A new book claims that life expectancy is linked to education:
the longer you spend learning, the longer life you will have. Sir Michael Marmot, professor of epidemiology and public
health at University College London, has challenged conventional
thinking that genes and lifestyle choices such as smoking are the
key factors in life expectancy, and argues in a new book that the
key factor is actually social standing. Critically, he has collected data showing that people with
PhDs live longer than those with masters degrees. Those with a
masters live longer than those with an undergraduate degree,
while those with an undergraduate degree live longer than those
who left school early. Sir Michael calls it “Status Syndrome” and explains
that “the evidence is overwhelming. It suggests that higher
society position creates good health.” The social hierarchy
he talks of could be as simple as the various levels of education
within a university. Alternativley, they may be as complex as the
relative importance of individuals within the Civil Service. Sir Michael argues that an individual’s position in that
hierarchy is influenced by two things: how much control we have
over our lives and what role we play in society. “Do
individuals feel in control and have opportunities for full
social engagement?” he asks. He claims that income is relatively unimportant as long as an
individual is near the top of their social hierarchy, hence
impoverished academics can still live long into old age.
“More money does not buy better health, it is only important
as a marker. Income per se is not important.” Sir Michael has been part of an independent government inquiry
since 1997 which has explored health inequalities. He believes that, by giving people more control over their
lives and by ensuring that they play a full part in society,
health can be boosted and lifespan extended.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

Three thousand women from Oxford took part in a charity race
to aid the struggle against cancer last Sunday. The organisers
hope that £180,000 will be raised for cancer research. The
‘Race for Life’ has been run in Oxford since 1996
around a 5km course in University Parks. Participants in the
event also released pink balloons to remember those affected by
the illness. Over the last ten years, a million women across the country
have participated in the ‘Race for Life’ campaign,
making it the UK’s largest fundraising event. During this
time, it has raised £50 million for Cancer Research UK. More
than a quarter of a million people are diagnosed with cancer in
the UK every year. The disease is the cause of over a quarter of
all deaths annually. Jane Tomlinson also passed through Oxford, last Thursday, as
part of a 2,000-mile charity cycle ride that has taken her
through Florence, Monte Carlo, Lyon and Paris. She has battled
through breast cancer to raise £135,000 on her ride for a number
of charities, including MacMillan Cancer Relief and Leeds Acute
Paediatric Services. She arrived in Oxford at 2.30pm ahead of an
overnight stay at the Oxford Business Park, in Cowley. Tomlinson was diagnosed with breast cancer when she was 26 and
in 2000 was told that she had secondary metastatic bone cancer.
She was given six months to live. Throughout her ride she has
battled against her disease. “My illness doesn’t go
away,” she said, “it’s progressive and I have to
get on top of that.” Tomlinson has also run three marathons,
a half Iron Man triathlon and completed a cycle ride from John
O’Groats to Land’s End, raising over £600,000 for
charity. She arrived home on Monday.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

34 live shotgun cartridges were found abandoned in a green
Nike bag in Christ Church Meadows last Friday. The cartridges were found by a resident of Oxford’s night
shelter who approached a constable in Bonn Square to hand over
his discovery. The man later showed the police the exact spot between Christ
Church gardens and the Meadows where he found the shells in an
abandoned hold-all bag. How the ammunition got to one of the most
picturesque spots in Oxford remains a mystery. PC Treherne, the
man to whom the shells were handed over said that in his five
years of working in Oxford he had “certainly never been
handed anything like this before”. There has been no sign as yet of a weapon and the
cartridges’ discovery have not been linked to any other
incidents or crimes so far, but the police are still
investigating the matter. Anyone with any information can contact
PC Treherne via the Thames Valley Police.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

Members of Mansfield College JCR have voted to continue to
allow students to smoke in the college bar. Passions were raised amid divided opinion between those who
believe smoking is an inalienable individual right and those who
support the ban because of the detrimental effects of passive
smoking. The current JCR policy won a vote with a majority of 63
votes to 44. The vote has checked a growing trend to ban smoking in public
places. Early this term, smoking was prohibited in Teddy Hall
JCR. On Tuesday the Health Secretary, John Reid, angered
anti-smoking groups by saying smoking is one of the few pleasures
the poor had left. He said, “The only enjoyment sometimes
that they have is to have a cigarette.”ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

Hollywood Cocktails
124 Walton St
(01865) 511 668 As you come to the end of the Jericho “bar crawl”
from the north of Oxford into the centre of town, you are likely
to decide to omit one new addition to the scene from your
drinking schedule, on the basis of its unpromising exterior.
Hollywood Cocktails is situated on the corner of Little Clarendon
Street, opposite the more aesthetically pleasing peppermint green
façade of Raouls, and seems to promise a pretty seedy
experience. Maybe, however, this is simply a result of the
permanent dirtiness of its windows: bar owners take note: these
things do get noticed. I strongly advise that you give Hollywood Cocktails a closer,
more penetrating look and venture inside. This bar is a welcome
new addition to the Jericho bar scene, providing an oasis of calm
and a sense of groundedness amidst the sometimes overwhelming
atmosphere of those more fashionable and well-known jericho bars.
It plays vintage ‘30s and ‘40s jazz and boasts a
collection of posters of film noir & classic stars alongside
the standard huge mirrors & luxury leather seating. Hollywood Cocktails is run by a couple who decided to take the
ethos for their new venture from their favourite cocktail recipe
book, and it has certainly paid off – there is a unusual and
wide selection of dinks, including non-alcoholic versions of old
favourites – ones to try include the cinammon daquiri and
the raspberry tart. Snacks and table service are also available. Part of the charm of Holywood cocktails is the fact that it is
as yet relatively undiscovered, so it will be well worth a visit
before it becomes (as it is bound to do) more popular. The only
down side is the lack of outdoor seating, but come the winter
this will matter less. Above all, Hollywood Cocktails has
something different to offer, cocktails with a twist, and should
definitely be visited at least once.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

The White Hart
Wytham
(01865) 244372 The White Hart is set in Wytham, (a treesy hamlet just past
Godstow), and has recently been converted into a gastro pub. The
refurbishment has removed some of its old world charm, and
compared with the cosy, smoky ambience you would expect of a
country pub, it is slightly sterile and soulless. But in the
evening its stone walls are beautifully lit and candles and
simple décor allow it to maintain a rustic feel. To start we had the beef Carpaccio with truffle oil, parmesan,
balsamic vinegar and rocket. The beef was incredibly tender and
the combination of flavours worked well. Although not usually a
fan of fish, the smoked haddock risotto was unbelievable, and the
tomato soup was surprisingly good. The mains were equally impressive. The rump steak was
succulent and was served with creamy mash, although the
overcooked ratatouille let the dish down. The fillet steak,
however, was beautifully presented and combined an unusual and
delicious array of flavours. Although pasta can sometimes
disappoint, the mushroom tortellini with truffle oil and rocket
was delicious and easily competed with the high standard of the
fish and meat. The puddings were more mixed. Both the crème
brulee and the vanilla ice cream were average, but the chocolate
fondant was obscenely good. In general, the menu provided a good variety (despite an
alarming obsession with rocket and balsamic vinegar). The
portions were generous and the standard consistently high. There
was a good choice of affordable red and white wine and the
service was excellent. Although on the pricey side for a pub and even for a
restaurant, the price was only indicative of its quality. Not
only is it the best pub food I have ever tasted, but the best
meal I have had in Oxford. On a free evening I strongly recommend
it; it is worth the taxi ride ten times over.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

Whatever you’re doing this summer, whether it’s
strolling down the Champs Elysées, hitching a lift in the back
of a chicken truck through Jordan, or working behind the bar of
your local sweaty pub, you’re going to need to keep your
cool. What you need is versatile, adaptable, pack-able and, above
all, fashionable clothes that will take you from Paris to
Glastonbury and to the Hideous Kinkydepths of Morocco… Why is it that when people go travelling, they feel the urge
to dress up as if they were going to war? Huge, triple-zipped,
reversible, hitech, hi-gear, double combo, waterproof
contraptions with deflector and radar systems. When you arrive
all you’ll want is to look less like a traveller and throw
away the velcromulti- pocketed combats in exchange for some
normal clothes. The mosquito-repellent beige shirt will not only
repel the mosquitoes, but everyone else around you. Avoid going
to any ‘Outdoors’ shops before setting off on your
travels – the salesmen will try to convince you to buy
mysterious items, such as ‘jungle boots’ or a
‘monkey sack’. Whether you’re mountain climbing or hacking through the
Amazon, travel light, and take something that will give you a
break form the monkey- boot nightmare. Bring a loosefitting dress
for going out; try one made out of crumpled material, so you can
scrunch it up. Men should take a tip from the Bollywood star
Imran Khan and wear some kind of Indian-Kaftan top and trousers
affair, billowing in the wind. Try the dark, incense-burning
Indian shop on the Cowley Road; it’s like stepping into a
foreign country or going back to the 1970s. And if you pop across
the road afterwards, to the Greek supermarket, it might be enough
to quench your thirst for travelling altogether. Get some ‘Thai pants’, although they appear at first
to be designed by an elephant for an elephant, once you’ve
learnt how to wrap them, you’ll discover the marvel of the
design and wear them all the time. Wear them with a boob tube and
avoid the colour grey – the ultimate sweat-patch
illuminator. Black is a good travelling colour; it’s a myth
that it makes you hotter. Whatever you do, don’t wear those
‘Rah rah’ reflective sunglasses, unless you’re
going skiing, where everyone wears them anyway. Particularly
avoid them if you are dressed all in white, it’s a bit
‘scuba-diving instructor’. From the low-life of backpacking to the high life, if
you’re planning on travelling in style, romping around
Paris, Rome and New York, then leave the rucksacks behind. You
certainly can’t be a Parisian while puffing around, looking
like a Gary Larson cartoon tourist. For the styleconscious
traveller, what you need is a large Long Champsbag, £30. So, the point is to travel light and get some Thai pants. Also
take a scarf to go over a t-shirt on a cold Glastonbury night,
while swaying to Belle and Sebastian. Fashion isn’t all
there is to life and travelling, but it has its place somewhere
in that Sloaney Long Champs bag, or screwed up at the bottom of
your dust-covered rucksack.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

The piazza was crawling with women. I would have felt like a
kid in a candy store, had they not all been wearing habits. It
was a muted rainbow of black, white, blue and brown veils waving
in the wind, as the young women alternately giggled and cheered.
They reminded me of the teens in clips of the first Beatles
concerts, both in their giddiness and in the sense that they
properly belonged in some different era. But the man inspiring
their enthusiasm was not from Liverpool. He was the frail,
octogenarian leader of a billion Catholics. And his fans had come
not just to revel, but to repent as well, in a city which melds
reveling and repentance like few others. The Wednesday morning Papal audience is usually the high point
of a trip to Rome for the pilgrimtourist. But this week was
different. This was Settimana Santa – Holy Week, the
crescendo of the Christian calendar. Wednesday was only the
beginning of a string of church services at St Peter’s. It
was my fifth trip to Rome, so the wideeyed wonder that marks the
firsttime visitor had eased a bit. The list of must-see sites
that had governed my first visits – the Vatican museums, the
Piazza di Spagna, the Forum – gave way to the aimless
wandering through which Rome truly reveals herself. More than any other time of the year, Holy Week sees a mixing
of holiday and pilgrimage. Men and women in clerical garb make
their way through groups of university students on spring break,
camerawielding tourist packs, and Clark Griswold-esque families
following a tight program from the Trevi Fountain to Piazza dei
Populi. Yet in the face of this relentless movement, this city
conserves its secrets in shadows and quiet light. Nineteenth
Century pastel buildings crowd narrow streets, with angles that
even at the height of day frustrate the sun. The calmness is
never totally overcome. Whether holiday or pilgrimage, I can never come through Rome
without a visit to the Spanish steps. From the top of the steps,
one can see the dome of St Peter’s and the white marble
heights of the monument to Vittorio Emmanuele, the father of the
modern Italian state. After a moment reflecting on the skyline, I
stroll down to the Cappuccin Church, known for the macabre
display of centuries-old monastic bones in its crypt. In it,
skeletons in monastic robes stand watch over the inscription
‘What you are, we once were, and what we are, you too will
be’. The guitars are just out of earshot. Of Rome’s many layers, faith would seem to have been
squeezed by the tectonic shifts of politics and culture: the
former with the unification of Italy and the end of the Papal
States in 1870s, and the latter in an ongoing struggle between
tradition and progress. This means a richness, one that lives in
each step across the cobbled stones of Campo dei Fiori in the
southern part of the city centre, where I spend the late
afternoon. There is nothing reserved here – all is sound and
movement, swirling around the ancient figure of a hooded Giordano
Bruno, clutching a book in both hands. His head is bowed, toward
the Vatican, but in judgement rather than reverence. His
judgement is on the Vatican authorities who had him burned for
his theological ‘errors’ at a stake set in that very
place. Yet now it seems – with the Enlightenment perhaps
vindicating his obstinacy – he should be looking up and
gloating about history’s judgement. That such a statue
stands in Rome’s centre suggests the uneasy relationship
that remains between the city’s temporal and spiritual
leaders. I make my way south from the city centre, keeping my map in my
bag, wondering which of the city’s four hundred churches
will appear before me around the next curve. After a day of
wandering, following the Pope’s morning audience, I find
relief from the hordes across the river to the south, in the
Trastevere section of the city – so named for its location
across the Tiber River, or ‘Tevere’. In the Piazza di
Santa Maria in Trastevere, lights blink on to meet the twilight.
Tables spill out of restaurants along with smells that will
capture not just the stomach but the soul. The Piazza is alive
with a spirit very different from St Peter’s in the morning.
Replete with habits of a different sort, it is more of revelling
than repentance. Around the fountain at its centre, carefully
coiffed young Italian men summon their charms to woo
scarlet-haired goddesses. These women will catch your eye and
vanish like dreams so intoxicating it hurts to wake up. While this goes on, the Church of Santa Maria rises up in the
square’s southwest corner. Its face is darkened with age,
and with the thick blackness of modernity that hangs in the air.
The church is open late during Holy Week. Inside, in dark corners
defined by clusters of flickering flame, searching souls kneel
alone. Their moving lips suggest that on this night, in this
place, solitude may be more complicated than it first appears.
Curious passers–by wander in. Some step purposefully, as if
to assert themselves. For others, steps falter for fear of
violating something – some space from another time. One woman dressed for a night out makes her way up the aisle,
craning her neck at the carvings on the ceiling as if in a
museum. Then she slips into an empty pew. Light flickers on
golden mosaics, multiplying the force of the flame. She sits
quietly.ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004 

As Britain’s greatest fashion export, Paul Smith is
remarkably modest. “Frankly,” he says, “I’m
not exceptional at design. I’m medium.” This comes from
the man whose collection is sold in thirty-five countries and has
over 200 shops in Japan alone. It’s true his clothes do not
have the flamboyance of John Galliano’s couture creations,
nor are they reminiscent of the bizarre eccentricity associated
with Alexander McQueen’s collections, but the Paul Smith
stripe is instantly recognisable and his much-coveted bespoke
suits are famous for their superb tailoring and idiosyncratic
detail. When you consider he works in an industry known for its excess
of pretentious luvvies and supercilious fashion junkies,
ego-maniacal designers and snobby editors, his down-to-earth
nature is surprising. He seems very relaxed and is happy to
answer my barrage of questions. I wonder if his friendly manner
is a result of his accidental entry into fashion. “I wanted
to be a professional racing cyclist, but truthfully I don’t
think I would ever have got there. After I crashed with a car I
discovered this pub where all the arty students in Nottingham
went. It changed my world.” Mixing with photographers,
graphic designers and painters inspired the young Paul Smith to
realise his creative potential. With the help of his girlfriend
Pauline, who is now his wife, and some savings, Paul Smith opened
a tiny shop in 1970 and officially entered the world of fashion.
Remarkably, only six years later he went on to show his first
Paul Smith menswear collection in Paris. Today there are twelve
different collections including a range of furniture. Despite running a huge empire, Paul Smith has clearly kept his
two feet firmly on the ground. “I have never taken fashion
too seriously. It’s important because the industry creates
jobs, pays mortgages and keeps families going.” Of course,
he is only too aware of the power of fashion, “Design
affects people in different ways: some feel sexy; some feel
slimmer; some handsome. A pilot without his uniform loses his
authority, you wouldn’t be too happy if he was dressed as a
punk. In the same way a man in army uniform looks and feels
tough. The way we dress reveals something about ourselves and can
help project an image.” And with his flair for colour and
sense of style, Paul Smith helps his customers to project that
image, whatever it may be. He stresses the importance of mixing a good business sense
with design. “It’s not good enough to be a great
designer, you have to have a head for business too. Why should a
designer know what VAT is; I thought it was a vodka and
tonic!” I think he’s winding me up, but he has a point.
“Fashion is only a small part of what I do. For me the more
important aspect is continuity in business. Keeping up the Paul
Smith quality year after year. It’s quite easy to become
famous, but it’s hard to maintain your fame and
reputation.” His world-wide success hasn’t made him
complacent. “I think I’ve been lucky with life. But I
do believe you get out what you put in: Japan was not luck; it
took eighty trips.” This man’s energy clearly has no
limits. “In fashion, it’s only about today and
tomorrow. Someone can overtake you in the fast lane if
you’re not careful. You have to keep moving to stay
ahead.” He stresses the importance of looking hard to create
something fresh, original and genuine but is keen to point out
that this rule applies to all businesses, not just fashion.
“Everything is so formulaic right now. Frankly, I don’t
think there’s much difference between the Pradas and the
Guccis and the Starbucks and the Coffee Republics. Everybody is
imitating everybody else.” Copying is apparently “the
disease” plaguing society. I ask for his solution to this modern malaise. His answer is
“individuality”. He firmly believes “you can find
inspiration in everything; if you can’t then you’re not
looking hard enough.” In fact this mantra is the title of
his autobiography, which he published last year. He’s been
inspired by cushions in Zambia, textures in Guatemala, the
colours of buildings in Lithuania and banners in China. Frequent
travel combined with photographs in books and magazines provides
an endless source of inspiration “but I could be inspired in
Birmingham if I had to be.” He admits that making money is
also an inspiration for his designs. “I like to make things
that are different, but that will sell and make money too. I try
to strike a balance between attention grabbing and classical
designs. It’s like life itself, you have to get the balance
right.” While the rest of the fashion pack are creating what he
disparaging refers to as “cookie-cutter fashion” Paul
Smith now does hand tailoring “so that every suit has its
own quirky imperfections”. And therein lies his formula for
success. His collections fuse a sense of tradition with mischief
and humour that somehow appeals to both the British as well as
the Japanese buyer. Over thirty years after opening his first (tiny) shop there,
the doyen of design is returning to his native Nottingham roots
with a Paul Smith boutique due to be opened this Autumn. Similar
in concept to his Notting Hill store, which is actually a house
divided into rooms showcasing accessories and antiques as well as
collections, the Nottingham shop “is a listed building,
built in 1736, I think. We’re opening the ground and first
floors.” Rumours abound of an underground grotto, but Paul
Smith says nothing to confirm or dispel the latest speculation.
Given that each shop is individual and unique – he even sold
Dyson vacuum cleaners in one store – grotto or not, the
Nottingham store won’t disappoint. I wonder how he sees the future of Paul Smith, the company. He
laughs. “My stepson was involved for twenty years and was in
line to takeover, but now he’s decided to be an actor. I
have a excellent management team all in place, the only weak spot
is me.” Or, perhaps more accurately, the lack of him. He has
no plans to take on a big designer, “I want someone with my
signature to carry on the Paul Smith name in the right direction.
Established names would want to promote their own visualisations;
it would no longer be Paul Smith. I have two great design
assistants, but if I’m not around, the ideas always take on
another form and become a completely different animal.” Truthfully, I can’t imagine this energetic man handing
the reins over too soon. “I know I should slow down and stop
working. I think I’ll ease out slowly. Maybe, I’ll work
a four-day week.”ARCHIVE: 6th week TT 2004