The University will remain at the forefront of British vaccine innovation due to the recent launch of a Centre for Clinical Vaccinology and Tropical Medicine. Officially opened on 25th September, the centre will ‘work at the interface between research and clinical practice’ on vaccines for global diseases such as meningitis, TB and HIV as part of the UK’s commitment to reduce the worldwide burden of infectious diseases.ARCHIVE: 0th Week MT2003 

Ryan Li, Cherwell photo editor, Torsten Henricson-Bell, Cherwell editor, and Clare Bevis, Isis former editor and feature writer, have been shortlisted for the Guardian Student Media Awards 2003.ARCHIVE: 0th Week MT2003 

Sarah McWhinney names the winners and losers in tenancy deposit disputes… Edd Southerden was in his second year and living out along the Cowley road when he went down to his basement one night to find himself wading around in three inches of raw sewage. “We didn’t realise what it was at first,” he said. “It had filtered through the bricks so all the particles had been left outside. It wasn’t so much poo as poo-juice!” Further investigation revealed that the sewage pipe in his house had become blocked over two years previously, leaving waste accumulating until it forced its way back into the house in a flood of mouldering effluent. Amazing as it seems, stories like this are far from rare in Oxford. Our landlords were recently branded the second worst in the country and the Student Union declares itself regularly deluged with complaints relating to substandard housing and unscrupulous property practice. Most relate to the ongoing problem of reclaiming housing deposits, which are often pocketed by crooked landlords in an attempt to make quick profits. “It seems to be all tactics,” said Nigel Simkin, Vice President of Mansfield JCR, who spent the summer trying to reclaim over £400 of deposit money for each of his housemates and eventually had to resort to the threats of a solicitor. “Students are the worst hit, as we don’t have jobs and can’t afford to lose such substantial amounts. Landlords know that most students can’t afford to take legal action, which leaves them able to take advantage.” Adam Thoday of Homefinders Letting Agents was quick to refute such a claim, calling the suggestion that landlords deliberately withheld deposits “grossly unfair.” “Deposits are categorically not a profit-making part of the contract”, he emphasised. “There are a few cowboy landlords out there, but then there are anywhere.” But are landlords really to blame? Perhaps not. Kate Davenport, of University of Oxford Administration and Accommodation Services, suggested that the delay in returning deposits and the seemingly unjustified costs often seemed to stem from letting agents rather than landlords themselves. But Adam Thoday contradicted her, pointing out that as regulated bodies, letting agents are often a safer option than landlords operating on a freelance basis. “Landlords tend to be after quicker profits,” he said. “As part of the National Approved Letting Service and the National Association of Estate Agents letting agents are bound by the rules, unlike landlords.” Rosie Buckland, OUSU VP (Welfare), blamed the problem on the lack of an independent third party to regulate the exchange of money throughout tenancy deals. “Unlike many university cities, we don’t have an accreditation scheme, which leaves students vulnerable to dodgy landlords,” she told Cherwell. OUSU are attempting to free students from this situation with plans to institute a housing bank – a website where students can search the database for landlords and letting agents and read the accounts of previous tenants. “This will free tenants from the landlord spin,” said Buckland. Edd Southerton and his housemates blamed the University for their predicament. “Colleges owe a responsibility of care to their students which they utterly fail to fulfil,” said Edd. Asked whether he had found the University Accommodation Offices helpful, he replied, “Not really – most of our information was got through the Citizens Advice Bureau.” Premiere, who deal with the Cowley Road area, expressed surprise at the ranking, saying, “We do a good job and most of our tenants are happy.”ARCHIVE: 0th Week MT2003 

Cherwell brings you headlines from the past week… George Bush has refused to criticise Israel’s air strike on Syria in response to a terror attack which left 20 people dead. National papers are close to exploding a legal minefield, after hinting at the identity of premiership footballers alleged to have gang-raped a teenage girl. A male contraceptive has proved 100% effective in preliminary clinical trials of hormone injections on 55 men. Dogs were turned into mules last week, after police discovered cocaine sewn into the stomachs of two live labradors. Ben Affleck has denied meeting a woman who is making claims of harassment against him in the wake of media frenzy surrounding the cancellation of his wedding to singer JLo. Celebrities clamoured to congratulate young winner of Pop Idol, Alex Parks, who appeared dazed by her meteoric rise to musical recognition this Saturday. Playful tricks turned nasty for world-famous illusionist Roy, who was mauled by his pet tiger on stage in front of his partner Siegfried and a confused live audience. Sergeant Bilko, the 1950s American comedy series, was named best ever TV sitcom in the Radio Times guide to TV comedy. ARCHIVE: 0th Week MT2003 

Both Tony Blair and IDS have battled cynical media coverage of the party conferences this week, struggling to retain focus on policy in the face of infighting and leadership controversy. Despite Tory hopes for an inspirational speech from their party frontman, Duncan Smith gave only a lacklustre performance, assuring voters that he would win the next election, but hardly appearing convinced himself; critics commented snidely that he had at last succeeded in unifying the party, but only in opposition to his leadership. Before IDS had even taken the stage, most attention was paid to speculation about possible candidates to succeed him, with former chancellor Kenneth Clarke casting the most threatening shadow over his pledge to remain in control. While warding off scepticism about his political competence, IDS threatened to sue the BBC should it broadcast allegations concerning the dubious payment of a secretary’s salary to his wife out of party finances, but he failed to prevent the rumours from clouding his conference agenda. The Independent even declared IDS’ leadership in crisis after its survey this week revealed that most people see the Liberals as Labour’s most serious opposition. According to electoral polls, the Tories remain in second place by five points, defying forecasts that they would advance on Labour following a recent slump in Blair’s popularity. The Prime Minister’s credibility was most dented in the past week by Channel 4’s drama, The Deal, which portrayed him as a wellspun actor on a ruthless quest for self-advancement. The programme purported to represent his rise to power, focussing on the friction between Blair and Brown, especially during the infamous Granita agreement supposedly promising the Chancellor leadership of the government halfway through his second term as Prime Minister. However, Blair managed to smooth over accusations of spin and deceit with a concerted campaign to promote Labour’s renewed efforts at transparency; his speech again proved his mastery of sincere performance, reasserting his authority as the party vote-winner and locking Brown back up in his little red box.ARCHIVE: 0th Week MT2003 

The micro-mini is a must have this season, as the sexiest of all skirts regains its catwalk throne and gives our favourite slouchy combats a sharp kick in the pants. Patterned tights at D&G, leggings at Versus, opaque tights in bright colours at Marc Jacobs and almost endless thigh-high boots at Gucci all meant one thing – the focus is on legs this season. But the sudden leg-fetish is nothing to fear even if you don’t have the proportions of a supermodel – in fact it’s pretty good news. There’s no reason to slog for pointless hours on the cross-trainer; there is no J.Lo bottom of legs. Yes, most of us may turn green at the sight of Gisele in a miniskirt, but many guys may not agree with you. Britney’s legs are short and chunky and Beyoncé’s thighs are far from toned but guys go crazy over both. Go figure. Treat your own little slice of perfection to some of this season’s leg-hugging lovelies.All clothes from GAFF, Broad St,Short faded denim skirt £65; Black cow-neck top £54;Tartan skirt £72; Red and khaki top £27Model – KATIE CARROLLARCHIVE: 0th Week MT2003 

Four recent St. John’s graduates, NICK STANHOPE, REBECCA GOWLAND, JONNY POLONSKY and ROBERT HADMAN give us weekly updates as they cycle the length of Africa to campaign against slavery #1 Rob: The story begins… A couple of years ago my friend Nick Stanhope invited me to join him for what can only be described as “the trip of a lifetime”. This horrible cliché was, however, justified. His plan was to travel by bicycle all the way from Cape Town to London. It was irresistible and I immediately signed up. At the time, Nick and I lived in a skanky house on Museum Road. It was our second year, and hence levels of maturity were at an all time low. Nick, an immaculately dressed, eyebrow-plucking alpha male, brought a tiny measure of class and responsibility to the house, yet his bike-ride idea was anything but compatible with the middle-aged, father-figure tag with which I had branded him. So Nick, Becks, my feminist fiancée, Jonny and I committed ourselves to the summer of 2003 for our adventure. Becks’ experience as chair of the University’s branch of Amnesty International gave us the focus necessary to turn this pipe dream into today’s reality. Personal connections to Kevin Bales, author of Disposable People and one of the world’s leading authorities on modern slavery, inspired us to raise money and awareness for Anti-Slavery International, the oldest human rights charity in the world. Fund-raising has been fun but exhausting. We have managed to raise roughly £25,000 so far, £15,000 of which ASI has already received. Saracen Bikes gave us four very shiny machines at an incredibly good price, all our spares have been severely discounted and our flights donated through relatives’ air-miles. Contributors range from Jeremy Paxman to Jeffrey Archer, but we’re still waiting for Sting and Desmond Tutu… Getting a documentary off the ground has also proved tough, but it’s been really fun pursuing contracts, coming up with ideas and talking about factors such as group psychology. We decided to set off from Cape Town on 23rd August, International Slavery day, cycling 100 miles a day, investigating and filming cases of slavery en route, camping every night, and producing a documentary on the move. Our route should take us from South Africa, through Mozambique and Malawi and into Tanzania. From there we aim to cycle into Kenya and then to Ethiopia. Then it gets very tricky; Sudan is a bit of a shit to get into and not much fun once you’re there, it’s one of those war-in-adesert type places with a flourishing slave trade and a distinct lack of roads. Then when/if we get to Egypt, we’re still thinking of making a break for Jordan and coming round the Med via Syria and Turkey You will get updates of our weekly progress here but please check out our swanky website at www.capetowntolondon.co. uk – any interest we can generate amongst jobless students will be helpful. Next week we’ll be thousand miles closer to home and doubtless will have lots more to report – look forward to photos of our scabby arses…ARCHIVE: 0th Week MT2003 

DANIEL LLOYD explores representations of the women of Zimbabwe and finds little to praise In Praise of Women, ArtAfrica’s exhibition of Zimbabwean sculpture, which took place in the gardens of Magdalen College, was a very curious affair indeed. Ostensibly intended as a showcase for indigenous Zimbabwean stonework, it was largely controlled and curated by middle-aged westerners, and the works carried hefty price tags. Apparently a display of folk-art, the pieces seemed strangely derivative, inducing nothing so much as a sense of deja vu. A mass of contradictions. A curate’s egg. The reasons behind the unsatisfactory feelings which one takes away from the exhibition are several, and are perhaps indicative of a wider trend in populist art, particularly that which emerges from Zimbabwe. To most westerners, that country is a blank space on their mental embroidered tea-towel of the cultural map of Africa. It falls vaguely south of the Pharaohs, east of Youssou N’Dour, north of the Rainbow Nation. The tradition of stone sculpture is, ironically for a country whose name translates as “house of stone” in the language of the Shona people who make up a little over four-fifths of its population, rather recent, having taken off around the 1970s. And therein lies the problem. It has, throughout its entire cultural history, been supported and encouraged by westerners and white farmers. Zimbabwe has no great history of tourism, and that has certainly declined in present times. So, in order to attract buyers for these pieces, they must be hawked around the world (this particular exhibition is taking place in Oxford, London, Copenhagen and Uppsala) in a boutique dressed as a museum. Worse still, in order for the work to sell, it must be saleable. It must be user-friendly. Hence the sense of deja-vu: this is “African art” for the lowest common denominator. There are the obligatory big–buttocked earth mamas, faces with vaguely “tribal mask–like” features, and abstract depictions of wombs and the female form. That is not to decry the technique of the sculptors who achieve remarkable effects of texture and colour with the huge geological wealth of Zimbabwe. Nor the setting, which, with the dreary rain of a typical Oxonian summer brought out wonderful tones in the stone that the heat of Harare might not. Sadly the subject matter does not engage with the realities of life. On the one hand, one could argue that the depiction of such elemental subjects as womanhood, birth, or childhood are in some indefinable way universal; but on the other, where is the engagement with rape, incest, prostitution, misery, poverty, pain, queues for bread? This exhibition sanitises the lives of the “women of Zimbabwe” and does them a disservice. It turns them into sitting-room curios, inoffensively genial, un-challengingly joyous. In Praise of Women has received much adulation, yet it is rather patronising; we ought to demand more of our artists. The exhibition ought to be retitled “A Present from Zimbabwe” – we ought to ask ourselves whether “A Present from Eastbourne” would have the same reception. www.artafrica-online.comARCHIVE: 0th Week MT2003 

Give me your tired, your poor and your huddled masses…” If ever a place in England could speak these lines as that famous symbol of immigrant opportunity west of the Atlantic does, it would be a stretch of road smack–bang in the middle of London’s East End. For fleeing Huguenots in the 18th century, escaping Jews in the 19th and Bangladeshis in the 20th it was a place of economic and social refuge; that place was Brick Lane. Monica Ali’s debut novel immortalises the idiosyncrasies of the immigrant experience, focusing on a Bangladeshi woman and her trials and tribulations as a daughter, wife and mother. The narrative journeys from rural Bangladesh to Tower Hamlets with Nazneen its protagonist. In London she experiences a fettered lifestyle, firmly under the thumb of her husband’s “advice” despite her own embryonic attempts to forge an independent existence. Far from being illiberal, her husband, Chanu, is neither religiously inclined nor particularly adherent to native custom. He revels in his self-implied superior status, a man “always learning” in comparison to other Bangladeshis who “miss the pull of the land”. Meanwhile, Nazneen listens with serene confidence to her husband’s platitudes on everything and anything, and her children’s difficulty with their culture. Interwoven are glimpses of Hasina’s life through letters she sends to her sister, Nazneen. Later, young Karim enters Nazneen’s life, sparking hidden desires and catalysing Nazneen’s path to self–discovery as a woman. Unfortunately the Booker–Prize– nominated Brick Lanefails to live up to its press blurb. Euphemistically called “epic” and “Dickensian”, some may claim the lack of dramatic momentum is necessary in order to correspond realistically with the minutiae of Nazneen’s slow life, but it still doesn’t adequately justify the plodding pace. Like Dickens, Ali creates cartoonish characters instantly recognisable through what they look like and say; there’s Chanu’s fat self and pseudo–intellectual ruminations, Mrs Islam’s arthritic body and tiresome advice and Islamic groups with fundamentalist leanings, animations that become clichéd and painfully skewed. But Ali must be commended on her poetic and practical vision of the immigrant experience. She gives us haunting aperçus wrought with pathos into death and illuminating observations on the tantalising memory of the motherland, the immigrant’s disillusionment with the host-culture and the question of a multicultural identity. Ali implies in many ways that an immigrant’s old-school thinking has no place in a modern world where free will spells out happiness for the individual, a world where choice not convention must determine human action, after all says a character, “This is England, you can do whatever you like.”ARCHIVE: 0th Week MT2003 

VICTORIA CAULFIELD & GEORGINA TURNER seek sensual pleasure in Greece Clutching our factor 30 in true Brit style and looking for a change of scenery from the dreaming spires, we set off this summer to the land of sensual pleasures – Greece. Later, falling off the plane at a time when even Hussein’s is closed, collapsing under the weight of our rucksacks, and with a bus door slamming in our face, we were wondering when the holiday was going to begin. First stop was the medieval island of Rhodes – better known for its 18-30’s resort of Faliraki – where sex is as readily available as Retsina. After a year in the Oxford desert we couldn’t resist a stop. Sadly, fate became our contraceptive. Several hours later we woke up, blurry eyed having slept through the neon lights and the cries of Nelly’s, “its getting hot in here, so take off all of your clothes”. Lindos appeared to be our new destination. A rather more cultural one than had been intended but at least the rape alarm could be tucked away in the handbag. Tor, horrified at the thought of another “monument day”, decided it was an appropriate time to email the parents and impress them with the unexpected culture, rather than the usual suntan news. Yet before we knew it we are sitting in the ‘Luna Bar’ with cocktails being thrown our way by a big motorbike rider/cocktail bar tender called George. The decision is made and publicly broadcasted: George is the new guy in our lives. The size of a sumo wrestler, clad in a black vest, with tattooed muscled arms rippling, he is a surprising softie at heart, with a soft southern Texan drawl. As a local of Lindos for eight months of the year, he gives us a useful insight. Not only a local information point but George also offers free alcohol and provides us with private tuition in cocktail education. Achieving the feats of getting two past salmonella sufferers to drink a raw egg concoction. As the tax receipts pile up under the ash tray after numerous cocktails and shots are consumed, the enormous George doubling before our eyes, we make our broadcast. “George is the best cock…t…tail maker in the world, got something for…for everyone…we love him”. Collapsing back on our stools, Tor starts chatting to some English forty year old with a blatantly fake cockney accent and the subject seems to be Chemistry… we wonder what men find impressive… One thing for sure – it’s not working. Podge starts talking to a sailor from Plymouth who has never been further in his ship than Ipswich. Our own Faliraki is perhaps not so different after all. The e-mail Tor’s parents received that night was not the one that had been intended, the computer in the bar suddenly having a surprising appeal in the early hours. Luckily for us Greece may have its Falirakis but just around the corner is that perfect hangover retreat. Genadi, south of Lindos, proved to be ours. The peace was only disturbed by the formidable silhouette of George on his Harley Davidson scouting the beach for us – an abrupt reminder of our promised lunch date from the night before. The rapid dive under the sunbed was the only hindrance to our recovery… Contrary to what you might think, Greece does have places where you can whip your top off without the penalty of a £1500 fine. In Ikaria, a remote, secluded island where fishing offers tourism some competition, we discovered some more unusual sights than on your typical day at the beach. The nudist beach at Naz is the ultimate in liberation. Not only for the chance to bronze those always glowing in the dark bits, but also an impressive hippy commune, if you take the wrong turn. A few needles, and unintelligible conversations later we finally were pointed in the right direction. The hippy commune and nudist beach stand as a bizarre foreground to one of the most ancient ruins in Greece. Sun goddess Podge was in heaven – although finding it rather difficult to focus on the pages of Robinson Crusoe. The man to the left who should definitely try the latest anti-wrinkle cream, and the very fit Swede on the right with his porn star body were not conducive to our reading habits. The least pleasurable bit of any holiday is the actual travelling, not least when you are a definite Class C candidate. Somehow the rucksacks didn’t do much for the Class A quality we thought we could pass as. Made outcasts on top deck for the duration of a 22 hour ferry journey, our cafeteria no more than a sign, we certainly knew our place. Any attempt at entering the ’Saphire lounge’ below was thwarted by the little grey haired Greek man whose English amounted to “shoo”. Thankfully with bargains struck on a victorious treble win at backgammon, we claimed our bodyguards, Joseph and Jack – English gentlemen all the way – to guard us while we froze into sleep. We definitely felt like the stereotypical Bridget Jones when one day we were forced to ask some people where we were. I think the tourists who we targeted thought we were completely past hope when they initially replied, “Rhodes, Greece”. Then, when they replied “Mount Smithe” we gaily set out on a mountain hike without a map – all in aid of maintaining our mixed lacrosse fitness of course. After three weeks Podge finally weaned typical Brit Tor off factor 30 and was glad to report that the tans reached a satisfactory level. While we found that Greek sensual pleasures remain a myth, evident only on graphic sexual position postcards which could even outdo More’s ‘position of the fortnight’, Greece certainly gave us that alternative to the dreaming spires. Maybe looking back it was that clichéd girly holiday, but as the ancient Greek saying goes, “Girls justa wanna have fun!”ARCHIVE: 0th Week MT2003