genuine fear that he might go down like a lead balloon. But this was just another piece of his self-effacing comedy of embarrassment, and suddenly his failed advances were hilarious.

You mustn’t run away with the impression that everything was as funny as Maddy. Many of the acts felt unpolished, the material under-rehearsed or just downright bad. One particularly painful piece of ‘political’ comedy joked about Gordon being a bit more ‘brown’ after his holiday, David having his camera on, and – ahem – Boris’s Johnson. But there was some excellent stuff on show here, and there are many less enjoyable ways to spend a Tuesday evening in Oxford.

OXFORD’S Tory Reform Group looks set to disband and merge with OUCA after the President-Elect resigned last week.
President-Elect Thomas Hardman said that the Conservative Party’s move towards the political centre under David Cameron had removed the need for a Tory Reform Group.
In an email to members, the group’s current President Luke Connoley wrote, “Next Sunday there will be an Extraordinary General Meeting of the OUTRG. It has been called to discuss and take a vote on the potential dissolution of the OUTRG as a society.
“The discussion will be centred around the idea, not of simple dissolution of the TRG, but of a merger with OUCA in the name of unity of Conservatism at Oxford.”
Connoley said that membership of the Tory Reform Group has substantially declined in recent years. He said, “When I first got involved two years ago, attendance at meetings was 20-25 people. Now we’re lucky to get five. There was a lack of interest at this year and last year’s Fresher Fair and we only had one person turn up to the Freshers’ drinks party. We thought if the interest wasn’t there, we should do something about it.
“My decision to resign was largely influenced by change within the Conservative movement in general… To have two Conservative groups proclaiming similar messages in the University is simply not a sustainable situation, and this was reflected in a steady decline in membership over the last two years. After private discussions with other committee members who felt the same, I took the decision to resign in order to force change.
“We feel OUTRG members will feel at home in OUCA, especially as it has become more liberal and less reactionary than in the past,” he added.
Connoley is, however, disappointed that the society has to close.  “I think it’s a great shame, though,” he said. “OUTRG has been around for over 40 years and led the discussion on liberal Tory values. If either the national Conservative party or OUCA go towards the right, we could always consider reforming.”
OUCA President Alex Stafford welcomed the merger, saying, “Personally, I’ve always believed that it’s silly having two societies trying to achieve the same thing. We’re happy that they’re coming to join us as we can pool our resources to achieve greater things.”

By Jack Marley-Payne 
A visit to the college bar is halfway up the stepladder that joins sitting in your room with your balls out drinking a cup of soup from a pot noodle container to an actual establishment. It aspires to be the latter and thus includes a barman/woman and various bar utensils. Crucially, though, it is inhabited exclusively by members of its own college, so (as usual in the Oxford bubble) there is a fair gap between it and the real world.

With no outside influence, everything that is Oxford University is distilled within a college bar. Things happen there that couldn’t be found elsewhere, mainly because the townsfolk would react violently. Much mess is made as wacky drinking games are played, members of the rugby club make very loud noises and fairly niche, degree-related topics are discussed to the boredom of everyone else.

The college bar also enjoys a sort of symbolic status. The number of people who go in it and the amount they drink is often equated with the social capabilities of the college’s members: “I can’t believe how dead it is in here: the freshers are so boring” is sadly a common utterance. Such comments seem a little unfair – I’m sure a socially connected person would have things to do in different places without having to schedule a trip to their native venue too often. Still, it is a place where one can go if there are no other plans to hand, since there’s a high chance that people you know will be there to entertain you. It is after all quite comforting to have such a reliable source of amusement readily accessible..

On the other hand, it can soon lead to a stagnant nightlife. Going to the same place time after time can get quite depressing but nevertheless addictive. Unlike the Parkend clientele, most people know each other and are therefore unlikely to sleaze on or start a fight with you, for fear of later shame. But sometimes you need to go somewhere new to break out of a bad mood. Also, the bar really is an extension of the college and so is not able to create its own atmosphere, which is one of the best things about a normal pub. After a full day of work and other rubbish, one wants to escape Oxford during one’s eves.

Of course all this whinging is straight up hypocritical. I go to the college bar regularly and so do my friends and I probably enjoy myself more often than not. It would be tempting to draw some trite conclusion involving moderation, but I’m not so sure. I guess it’s an unavoidable part of my, and, odds on, your, life here, and we just have to accept  the occasional mediocrity that it entails. After all, as the Cheers theme-tune states, sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name.

By Thea Warren 
To be a celebrity is to be known by people whom you do not know. To be so fascinatingly well known that a grainy photo of you in a hoodie walking the dog can fetch thousands of pounds. To be worshipped by people who will never actually meet you and who love you purely for the façade which your agents have carefully constructed. Who wouldn’t sacrifice their freedom, integrity and privacy for the knowledge that their every move would be photographed, documented and pored over by thousands of strangers? Facebook relies on it.

However, whilst the word “celebrity” has connotations of glamour, exclusivity and aloof cool, the everyday mortal should not be discouraged: it is getting ever quicker, easier and cheaper to have your fifteen minutes of fame. Those shamelessly jealous of Keira Knightley, Wayne Rooney, Lily Cole and Lewis Hamilton, celebrities who are barely older than us and already worth millions, should take comfort, whilst perhaps setting our sights a little lower – Big Brother 9, anyone? No, there is still hope for those of us who would rather not humiliate ourselves for the nation’s “entertainment” but also don’t have the talent or contacts to become a proper celebrity in the big wide world. We might as well try to achieve the status of College Celebrity and get a little groupie loving whilst we’re here, even if outside the Oxford bubble, no one can hear our fans scream.

One way to give the impression of celebrity is to add as a friend on Facebook anyone you’ve ever met. This can be awkward as it involves finding out the surname of everyone you’ve ever hooked up with, smiled at in Sainsbury’s or been introduced to by the friend of a friend’s girlfriend’s housemate’s tute partner. And in fact, Facebook celebrity is a dangerous game; it can be monumentally unconvincing if most of your “friends” know that they are little more than acquaintances and assume this to be true of your other 564 friends in the Oxford network.

The College Celebrity is that bloke who everyone gossips about in Freshers’ Week in the hopes of appearing well connected. The girl with the fantastic wardrobe who always looks as in control as she does busy, effortlessly balancing her work with nights out, netball and single handedly wiping out AIDS. The boy who was known for his fantastic eccentricity within weeks without even trying. He wasn’t on Facebook, wore his gown to Park End and became renowned throughout college for his bizarre taste in hats, penchant for listening to Bulgarian Diaphonic Singing and for that bop costume with the live goldfish and the frankfurters.

Those hoping to achieve college celebrity status have two options – become famous, or become infamous. One route involves more nudity and requires one to talk loudly about oneself at all the right parties. “Leaking” made-up stories about yourself to Evelyn might help. The other method is slower and requires much more effort (and talent) in the form of play rehearsals, training for sports teams, and weekly JCR meetings for those really keen political ‘slebs. Of course, it is best to be involved in University-wide activities in order to shine within your college and to attain that untouchable quality. Only very rare individuals manage to become college celebrities by force of personality alone and this is best only attempted by those exceptional social butterflies who are equipped with a sparkling wit and an impeccably casual attitude. The moment that someone looks as though they’re trying too hard, any ground already gained is lost. Desperation is to celebrity as a kebab flavoured burp is to romance, and the resulting success or failure can be exhilaratingly or catastrophically exponential. So develop a devil-may-care saunter and an insouciant glance. Your clothes (one word: stash) and hair need to look effortless. Learn to linger, lounge and laugh as though you were born in the limelight. Casual is your new middle name.

It’s not supposed to be easy. But of course if this all seems too complicated, we only need to turn to the example of the college celebrity who impressed everyone by doing a naked lap of the main quad within his first term and has since proved to several lucky ladies that it really was that cold that evening

We are known variously as technical managers or technical directors but in truth technical ambassador is more accurate. We scribble authoritatively on bits of paper, climb ladders and confidently stride about with complicated looking equipment. But as we crouch at the back of the theatre, we’re just as exposed as those on stage. As the last of the audience take their seats, we’re praying to the gods of the theatre just as fervently: we know exactly what can go wrong. But even our own fears are surpassed sometimes.

Fringe venues seem to compete with each other for obscurity. This year I found myself in a stone-walled, dank venue in the bowels of the city that even Mervyn Peake would have baulked at. This dramatic space had high, uneven walls, stalactites and a damp problem. We put up with it for most of the run but toward the end the gods turned on us. The water, hitherto content with running down the walls and making the venue manager ill, started dripping from the ceiling.

You have to put up with a lot worse as a techie, and a few drops of water running down my neck wasn’t going to put me off my stride. But as the drips approached the equipment, landing on the lighting desk, I must confess I did start to worry. Foraging for plastic to cover the desk with, returning every now and again to run a cue, I noticed that all was not well on stage.

Scenes that should have been brightly lit were slightly dimmer. Fades took twice as long and the wrong lanterns came up. One poor character had to act half a scene in complete darkness. Grappling with the faders, I attempted to do the show manually. That only seemed to anger the gods further.

The carefully timed snap-blackout that usually ended the show to rapturous applause took about five seconds, leaving the actor frozen in position and the audience mulling the punch-line over at their leisure. No amount of fader-twiddling would convince the lighting desk otherwise.

The curtain call, a chance for the cast to redeem the production in the audience’s eyes, didn’t go much better. The shaken cast, glad that it was all over, marched triumphantly on stage and up came the lights for the last time. But they didn’t get the warm, bright wash they deserved. The sulking machine allowed them nothing but a solitary purple lamp shining on their feet.

Needless to say, bloody sacrifices of propitiation will be made in future.

 Emily Packer peruses the problems of reading for pleasure as an Oxford studentI have been at Oxford only seven weeks, but as a fresher reading English, I find that my world has already contracted to Anglo-Saxon genitive plurals and the intricate social manoeuvres of the characters of George Eliot and Henry James. I have long ago ceased to read the news or the latest prize-winning novels with any regularity. An unread copy of the Economist peeks forlornly out from under my bed, a memorial to my noble resolutions to remain informed about world events a little more recent than the Battle of Maldon.

This state of affairs is especially surprising to me as an international student from America, where undergraduates do not specialise until their second year and are encouraged to take classes in a variety of art and science subjects. On the one hand, the English system demands greater intellectual focus, independent thought, and a deeper understanding of the chosen subject. On the other, it can sometimes reduce the degree to which students are broadly conversant on a variety of topics.

Aware of this problem, I try to determine whether my colleagues are becoming as poorly read outside their subject as I. At breakfast, I talk, over my soggy eggs and tomatoes, to a graduate fresher reading financial economics, who describes his outside reading as ‘one book every two months.’ Ashley, a first-year biochemist, concurs, cataloguing her recent bedtime reading as ‘organic chemistry textbooks, biochemistry textbooks, biophysics textbooks…’ Another biochemist confesses to bringing along a store of novels for quiet nights but in fact finding time for no more than a quick glance at the Cherwell in the JCR. (In an occurrence certain to please journo-hacks everywhere, I find that the OxStu and the Cherwell easily top the list of extracurricular reading material. Student editors, bear cautiously your burden of providing overworked students with their sole channel to the outside world). Kiri, a first-year lawyer currently perusing Virginia Woolf’s The Waves in her spare time, is one of the few to establish a healthy balance between required and extracurricular reading: ‘I would say that I manage to strike a pretty good balance between reading what I want to read and what I need to read. It also helps that my subject is throwing a lot of interesting documents my way…I’m reading things within my subject that I would never have encountered in my normal reading pattern.’

Nonetheless, most students feel a definite conflict between their personal and their curricular reading, and some have actively tried to redress the imbalance. The Christ Church Cavaliers, a newly formed book club at the aforementioned college, plans to create a forum for the discussion of books from a variety of genres, from classic novels to history texts. Founder Edward Charlton-Jones and the other permanent members hope to include students from non-arts subjects who might otherwise be unlikely to participate. The club, rumoured to feature swords and heraldic crests (only at the House…), will no doubt become a mainstay of inter-subject reading.

In addition, the average Oxford student can partake of a wide range of extracurricular activities designed to broaden his experience beyond the bounds of his subject. Debates at the Union provide students with a fair and balanced look at loonies from across the political spectrum. Clubs ranging from the Asia-Pacific Society to the Yacht Club cater to every cultural, recreational, charitable, or culinary taste, no matter how obscure, while the Law and Finance Societies offer abundant free champagne and canapés in exchange for advance rights to your firstborn child and immortal soul. In short, though time for extracurricular reading may be scant, Oxford students are only as much in thrall to their subjects as they allow themselves to be, and opportunities for a well-rounded education in and out of the classroom are available to all.

by Elen GriffithsI am hunting for an impossible word. It is ‘Tantenverführer,’ which literally means ‘aunt-seducer’. I pound through dictionaries, trawl internet translators, then finally check online language forums. I search in vain: it is nowhere to be found.
This is because the word does not exist. In his new book Toujours Tingo, the sequel to The Meaning of Tingo, author Adam Jacot de Boinod has collected bizarre expressions from around the world, which have no equivalent in English. He delights in novel expressions and quirky idioms. Yet some phrases that Boinod cites, such as ‘Maüsemelker,’ ‘Tantenverführer’ and ‘gwarlingo,’ seem either to be invented, or so obscure that native speakers do not recognise them. The book has caused anger among the internet community, as linguists argue online that words have been made up.

To my disappointment I could not find ‘Tantenverführer,’ which de Boinod claims means a suspiciously charming young man. It is not in dictionaries, and German linguists on online ‘Leo’ dictionary forum don’t believe it officially exists. ‘Gwarlingo,’ allegedly meaning ‘the rushing sound a grandfather clock makes before striking the hour,’ is similarly unrecognizable. My Welsh-speaking family have never heard of it; nor have readers of ‘Times Online’. Has Boinod actually found these expressions, or is he inventing them?

These may be obscure or archaic words, which poses the question: how can we determine which words we officially accept as part of language? When an author invents words, as Lewis Carroll invented ‘galumph’ or ‘chortle,’ do they count? What about the archaic word ‘coruscating’ used by Stephen Spender, which I have yet to find anywhere else? If a word is so rare that no native speaker has heard of it, can we really accept it as a word?

This is an issue which de Boinod shies away from, yet it is vital in justifying his choice of obscure examples. Toujours Tingo is an interesting catalogue of idiomatic phrases from different languages, many of which are fascinating, but some of which are inane. De Boinod offers no analysis of his word-lists, other than claiming they will ‘change the way we see the world.’ I was interested to know that ‘it’s raining cats and dogs’ translates as ‘il pleut comme une vache qui pisse,’ but this did not fundamentally change my perception of language or the world. Toujours Tingo is bursting with interesting trivia – like the fact that many French idioms contain the number 36 – but little meaning.

De Boinod researched his book by trawling through 130 dictionaries and 140 websites, and it is possible that he found his obscure words, which have caused controversy online, in dictionaries more wide-ranging than the ones I use. Yet there is a fine line between quirky, obscure expressions and disused, unrecognisable ones; in my opinion, Toujours Tingo frequently crosses this line.

AN OXFORD Professor and his family are “lucky to be alive” after two teenagers set fire to their home in a Halloween arson attack.
Three fire engines, a police unit and an ambulance were called to the Headington home of English Professor and Merton fellow David Norbrook on 31 October, after youths started a fire by putting fireworks through his kitchen door.
Norbrook, his wife and two young children, who were asleep in the house when the fire broke out, managed to escape unharmed, although their home may be uninhabitable for up to nine months.
Fire and Rescue Service Fire Investigation Officer Guy Dunkley said that the family had been very fortunate to escape the blaze. “Luckily this particular family had a working smoke alarm in their home which alerted them to the fire. They are extremely lucky to be alive,” he said.
18-year-old Jamie Matthews, and a 17-year-old boy who cannot be named for legal reasons, were arrested in connection with the fire, and appeared before Oxford Magistrates’ Court on Tuesday, where they were charged with arson with intent to endanger life.
They have been granted conditional bail to appear at Oxford Crown Court on November 19, and have been forbidden from contacting each other or Professor Norbrook. It is expected that they will face prison sentences.
A spokesperson for Oxfordshire’s Fire and Rescue Service said, “We received a call at 11:58 on the night of Halloween. When we arrived, the crew were faced with a serious fire in the ground floor kitchen of the house. The family had managed to get out of the house before we arrived. The property was severely damaged by the fire.”
One of Norbrook’s neighbours also witnessed the events. “It was 12 at night and there was a hell of a bang and a flash. Fire engines and an ambulance and the police came. Their [Norbrook’s] next door neighbour went like a flash to get them out but they were already out of the house because they had smoke detectors. They had to stay the night next door and then moved to a B&B. They reckon 6 to 9 months before they can move back in. The police cordoned off the area for a day and then it was boarded up,” he said. 
A spokesperson for Thames Valley Police warned that the case would be treated as a serious offence and not just a Halloween prank. “The court are treating it as arson with an intent to endanger life which is a very serious charge. What first appeared to be a Halloween prank has ended up with very serious consequences,” he said. 
Norbrook said he had no idea why the teenagers decided to attack his property. “I don’t even know the names of the teenagers involved and have no knowledge of why they did it. But it has happened and they are being charged,” he said. 
Neighbours have expressed their sympathy for the family. “It was a dreadful thing and very upsetting for them, with two little children. It’s a good job they got out safely as they did,” said one resident.
Another added that she did not think there had been any malicious intent behind the attack. “It was just a Halloween prank that went horribly wrong. Some kids put a rocket through the kitchen door and it just exploded, the windows completely shattered,” she said.
Incident Manager Richard Bowley estimated the cost of damage to the house to be thousands of pounds, adding, “The family were very lucky to escape without serious injury. The fire investigation team were called in and after a painstaking search, found a firework underneath the debris in the kitchen which is believed to have started the fire. The incident is now being dealt with by the police.”