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Queen’s garden play review: ‘If you are a fan of the film you would have loved this theatrical rendition’

By
Kiaya Phillips
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Honestly, I was more than happy to be spending my hungover Saturday relishing in the summer heat whilst watching Queen’s garden play last weekend regardless of how good the play would actually be. Being a fan of the film but not having watched it for ages, I was intrigued to see those big numbers put to the Oxford stage. But I am happy to report that it is safe to say, they delivered above and beyond my meagre expectations.

The in-the-round staging choice with one main stage and several smaller supplementary ones around the garden was a smart one, and it made it all the more dynamic and involving as an audience member. The play was a flurry of activity for all three hours, yet worked succinctly all the while; likely down to thoughtful direction which it must thus be commended for. And I’m sure both I and the cast and crew were thanking God for the bout of good weather we were having that made the experience all the more enjoyable as an audience member (I do not think the play would have had as great of an effect if it were confined to a black box or constructed under a marquee…).  

The use of comedy in the production was brilliant, a favourite moment being the performance of ‘Agony’ by the two princes in the middle of the first half. It was camp and dramatic and altogether hilarious. The princes were expertly cast and worked well together, heightening one another’s comedy, whilst still singing expertly. And these small moments of comedy were what really drew the piece together for me. With the many characters and overlapping plotlines it can be easy to overlook certain aspects of the narrative, but this production had stars in every role that did not take away, but only added to, one another’s immense theatricality. 

There were also incorporated elements of dancing and movement which added another layer to the piece. Particularly prevalent when the baker and his wife tap danced together. This was an unexpected joy for me (having a love for the style after having done tap dancing all through my childhood) as it is such an underutilised form of dance in this type of musical theatre. Additionally, it emphasised the bond between the couple, making me root for their love filled quest through the forest all the more. 

There were some amazing singers in this production, many of which each had their shining moment of stardom. However, it was Cinderlella’s melodic tones that struck me most. She not only sang beautifully alone, but harmonised with other actors effortlessly. I’m no music student, but I would safely say she has some serious skill. 

The costume was well done, with all characters having very distinctive clothing which helped to distinguish everyone, especially in the busier scenes where all the characters were on stage at once. The playful girlish red-riding-hood outfit was probably my favourite. A mini skirt, brown wicker basket, cropped red cloak and long red hair ribbons accurately exemplifying the little girl we picture from the storybooks. 

You can see the hours of rehearsals that have been put into this production even just in the way the cast work so well together. The moments of physical theatre, such as the momentous climbing of the beanstalk, demonstrated this effort from the actors and made the piece feel all the more cohesive. And the level of singing skill was the best I’ve seen in a student production for a while. If you are a fan of the film you would have loved this theatrical rendition. I commend both cast and crew for giving me the perfect way to spend my hungover Saturday. 

Controversial Campsfield immigration centre to reopen

By
Flora Symington
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Image Credit: Pierre Marshall / CC BY 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons

The Home Office has awarded a £70 million contract to a construction company to reopen an immigrant detention centre at Campsfield in Kidlington, near Oxford. Building Southern, the company involved, announced their agreement with the Home Office on Friday. Since being proposed by the government in 2022, the reopening of the site has faced opposition from local groups including students at Oxford University.

The immigration centre previously on the Campsfield site was closed in 2018 after 25 years, as it faced issues including riots, escapes and complaints about living conditions, 41% of detainees said they felt “unsafe”. Most people were detained there for less than two months, but the longest stay was of almost a year and a half. 

Planning applications were submitted to the Council in January for a new processing site, which could house up to 400 male immigrants plus 400 staff. The plan was withdrawn in March after council opposition. 

The Keep Campsfield Closed campaign was started by local residents in 2022 to oppose the reopening of the detainment centre. In June 2023, Oxford students held a protest outside the Radcliffe Camera to register their opposition to the centre’s reopening, and over 140 students and staff signed a letter in support of the Keep Campsfield Closed movement. 

MP for Oxford West and Abingdon Layla Moran argued that “locking people up for months on end – without giving them any idea how long they’ll be detained – is inhumane and unnecessary.”

Oxford City Council’s statement, from former Council Leader Susan Brown, also opposed the project: “[It] further demonises refugees and negatively impacts communities across our city. It creates an atmosphere of fear, mistrust, and further divides people and communities.” The newly elected City Council has yet to comment on the development contract.

The then Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for Justice and Tackling Illegal Migration, Tom Pursglove, said that reopening the centre was a key part of Home Office’s plan to tackle high immigration levels and “will help ensure there is sufficient detention capacity to safely accommodate individuals ahead of removal.”

He argued: “Those who have abused the immigration system, including foreign national criminals who have devastated the lives of their victims, should be in no doubt of our determination to remove them.”

Blindness review: ‘Unique first-person experience’

By
Yoshimi Kato
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Blindness is performed entirely via sound, forgoing expectations of a traditional stage set and impressing the audience with its skillful immersion. The play is based upon the book of the same title by José Saramago, and presents a world in which contagious blindness becomes a health crisis. The unnamed country’s government attempts to contain the disease through military-run quarantine camps under torrid conditions, and relationships between quarantine inmates becomes seeded with mistrust and desperation. 

The experience of Blindness begins even before one enters the theatre. Tucked away in the Jowett buildings of Balliol College, a primarily residential compound, the gate entrance and the black box studio hidden behind it, are difficult to find for an outsider. The studio is dimly illuminated; upon entry the audience is met with a cast member dressed in hospital scrubs, who assures them that “everything will be alright.” Confusion sets in immediately— what could be there to worry about in a student theatre production? As our eyes adjust, however, the audience realises that this is not a stage experience they have prepared for. An array of chairs fills the room, leaving little space for a performance to take place; each chair equipped with a set of headphones and blindfolds. As the “medical staff” circulate, taking notes on their clipboards, that familiar feeling of nervousness when sitting in a hospital room— unnecessarily worried about a life-changing diagnosis— heightens the trepidation in the scenes that are about to unfold.

The play begins with the beginnings of the spread, set in an ophthalmologist’s residence. The doctor has recently seen patients that have quickly developed blindness, and has been afflicted himself overnight. The doctor’s wife still maintains her vision, but lies to the government authorities about her health in order to stay with her husband in the quarantine facility. The entirety of the performance is conducted through headphones, feeding 3D recorded audio into the audience’s ears and allowing voices— whispered or shouted— to “move” around our heads. Quickly, one realises that they are the blinded doctor guided around by their seeing wife— and we have no choice but to observe the play’s world around them through an overwhelming soundscape, unable to actively participate. 

This unique first-person experience also places the audience member in a position that provokes a meta-questioning of one’s own motives. Why remain silent? Why is the doctor’s wife seemingly the only person immune to this epidemic of blindness? What does the doctor know? At the same time, the audience member becomes slowly acclimatised to the experience of being blind, immersed as victims themselves in the play’s dystopian setting. One begins to recognize characters through their voices and their actions via other sounds; the creaking of panels giving feedback to the experience of cautiously walking down a flight of stairs, for example. In order to achieve this experience, superb voice acting— with attention to speech patterns, tone, and language— as well as perceptive choice and layering of sound effects and music are essential. The show particularly excelled in layering nature’s sounds during a crisis (such as fire crackling), the panicked voices of the characters, and undertones of reverberatory rumbling sounds to build suspense. Not having the sense of sight heightens the feeling of disorientation (where is the fire coming from? How close is it?). Violence surrounds one at every turn of the head.

Although similar productions that emerged from the Covid-19 pandemic have relied on spaced out seating for social distancing (a subtle contextual reminder of a contagion very fitting for the piece’s pandemic setting), I wondered if the seating arrangements could be adjusted, in accordance to the numbers expected, allowing audience members to sit closer together. Separated from other audience members by many seats, one felt as though sitting closer to others throughout the production would heighten the anxiety-inducing experience of being able to sense, but not see, an unknown people’s presence. This is particularly fitting for a production that portrays strangers piled together in the quarantine facility, struggling to trust one another. A more surreal experience could be achieved by not only removing the sense of sight, but adding other sensory experiences such as touch and temperature. This possibility is, however, contingent on venue limitations. Attending the performance alone or with friends could also change the feeling of loneliness or the need for connection, impacting how we experience the piece.

In the performance’s aftermath, exiting the dark room and navigating the maze of Jowett buildings and gates to emerge into the sunset-lit street hits one with a feeling of dislocated serenity. Compared to the tension within the play’s confines of grim quarantine, the world seems too bright, too quiet, too sleepy. Blindness artfully immerses the audience’s bodies and minds into a mode of anxious survival. It may not be for the faint-hearted, but serves to remind one of the privilege of good health within the bubble of a peaceful Oxford.

Here’s the problem with dating a man far more privileged than you

By
Anonymous
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Image Credit: John Johnston / CC BY 2.0 Deed via Flickr

There is already a power imbalance in heterosexual relationships. The society and institutions in which our relationships with men are built favour men, their dominance, and their power. This attitude translates to the relationship itself and in my experience, can doom a relationship to failure. I, a grammar-school educated, immigrant woman from some level of financial privilege, dated a very wealthy, Eton-educated, straight white male from the South of England. Our relationship lasted for most of my time at Oxford, and at the time I thought I had met the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Spoiler: this was not the case.  

I know people say that everyone comes into a relationship with their own share of emotional baggage, but this wasn’t true for us. Although I had some personal issues, it was nothing you wouldn’t expect from a young woman of ethnic descent with a somewhat tense relationship with her parents. He, however, lived an idyllic life. At no point in our long term relationship was I led to believe he experienced any kind of trauma, familial problems, insecurity, self-doubt, or loss. He is the most privileged person I have ever met, not just because of his social and financial status, but because of the lack of emotional burden he carried with him every day. 

I originally thought that this was great. Someone who could support me whenever I needed it, but also someone who had no restraints on the love he could give me. I realised six months in that there was a fundamental disconnect. Regardless of how minor my emotional inconvenience was, there was no way he could relate to me. I doubt his lack of emotional baggage would have been as significant an issue if he was a woman. Although I cannot deny I have a great degree of privilege, as an immigrant woman of colour, there has always been a cap on the level of privilege I may have. I have experienced discrimination as a result of my identity. For my ex-boyfriend, this was not the case. He was and never has been an individual vulnerable to discrimination, nor has he been questioned on his skills, abilities, or dreams. Although never ill-intentioned, I do believe he enjoyed a relationship in which he was by all means socially superior. The simple reason for this: he had always felt this way, in every aspect of his life. He liked the idea of a multidimensional, emotionally intelligent woman. He could not reconcile that with the inevitable emotional difficulties and trauma a woman like that faces.

Whilst we had a wonderful time together – in which I felt truly loved and safe, I never felt understood. There was always a fear that I would be too much, inadequate to his family – or most terrifyingly, his teacher in emotional resilience. A lot of these fears came from his general inability to understand and therefore accept all aspects of my identity. He never had to consider how the world was for people who were not exactly like him. I find this to be the case with many men in his position – the world serves them so well that they never have to or want to consider the difficulties faced by others. It leads to a degree of emotional ineptness. I have memories of gentle parenting my ex-boyfriend into recognising that his behaviour was harmful. It was only when I told him to really imagine if I had acted in that way, that he would go from defensive to apologetic. I recognise that this never should have been my role. In his post-breakup message, my ex-boyfriend claimed that having to care about someone else and their concerns was too much of a burden on him. I cannot remember a time when I did not care deeply about my friends and family What he failed to recognise was the emotional burden that came with me, a woman of less privilege, being in a relationship with him. 

His immense privilege brought with it incredible opportunity, an admirable attitude towards the future, yet an unbridled sense of self-worth, and a distinct lack of emotional resilience, which became clear during our breakup. His justification for it was that the future scared him. If I had the same level of emotional resilience, I never would have entered into the relationship in the first place. This, and his handling of the breakup, were the clearest signs that there was an irreconcilable emotional incompatibility. 

I am thankful he broke up with me. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I would have spent the rest of my life as his teacher and, contrary to his understanding, his only pillar of deep emotional support. I am glad that he did not accept this life for me. I am glad that I am free to one day find someone as understanding and caring as I am and to have not resigned myself to a life less than I truly deserved – a life of teaching and never being understood. This is not to discredit his great aspects. I loved my ex-boyfriend because he was kind, intelligent, funny, and made me feel loved in a way no one else had. But the hastiness with which he disregarded any care he had for me made it clear that we are most definitely not cut from the same cloth. His life made him who he is, and my life made me who I am. I loved him more than I thought I loved myself. He loved me as much and as long as it was convenient for him. Regardless, I am proud of my ability to love and care as deeply as I do, even if I sometimes give it to people who cannot reciprocate it.

Oxford graduates earn more than other universities

By
Roy Shinar Cohen
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Image Credit: Mikela Persson Caracciolo

Newly released figures show that University of Oxford graduates earn more than those from other universities. Department for Education figures reveal that Oxford graduates are the highest earners in the South-East, and among the highest nationally. 

Oxford graduates earn on average £46,000 five years after graduating, data from the 2021 to 2022 tax year reveals – significantly higher than the South-East average of £29,600 a year.  

Oxford Law graduates had the highest pay of any course, earning on average £64,600 five years after graduating. On the other hand, the course with the lowest paid graduates is Creative Arts, with £26,300 a year. For comparison, the highest and lowest earning Brookes graduates were paid £45,300 and £19,700 a year on average. 

According to the Oxford University Careers Service told Cherwell, a recent survey by the Careers Service of recruiters at Oxford reported that on all eight measures of employability, Oxford applicants are seen as “better” or “much better” than the average UK applicant. Around 93% of leavers had a “positive outcome”, meaning they are in further study or high-skilled/self-employment – putting Oxford fourth of all universities in the country. 

The data also shows there is a 12% gap between male and female Oxford graduates’ salaries five years after graduating, with male Oxford graduates earning £49,300 and female graduates earning £43,500, on average. As per the Organisation of Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), the UK gender pay gap was 14.5% in 2022, putting it 12th highest among OECD countries. 

Oxford University Careers Service told Cherwell: “There are gaps in pay: on average, men earn more than women, and BAME earn more than white students; however, this can be an effect of the industry sectors that men and BAME work in, compared with women and white students. The gaps reduce when the effect of the industry sector is included. What the careers Service and university can do… is to encourage all students to explore all sectors.”

Additionally, according to an analysis by the Telegraph, in certain subjects an Oxford or Cambridge degree can boost graduates’ annual salary substantially. The subjects with the ‘Oxbridge premium’ salaries include Computing, Law, Mathematical Sciences, and Economics. According to the Telegraph’s analysis, Oxford graduates earn more than double their peers from other universities in some of these subjects. 

Still, the Tab found that in some subjects non-Russell Group university graduates’ can earn as much as Oxbridge graduates. For instance, medicine graduates from The University of Dundee earn £46,000 five years after graduating, while Oxford graduates earn slightly less at £41,200.

A Eulogy for Tommy

By
Alexander Still
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Image Credits: Clock House, East Dulwich, SE22 by Ewan Munro via Flickr; CC BY-SA 2.0

Ea! It’s so cold! I cried from me bed
when I pulled down the coovers an raised up me ed
to see bright rays of sunlight
stream into me room,
and fill it with joy where before there were gloom.

I pocked out a toe an pulled it back oonder
and felt our kid Jack ad made a great bloonder,
cuz outside t’were all glorious
an no cloud were in sight,
but inside t’was bloody freezing
cuz the heating were shite.

In the car, fooking ell, I won’t say it were nice,
with the screen all glazed up with crystalized ice.
We turned on the wipers an one snapped in haff,
if I adn’t ad cried I could ave well laughed.

But the day soon got better an I dried up me tears
when Sam bought a round for the first time in years
in the Old Speckled Hen,
what a fine poob that is,
with a slip of a barmaid named Jolly-Faced Jen.

They ad a warm fire wiv coal an big logs,
and even dead Tommy could bring in is dogs
to sit by the arth
and whimper and whine
til Jolly-Faced Jen would say it were time.

Then we’d get our long coats and Bill with is scarf
wrapped round is thick ed an the dogs by the arth
would look up in blithe ope at the thought of a bone
dead Tommy might nick from a bin by is ome.

Oxford ball-goers first in line for media’s guillotine

By
Krishna Gowda
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Image credit: Mike Knell / CC BY-SA 2.0 via Flickr

A couple days after attending Brasenose Ball with my friends, I received a surprise notification from a group chat that I had suspected would now lie dormant and untouched. I had assumed that the group chat, used to coordinate plans for the ball and upload photos, would fade into obscurity – a remnant of an unforgettable night now immortalised in both my memory and camera roll. Instead, two days later, a single, unexpected photo appeared on the chat. It came accompanied by a brief message: “You made it to the Daily Mail”.

The photo itself isn’t bad; it’s quite a good photo, in fact, and more flattering than some others in the article. Just after the ball’s denouement at 5am, in a concoction of drunken bliss and delirium as dawn crept in, I took a few photos of a couple of my friends outside of the Rad Cam, seizing the priceless moment of a library devoid of tourists while light suffused over the building. Moments before this, I remember seeing a man with a professional camera, lingering expectantly, but I had merely passed him off as inconsequential, assuming he was a ball photographer.

With the group chat now resurrected, reaction varied considerably: amusement towards the notion of us getting papped; immense relief that it was one of the kinder photos that had been featured; skepticism towards whether he had asked us for consent to take the photos and let them be published. (Our somewhat hazy recollections left us confused as to whether he had asked.)

The article itself wasn’t entirely Oxford-centric, instead exploring the various ways that people throughout the UK had spent the bank holiday weekend in Blackpool, Birmingham and Leeds. Nevertheless, subtext wasn’t exactly required to understand the chasm that the writer was emphasising between the “casual looking groups of partygoers eating greasy late-night snacks” elsewhere and the “revellers in Oxford […] making their way home from prestigious balls”. Everything from attire to food was contrasted, depicting Oxford as a swaggering social hub, reminiscent of glittering, Gatsby-esque party scenes in stark contrast to the more raucous and conventional celebrations of pub crawls and clubbing at other locations. This sort of divide was reinforced by the article’s comment section, who seemed eager to stress the “dash of elegance” that tinged Oxford’s events compared to the “kebab noshing on the streets” of Birmingham (when they weren’t making vulgar observations about body types and sizes).

Media depictions like this, setting Oxford at odds with other universities, reinforce stereotypes of Oxford that vastly exaggerate the reality of things. Whilst I’m not denying that going to Oxford offers privileged opportunities, other universities also hold their own black-tie events with similar attire and entertainment. Oxford students are still students and so, for the most part, clubbing, pub crawls and other less sophisticated forms of entertainment remain staples of their university life. We regularly flock to Hussain’s in ritualistic fashion after a night spent at Atik – not the most glam venue in the world.

The media’s narrative that pedestalises Oxford and solely associates it with poshness and prestige is a caricature of the typical experience. It unjustly represents the majority of students who don’t align with these archetypes and broader media depictions surrounding Oxford have only fuelled this fire. Movies such as Saltburn, released in 2023 (and which is set at Brasenose College), have contributed to these unrealistic depictions of Oxford life. Fictional elements from the film may contain kernels of realism, but for the greater part are exaggerated and embellished in order to enhance the plot and drama of the movie. ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ being played at least ten times across the night further attests to this sensationalised vision of Oxford. The media feeds on confining Oxford to this state of unwavering poshness, tying its tradition, reputation and history together to characterise rare occasions like these as routine hallmarks of Oxford life. By doing so, it fails to recognise that most of the students here, are in actual fact, not that dissimilar from those elsewhere.

This isn’t to say that glaring issues shouldn’t be exposed and rectified; Pembroke ball tickets costing nearly £450 means that the ball is inaccessible for the vast majority of students. Exorbitant prices like these alienate students and generate justified outcry, whilst propagating preconceptions of Oxford’s poshness and elitism. Elitist societies of the past, such as the Bullingdon Club, warranted strong condemnation for their discrimination and reprehensible behaviour. However, the media’s current narrative that isolates Oxford students from typical student life by painting them all with the same brush is an inaccurate portrayal of the real Oxford experience for most, where balls and secret societies are few and far between in the academic calendar.

While others may be cringing at the state of some of the less generous photos, I find it amusing how a relatively unremarkable picture of a student taking photos of their friends constitutes the attention of national news. The Daily Mail making a spectacle out of normal students ironises the whole matter really; at the end of the day, at least I know that my own photography skills are clearly worthy of national fascination.

P.G. Wodehouse’s Ukridge at 100

By
Hassan Akram
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Image Credit: Reginald Cleaver/Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

It is unfortunate that P.G. Wodehouse’s reputation in Oxford takes such a blow from his being a popular favourite among OUCA members. Still, he ought to be more widely read for his indefatigable wit and his gift for plotting, metaphor, and comic characters. Many of his admirers will tell you that they were not born Wodehouse fans, but happened to read one of his books and were so delighted that they went on to plough through the remaining hundred “like a bullet through a cream puff”, and if you read the right Wodehouse books you will see what they mean.

I would draw the line short of those of his admirers who compare him without irony to Shakespeare. Inevitably for one who wrote so much (about a hundred books in a career that lasted from the Edwardian era to the 1970s) Wodehouse produced many duds. The worst of his novels are formulaic and, once you have read more than a handful, the jokes start to repeat themselves. This is even truer of the short stories. Though he wrote dozens of stories about Golf, Mr Mulliner, Bingo Little, and the Drones Club, all of them are more or less the same story repeated again and again. The only one of his memorable characters who breaks the mould, who manages to be funny and unique and thoroughly underrated, is Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge.

Ukridge’s first ten adventures were collected in book form a hundred years ago this week. As a personality he probably owes something to the likeable scoundrels of Dickens’ novels – Jingle, Micawber, and others – although he also owes a great deal to A.J. Raffles, the gentleman thief of E.W. Hornung’s stories. At any rate he is the most unique character within Wodehouse’s own corpus. He is the only memorable one who is not rich and who never gets within signpost distance of a country-house. He is perpetually broke, and it is far more enjoyable to read about the schemes of a down-and-out scoundrel than the worries of an earl or a gentleman of leisure. If he is the most realistic and revisitable of Wodehouse’s characters, that is probably because he was the only one drawn from a specific personality (one Carrington Craxton) instead of from a caricature or a stereotype.

Most of the Ukridge stories concern get-rich-quick schemes, like a dog college (“I don’t see why eventually dog owners shouldn’t send their dogs to me as a regular thing, just as they send their sons to Eton and Winchester”); or an accident syndicate in which his friend fakes a car accident in order to nab the insurance money. All of the schemes end in disaster, but the background to that disaster, where the fatal seeds are planted and how they coalesce into a grand comic finale, is what makes each of the adventures so enjoyable.

Ukridge himself, with his yellow mackintosh and hearty optimism, is such marvellous company, and his relationship with the sarcastic narrator Corky is so charged, that personalities alone make the stories worth reading. The regular supporting characters are equally good fun. There is George Tupper, a schoolfriend at the Foreign Office; Bowles, the landlord who has an inexplicable soft spot for Ukridge; and Aunt Julia, fearsome aunt and popular novelist whose tense presence is never dull.

The few romantic stories featuring Ukridge are different from Wodehouse’s usual fare because they lack his usual sentimentality. Instead Ukridge gets his comeuppance, and everything comes crashing down into disaster. In “No Wedding Bells for Him”, he meets a girl in Clapham and ends up staying so long in her house for the free food that they become engaged; the relationship then ends with a fake heart attack, disinheritance by an aunt, and the return of a long-fought pawnbroker.

Ukridge’s funniest adventure, A Bit of Luck for Mabel (whose title can only be appreciated once you have read the story, and whose opening section contains some of the most crackling banter that the author ever penned) does not actually appear in the original book, and anyone who wants to read it can find it in Eggs, Beans and Crumpets. Otherwise, the ten best outings are those collected in Ukridge (1924), every page of which gleams with the personality of a great man, a manipulator, a visionary, a disaster, an optimist and a scoundrel.

In The Beginning

By
Flavius Covaci
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Image Credits: 'Sun and clouds' by Tambako the Jaguar via Flickr; CC BY-ND 2.0

I was alone with the earth and the sun
before you came along: there was no life, not
then, not even song. My hope had been lost to
the breeze, dreams strung up on imagined pop
lar trees. Before bees, before Ramses. You we
re still nebular then, too embryonic to be captu
red by the tip of my fountain pen so I was left to
despair, to beat hard ground until it yielded love
somewhere. This was before the Lord’s prayer,
before Lord. And I swear I cried gold on the day
the moon broke its mould and released you. Out
of the strata of the rock and the bacteria of yet un
invented livestock, you came forth:
my new sun.

The definitive Oxford smoothie review

By
Amanda Li
-
Image Credit: Amanda Li.

With summer comes smoothie weather, and Oxford offers a plethora of fruity delights. Coming from a place where a small smoothie is twice the price of the most expensive one here, being able to get something cold and fruity from a cafe on a hot day makes even the worst day of exam revision better. Take this article as an ode to the refreshing smoothie, and some of my favourite places to get them. There are definitely more smoothie places that remain unreviewed – go searching around on a hot day, and who knows, maybe you’ll find the smoothie of your dreams. 

Taylor’s, 8/10

I’ve don’t think I’ve had a smoothie at Taylor’s since MT22 and don’t remember whether I liked the ones I had, but the Deputy Editor for Food, Gracie (shoutout), loves their passionfruit smoothie because it has no banana in it; the Tesco smoothies (which I feel look a little too powdery to seem appetising), a former love of hers, do contain banana. Important information for those no longer able to eat banana. The options at Taylor’s are certainly decent, and the price is not outrageous for a decent smoothie. 

Joe and the Juice, 5/10

Joe and the Juice is a throwback to my NYC smoothie era. It certainly sells smoothies, but it is extremely expensive and not worth the price. Go somewhere else instead. Who goes to Westgate for a smoothie anyway?

Oxford Brunch Bar, 6/10

I had a smoothie here at my very first brunch, and it was fine. Just a normal berry smoothie. A bit too much blueberry to strawberry, and £4.90 really is a lot for a small mug of smoothie. You may as well get two bags of frozen fruit and blend it yourself for the same price.

Art Cafe, 6/10

Art Cafe doesn’t have bad smoothies; their mango, passion fruit, and banana smoothie taste pretty good. I’ve also heard good things about their kale smoothie, though I’ve never had it. But note: they are expensive, at £5.95. For a similar price, you could buy their açaí bowl instead – a decent portion size, and it’ll actually fill you up!

Moo-Moo’s, 9/10

Moo-Moo’s is an essential stop when getting food in the Covered Market. Covered with filled-up loyalty cards and packed to the brim, you have the option to make a smoothie with quite literally anything you’d like. I like the Annabelle special (just over £4 for a large) with apple juice and mango, but have somehow only ever requested the watermelon smoothie when they’re sold out – try it if you can! 

Cafe Crème, 10/10

I love Cafe Crème. It is seriously the best place for smoothies in Oxford. They have a mango pear smoothie (my fave), an açaí berry smoothie, and even their strawberry banana smoothie doesn’t feel too bad. Their green and fruity smoothies (combined with a good price, just £3 with a student discount) pairs amazingly with a cheap sandwich at lunchtime. And Cafe Crème has loyalty cards – I’ve filled up at least two. I can think of nothing wrong with this place, except that they have not yet given me a lifetime supply of free smoothies (but there’s always time).

Honourable mentions: college cafes

St Anne’s Coffee Shop, 8/10. I recently visited to try the mango banana smoothie. For less than £2, I got a decently sized drink, refreshing at a sip and with a taste that was not too sweet, but not too sour. Although I could still taste chunks of banana, it wasn’t an issue for me. My thoughts? Underrated – and good for my chronic smoothie addiction.

Kendrew Cafe, St John’s College, 7.5/10. I’ve only been a few times, but I always enjoy the coconut and mint smoothie. Their berry smoothies are nice and sweet, but the portion sizes are too small for £2.35. Still, as a college cafe, it’s much cheaper than the scary outside world (and you get a decent drink)!

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