Tuesday, May 6, 2025
Blog Page 372

Wine and Weather Forecasts

Lily Finch
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Wine and Weather Forecasts

Even in halcyon pre-Covid days, coming home after an Oxford term was not always an easy ride. After a few days of much needed kip, the eerie quiet becomes all-consuming; Netflix can only fill so many hours. Despite the comfort of food that is not pasta-pesto, free alcohol and a house that feels like The Ritz compared to the mouse-infested cess-pit I’ve been living in this term, it hasn’t taken long for home’s mundanity to settle like an itchy blanket. Back in my childhood bedroom, I am stuck in an unpleasant time-warp, sixteen again and agonizing over awful boys, listening to utterly miserable Smiths songs. It’s the deja-vu experience no one wants. 

Usually I would escape to the pub with home friends, beer-fuelled jollity would soon erase these traces of unease and then home wouldn’t feel quite so bleak afterall. I’d realise, looking out over a rainy stretch of English Channel with my best friend’s arm wrapped around my neck in a drunken burst of love, just how much I’d missed it. Yet this year, my little seaside town is covid-riddled, and Tier 3 does not leave much room for merrymaking, so I’ve found myself stuck at home with two slightly irritating albeit well-meaning middle-aged companions. 

By most people’s standards, I am actually pretty close with my parents; after emerging from a two-year period in the dark tunnel of adolescence, wherein shouting matches were a dinner-time sport and door-slamming a rhythmic soundtrack, I realised that they were, in fact, quite fantastic, as parents go. My mum is a patient listener to the minutiae of my trivial social dilemmas, and my dad is the long standing receiver of manic essay-crisis phone calls. I know now that I’m hugely lucky to have this kind of unwavering support. 

It is perhaps because of this very closeness, however, that I notice the changes between us so vividly each time I return home from university, now more than ever as I have no choice but to spend evening upon evening with them, adhering staunchly to entrenched routine: a couple of glasses of white, followed by a couple of glasses of red, then a crime drama, the 10 o’ clock headlines, and finally, the pièce de résistance, the much anticipated weather forecast. This immovability seems relatively new; habits seem to have become religious, views intransigent. Perhaps this is symptomatic of lockdown, or perhaps it’s a natural process of age. Dad has begun compulsively cling-filming random scraps of food, despite my repeatedly telling him that cling-film, as it turns out, isn’t great for the planet; if anything my limply environmentalist comments (I’m no Greta but I’m trying) have only sped up the cling film craze. The same pattern applies for mobile banking, which will on no account be downloaded despite its convenience because it resembles another sad facet of “the whole world being moved online”, as well as for bluetooth speakers which are firmly shunned in favour of a very tinny-sounding CD-player. Politics can no longer be broached at the dinner table, not so much because our views are wildly different, but more because the inflexibility on their part to rethink opinions invariably leads to discussions spiralling into heated discussions. Moreover, I’ve found recently that often their voices have merged into one; I hear Dad’s inexorable cynicism being recycled through Mum and vice versa. To elicit some kind of change in thought or action is to fight a two headed monster with a marmalade addiction. 

The result is that supper-time chat remains largely within the realms of food- a safe space wherein nothing too profound can be disagreed upon; instead, the duration of the asparagus season and the shortcomings of Nigella’s minestrone recipe are discussed. Dynamic as these topics are, after a few nights of culinary chat I find myself yearning for more. I think the sad truth is that a lot of the things we value most have changed; emerging from lockdown over the summer and then returning to university, I have relished the excitement of new experiences and conversations, different faces and places, and in the meantime, it seems they have sunk blissfully into all the comforts of home- which of course is totally normal and to be expected on both of our parts. Yet often, as I’m waving to them at the train station’s entrance, I can’t escape the feeling that I’m leaving them behind, trapped in this slightly decaying little corner of south-east England, where nothing seems to have changed since the 70s. I worry that they too have been sucked into that unpleasant time warp effect, destined to live out a repeating cycle of wine and weather forecasts. 

What I try to remind myself, is that they like that life. There is immense comfort to be found in wine and weather forecasts; there is security in the repetition of habits. Perhaps we all reach an age at which we cease to change as rapidly, and our sphere of interests shrinks somewhat. Whilst this might seem mildly depressing now, maybe it won’t be when I’m 50, curled up on a sofa in front of ‘Gardeners’ World’ (God forbid), chilled G&T in hand. Meanwhile, I can find my own comfort in the slow pace of my parents’ routines and the continuity of home, like an old tune played on our tinny-sounding CD player- grating at times but cheery nonetheless. 

Revisiting Godard’s ‘Breathless’ 60 years on

Toni Quadri
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Revisiting Godard’s ‘Breathless’ 60 years on

Breathless (A bout de souffle) was the first feature-length film by French-Swiss filmmaker and film critic Jean-Luc Godard. It tells the tale of the petty thief turned runaway murderer, Michel Poiccard (Jean-Paul Belmondo). The French title, A bout de souffle, directly translates to ‘on the edge of breath’, an idea central to the film. Breathless is about the edge; never being in one place, always looking forward, never backward: to Nice, to Rome, to Lausanne, to America.

And if there is one direction the film looks in cinematic history, it is forward. Breathless is one of the most iconic films of the French New Wave, a tiny yet radical movement spanning the late 50s and early 60s. It is markedly dissimilar to its cinematic fathers. As the rebellious child of French cinema, it observed the dogma of filmmaking – orchestral scores, symmetrical mis en place, editing that simulated the passage of time – and tore it apart. This movement was started by film critics who, tired of the state of French Cinema, heard “if you think you could do it so much better, why don’t you” and actually did. 

Enter Godard and company. They chopped film up: car rides and conversations were roughly cut and stuck together; sound effects jarringly mismatched shots; amateur actors made up lines on the fly; the sounds of bistros and cars on the street were heard in the background; and the fourth wall? Obliterated. Here was a new type of film, a film that knew it was a film and made sure the audience did too. They wrote a new technical language which would impact cinema as we know it (just ask Tarantino, Scorsese, Coppola, De Palma…). These films were so stunningly self-aware they were almost human. They had their own lives, their own minds, and they were also thinking about where to have dinner once the film ended.

Godard expertly weaves the film’s context with its intrigue. While cinema runs from its past so does Michel, the film’s protagonist. And while cinema searches for its identity, Michel also keeps in tow. Throughout the film, we witness constant lurches towards the construction of an identity: visual dissections of the body, character’s facades, their lies, their gazes, Michel’s game of dress-up and the motif of mirrors.

Mirrors are significant in the film as a nod to Jacques Lacan’s concept of the “mirror stage”. The mirror stage is said to be when a child first sees a mirror and therefore witnesses themselves as an object for the first time. Hence an ego identity is born and the baby must find objects, places, people and groups against which they can build this newfound identity.

Michel constructs his identity through mimesis. The film opens on a shot of Michel Poiccard in the get-up of a Hollywood movie gangster, smoking a cigarette and tracing his lips with a thumb à la Humphrey Bogart. His characterisation is totally extracted from the American gangster film of the 50s. Yet, Michel fails miserably. Michel translates onto the screen as a child dressed up in mummy’s heels: he looks ridiculous, silly and he fails woefully at establishing himself as his own person — he is the caricature of pulpy American films. 

A film stuck between two poles begets a film with no authoritative voice, nor any moral compass, filled with characters who find themselves stuck in this moral murkiness. Unlike films of preceding decades which showed the audience right from wrong, Breathless blurred this line. Godard gives us a film that shows the white knight as the charlatan we always knew him to be and offers us the anti-hero instead. And after decades of excessively moralistic cinema, this breath of fresh air was thoroughly needed.

This is how Breathless stood the test of time. Godard gave us a film en train de se faire: ‘in the middle of becoming’. Full of characters in the middle of becoming, while cinema itself is in the middle of becoming, during an era where the concept of adolescence was in the middle of becoming. The film of halfway, opposites and in-betweens marked cinema’s transition from infancy to adolescence. It captured what it is to be young, to search for your place in the world, to destroy futile tradition. And we love it all the more in 2020, a year which has fostered an entire generation of teens proclaiming: “We are the change”.

A Coronavirus Christmas: Missing Family and Traditions

Uma Dodd
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A Coronavirus Christmas: Missing Family and Traditions

A couple of days ago I was walking back to college from Gloucester Green Market. As a treat, I had bought one of my favourite foods for lunch: momos, a Nepalese steamed dumpling. Although they were, of course, not as good as the ones my grandma makes, they certainly satisfied my craving for comfort food. In fact, they were good enough that as I ate, I felt tears coming to my eyes. 

This was not some food-based epiphany. As for most people, this year Christmas will be different for my family. It’s going to be strange not embarking on the long car journey up to stay with my grandparents. I’ll miss the little things, most of all: the warm chaotic hubbub of too many people in one bungalow, fighting over who gets the sofa seat with the footrest, and maybe most of all, the smell of cooking wafting from the kitchen. 

Food is an important part of our Christmas there, specifically Nepalese food. I am half-Nepalese, but I often struggle to feel connected to that part of my heritage, not speaking the language and only having visited Nepal once. Food is the main way I feel that connection, and Christmas is one of the few times a year that my siblings and I get to wolf down my grandma’s amazing cooking. 

Momos are a particular favourite of the whole family. More than just a meal, they’re a communal experience. An evening is designated, fillings are prepared, and parents, siblings, grandparents, and aunties all take up their roles in the production line, scooping, wrapping, and steaming. We rush from the kitchen to the table, gobbling down piping hot dumplings before they cool. My brother and I compete to see who can eat the most, then collapse onto the sofa to watch that evening’s Christmas-adjacent programming. 

This is, in itself, a relatively insignificant thing to miss out on this year. But given what we have had to give up this year – with good reason, of course, though that doesn’t make it easier – losing these rituals will still be difficult. Perhaps this feeling is the result of some ancient human instinct, the urge to gather your kin around the fire and tell stories to ward off the bitter cold of deep winter. Or perhaps it is simply that winter is often a difficult time, even without a pandemic, with shorter days and unerringly gloomy weather, meaning that we cling to the small, familiar moments of comfort we can find. 

Another ritual that I will be missing this year – though I know many people will not – is Christmas shopping. 

Whilst, yes, it can be stressful and exhausting, I’m a sucker for festive cheer. There’s something thrilling about the ritual of wrapping up warm and heading into town. The hustle and bustle of Christmas shoppers laden down with bags, the tackily beautiful lights draped in the air above woollen hatted heads, even the same three Christmas songs that blare tinnily down at you in every shop you enter – it is both infuriating and wonderful in its familiarity. More than that it is wonderful because it’s something you specifically do at Christmas. Losing those little rituals that feel so much a part of what makes the season leaves me, at least, feeling a little melancholy. 

Whatever the cause of these feelings, I guess what I’m trying to say is that we should not be too hard on ourselves for missing normality this festive season. Maybe I’m just complaining about nothing. I am lucky enough, for example, to still be able to go home for Christmas. I am certainly romanticising certain aspects of the festive period, particularly Christmas shopping.Regardless, my point still stands. 2020 has been a difficult year for everyone, and for those who, like me, are a sucker for Christmas cheer, this holiday season is hopefully going to provide some much needed comfort. As much as we need to be aware and stay safe, this festive season be kind to yourself, if you can. 

Artwork by Rachel Jung

Not particularly fusced: reflections on a first term

Matthew Prudham
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Not particularly fusced: reflections on a first term

 

Before arriving at Oxford, I knew that Michaelmas Term would be different, due to the ongoing COVID-19 Pandemic: no (official) matriculation; no (proper) college formals; and, crucially, no bops. That being said, I wasn’t going to allow a virus to decrease my enjoyment of my first term at Oxford – especially since, as an MSt Classics student, I only have three terms before my currently allotted time is up (and the powers that be can decide whether I end up staying for longer…).

I was, of course, upset at being denied a proper Oxford matriculation in the Sheldonian, but I’m lucky in that respect because I did my undergrad at St Chad’s College, Durham where I had not only the official university matriculation in the b-e-a-utiful Durham Cathedral (as featured in Harry Potter and The Avengers), but also a cute college one in our wooden chapel! So, I guess, I know what it feels like to be dressed in your gown in a throng of slightly hungover students having Latin spoken at them which most of them (except me, my fellow Classicists, and those who didn’t throw the ancient languages out of their brain post-sixth form) don’t understand, before trying to get a half-decent photo to send back to the folks at home. I did, nonetheless, take part in the higher-than-expected gown sales, in preparation for a day of posing around Oxford’s landmarks in sub-fusc with a bottle of prosecco in hand, bumping into friends old and new at a two-metre/one-metre-plus distance. Honestly, whilst some may complain (in a Facebook comment/Tweet/Oxfess that usually ends with “…just a thought”) that these parties in the street shouldn’t have occurred at all, all I saw were students behaving mostly rightly and abiding by the COVID safety rules. Surely having that moment to celebrate and realise that “yes, I made it to f*cking Oxford during a worldwide crisis” seems quite affirming and in line with the Government’s message of being able to have a ‘proper University experience™’, whatever that means. I wasn’t too surprised at missing matriculation given my undergraduate graduation is currently scheduled to be a little more than 3 months before I (hopefully) graduate from my Master’s.

My college, St. John’s, did try and succeed in replicating some of the traditions in a COVID-secure manner. Formals did happen, but it all seems a bit strange and limited with the plastic screens basically muting all reasonable speaking volumes, a 45-minute time slot, and not being able to sit facing your friends, instead sprawled out along one long table as if you’re at a chess tournament. These were, though, great opportunities to meet complete strangers – basically like speed-friend-dating – from the entirety of the college, and I’ve had lovely conversations from JCR and MCR members of all years, from DPhils to undergrad freshers. The bar was open in a heated marquee until Lockdown 2: Electric Boogaloo was implemented and the atmosphere and the COVID-regulations were both excellent. Even when the bar had to close as an alcohol-serving establishment, college, the JCR, and the MCR worked together on some law-abiding social events, such as film nights (organised by yours truly as MCR Culture Officer), mulled wine and mince pie evenings, and much more. I’ve seen – or even heard in the case of Merton from my kitchen window – many colleges organising many an event on that theme.

In terms of academic life – i.e. “what I’m actually here to do” – the Classics Department has been superb. I’ve had one in-person seminar a week and my Zoom/Teams supervisions and tutorials have been excellent. I’ve actually enjoyed having more time in between each thing:  there’s no mad rush, as I experienced in my undergrad, to traverse half of town in 10 minutes because of frankly ridiculous timetabling; instead, it’s a relaxing moment to have a drink, a walk around my room before clicking on the next link (which I have, of course, saved in my Calendar and not left to be found on an expedition into my overflowing Outlook inbox). Also, I can drop in and out of the Faculty Graduate and Public seminars whenever; I think the ease of changing commitment week-to-week is definitely something I’ve liked.

The only thing I’ve found difficult is library access. There are two ways about it: either wake up every day at 8am without fail and book a university library slot for the next week (and then manually insert it into your calendar since, for some reason, there ain’t no handy button to auto-add); or, forget and be consigned to working in your room forevermore. Still, there are times when I’ve turned up to the wrong library, or the right library at the wrong timeslot, due to simple human error/incompetence/tiredness. When all things do fall into place, however, (about 65.4% of the time) it’s a nice change of scene to push on with the daily grind.

If I did have cause to moan about anything (clue: probably the libraries or the Conservatives), then I was fortunate that I had a great group of friends in my accommodation. We did a US election all-nighter, numerous beer pong matches, and a big ol’ Oxmas dinner, for which everyone chipped in to cook some fine cuisine – everything from heaps of delicious pancetta carbonara to Iranian delicacies. I also had a few friends already at Oxford, so I was able to meet up with them for some socially distanced pizza, pints, or walks (depending on current guidance). If it wasn’t for them and the efforts of college, the MCR and the Classics Faculty in organising so many different plans to match every possible (random?) government decision I don’t think I’d have enjoyed my first term – one-third of my time amongst the Dreaming Spires©– anywhere near as much. MT20 has been a challenge, but it’s felt certainly been more of a success than Rita Ora’s compliance with COVID laws.

A refreshing debut: freshers’ Michaelmas sporting experiences (part 2)

Cherwell Sport Contributors
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A refreshing debut: freshers’ Michaelmas sporting experiences (part 2)

As with all aspects of university life, playing sport at Oxford was an unusual prospect last term – especially for incoming freshers, ever keen to showcase their existing skills in Uni sides and try their hand at new sports. Cherwell asked four more freshers how their experiences (if any) of Oxford sporting life had been in Michaelmas, how the Covid pandemic had affected their opportunities to join in with University and College teams, and what their athletic ambitions were for future terms.

Elena Buccisano – fencing and lacrosse

Prior to my arrival at Oxford, I knew I wanted to get involved with the Oxford University Fencing Club, having previously fenced before. So, I signed up for the Women’s Fencing Preseason which, in light of the situation with Covid-19, was going to run differently from previous years. However, shortly before it was due to take place the preseason was cancelled – a recurring theme for university sports this past term! Despite this, the Fencing Club was granted return to play with additional restrictions from the beginning of Michaelmas term. As normal, the levels were split into Beginners, Intermediate and Advanced – with each level given different training session times. The Beginners course ran in the Cricket Centre and all Advanced and Intermediate sessions were done in the main hall of the Iffley Sports Centre.

As a Fresher at both Oxford and the Fencing Club, the Covid-19 protocols caused me some apprehension. Not only was it more difficult to meet and speak to the other fencers, the prospect of fencing under different conditions and in a completely new environment made me a bit uneasy. However, before the second lockdown, I attended an Intermediate training session at Iffley which promptly dispelled my concerns. The club implemented a one session per week rule in order to make sure that everyone got a fairly even allocation of sessions and my experience of the training was strange albeit overwhelmingly positive! The fencers were split into groups of six with each pair fencing for three minutes. Having to fence with a facemask on, despite the fact that fencing already takes place with a mask, was, let’s just say, interesting!

Unfortunately, in-person training was short lived (two weeks of proper training took place) and as soon as Boris announced the second lockdown training moved online. The virtual training was very well organised by the OUFC president and the Men’s and Women’s fencing captains. The training and exercise classes were free and available on zoom twice a week to all fencers, regardless of their level. Footwork, yoga and HIIT sessions were amongst the variety of classes on offer. In light of all the setbacks, I think the OUFC coped very well! It has undoubtedly been a challenging time for all university sports and in normal circumstances I’m sure that the training and socials would have been even more successful.

In Michaelmas term, I also decided to give lacrosse a go, both because it intrigued me as a sport and because of significant peer pressure… The Oxford Lacrosse Development Squad seemed like a good place to start but unfortunately, the first training session of the term was cancelled because of high winds in Uni Parks! We then went into national lockdown, so I still haven’t been able to pick up a lacrosse stick. Hopefully, I’ll have more luck next term…

Theo Lewis – football

In lots of ways, I was reluctant to join the Keble football team – I hadn’t touched a ball in a year so subsequently I had poor cardio and the flexibility of an old man. However, after finding out many of my fresher friends were all hoping to join the team, my enthusiasm was revived.

The first training session came around and I played centre-back as usual. I was eager not to go unnoticed – so much so that I went for a questionable challenge on the club captain, injuring his ankle. This definitely made me memorable but not in the way I hoped – I still get flashbacks and feel guilty every time I see Jon around college.

Karma soon caught up with me however and an injury came my way.

I decided to play in goal for one session since one of the keepers couldn’t make it. After diving on my side in an awkward position, I dislocated my shoulder. One uncomfortable taxi ride to A&E, two x-rays, and some gas and air, then I was back to normal. The physio said that I would be out of sports for 3 months, but physiotherapists are the Oxford Brookes of doctors, so I didn’t listen and intended to show to training the following week (unfortunately I was then isolating with Covid, so I was forced to take some recovery time).

All things considered I’ve loved my experience playing football at Uni so far. Playing football also has the side effect of making me manage my time better by providing a reasonable work-play balance. I urge all freshers who haven’t yet joined a sports team to do so. The community created by the team is a great one and now I can’t imagine how boring my first term would’ve been like had I decided against joining.

Hector Skipworth – rugby

Three weeks before term started, I was surprised with a phone call from the Captain of the Blues asking me if I would want to join the preseason training camp. A week before term, 50 players assembled at the Iffley road sports ground, 5 of which were freshers. Looking around it became apparent I would now be playing with men, not boys. They tolerated us youngsters and were very welcoming. The training consisted of a gym session in the morning, then two sessions in the day. To reduce the number of people we were in contact with we were split into 3 groups which we trained with all term. We rotated around different stations which involved a mixture of touch games and working on specific skills such as offloading, passing, kicking etc.

Whilst the Covid restrictions compromised our training to a certain extent we did manage to play an adapted round robin on one of the Saturdays. This adapted rugby game that England rugby set out was very similar to a touch rugby league game. This was also the first time I played with some of the established blues players. Training in term consisted of sessions on Monday and Wednesday evenings plus a gym program that had been tailored to each of us.

Lockdown put a halt to group training, but I was able to keep up with the gym routine by squatting with a bubble mate on my shoulders! Next term is looking hopeful for a return to rugby as we know it and potentially getting back to playing contact matches.

Harry Way – football

Despite the difficulties of Covid, my first experience of Blues football has certainly been an enjoyable one. Pre-season began in late September on the grass at Marston Sports Ground, with the team immediately striking me as a talented and focused one. As Michaelmas term started and the new squad began to form, training moved to Oxford City with three sessions per week. As well as two midweek evening sessions on Monday and Friday, this included a 7:45 AM Sunday morning session, with those who had gone too hard on the Saturday night quickly found out through one too many misplaced passes. Although we were unable to play any competitive fixtures due to the postponement of BUCS, the Blues did go unbeaten through Michaelmas with wins against Oxford City U19s and the Centaurs as well as the highlight of the term in beating Brookes 4-3. 

Through lockdown the boys stayed sharp through online strength and conditioning sessions, as well as helpful webinars on sports psychology and nutrition. On the social side there was a weekly quiz night which started with each fresher giving a rendition of their chosen song. Those present (and my neighbours) were treated to a stunning performance of ‘I Want It That Way’ by the Backstreet Boys from myself. In addition, highly competitive 1v1 foot tennis matches were organised on the weekends in University Parks, allowing players to maintain some ball skills whilst also having a catch up with another team member.

Overall, I’m happy to say that over the course of Michaelmas I have begun to feel like a true member of the Blues football team which is testament to the welcoming nature of everyone involved. Hopefully in 2021 we can continue our unbeaten run into the BUCS campaign, as well as the all-important varsity matches against Brookes and Cambridge.

Artwork by Liv Fugger.

Moloch 1

Gbenga Chesterman
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Moloch 1

Here I find myself again behind the lens. Back behind the lens. I don’t feel sorry for myself, though. I’m not in the habit of feeling sorry for myself. It’s just chemical. I don’t have a problem with it. It’s not anyone else’s problem. If it’s not my problem, why should it be anyone else’s? It’s not really even a problem at this point. It’s chemical. It’s normal. It’s a habit. I’m in the habit of being back behind the lens. I’m in the habit of wondering if it’s the last time, for whatever reason. For whatever reason. This doesn’t end well, this habit. It doesn’t end badly. It just ends. Maybe.

Always so short of breath. Where am I? Always so short of thought. The cold slimy air in my face tells me I’m in the street. The light and hum of the people and structures, their nests, great vertical tunnel complexes, the jittering of the swarm, hits the lens I’m back behind and refracts, the sounds rattle in my hollow little bones. I keep walking. The same album on repeat. It’s fantastic. I congratulate myself on my impeccable taste. The haze and blur are thickening, I’m pushing through psychic jelly which irritates my skin and eyes and causes my heart to beat beyond its measure. All around me I can hear them screaming telepathically. ‘LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT HIM.’ They know. They’ve caught my scent, it travels more potently through the jelly, it permeates across swirling nets of capillaries. I light a cigarette to mask it, and so that I have something to do with my hands. I breathe on the cigarette. Always so short of breath. I wonder why? That was a joke.

Moloch Horridus. The Thorny Devil. Sharp little teeth. Sharp little spines. A sharp little bastard, all in all. Difficult to embrace. Possibly suffers from ‘hedgehog’s dilemma’. Ha. Ha. I assure you, of all the conditions from which I suffer, the dilemmas and syndromes, that of the hedgehog is not one of them. The hedgehog is a coward. He sees himself as being deserving of something he has wholly forfeited. He is childish. He wants it both ways. You see, people don’t owe each other anyth- Oh? You’re leaving already? I really thought I had you sucked in there. I paid for your drink, too. I’ll get you another one as well, if you like. For the road. For your journey all the way to the other side of the room. Ha. Ha.

Here’s Moloch’s dilemma: being a little thirsty, and living in the desert. Not really a dilemma though, is it? More of a problem. My problem, though. No one else’s. More of a habit, really.

Here’s Moloch’s dilemma: all my actions are conducted behind the lens by a sharp little bastard with a nasty pointy stick, in a waistcoat, waving his pointy stick around, smirking. I’m not really in control. I’m not even here. Where am I? Ah yes, I’m moving towards a massive pit of white light. Can’t move fast enough. Scream me into the void. I would like to be screamed into the void. Please.

I was waiting at a traffic light and a man leaning against a shadow across the road turned to me, or at least in my general direction. We made eye contact. He winked at me with one of his sideways, nictitating eyelids. I nodded slowly in return. He knew. He knows. We understood each other, I think.

Another party. Why do I keep getting invited to these? Probably because I’m so charming and sexy. Ha. Ha. A man with a very strong smell of Doritos on his breath is talking to the side of my face. He is an idiot. He’s talking about what? Interview questions. Potential employers. He’s in a shirt. He’s just come from something. It didn’t go well. It was important to him. I want to say something like ‘it’s not Deutschebank’s problem you apparently have a giant acidic slug eating away at your brain’. I don’t. Moloch doesn’t carry any venom. Just spines. Can’t you see the spines, man? Fuck off! I would like to be left alone! Please! He doesn’t.

I dimensionally shed my skin and float to the ceiling, where I cling with/on all fours. My head rotates 180 degrees, so that I can cast my powerful reptilian gaze over the swooning congregation. My tongue flickers. I see her, the host. Only reason I’m here. I start formulating opening lines, stirring at a rancid mental cauldron. I already used ‘happy birthday’ on the way in. That’s a single-use item. Besides, it’s so prophylactic. I need something raw. ‘I want to eat you alive.’ ‘I need to jack off at least twice a day to maintain any focus, on anything. This is my only semblance of routine.’ ‘I had a dream and you were in it. You were a giant metal spider and I was a very horny fly – wait, no, that wasn’t you, it was your sister. My mistake.’

There’s not much more which isn’t just repetition. I’m predictable. You may have noticed.

I’m calling it here. This is where it ends. Maybe. Not really. It never really started, did it? Ha. Ha.

Artwork by Amir Pichhadze.

Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine approved for use in UK

Yihang Fang
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Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine approved for use in UK

The coronavirus vaccine jointly developed by Oxford University and AstraZeneca has been approved for use by the UK Medicines and Healthcare products Regulatory Authority (MHRA), providing hope amidst rising cases as the country battles a new strain of the virus.

The UK has ordered 100 million doses of the Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine, which is sufficient to vaccinate 50 million people. The first doses of the vaccine will be rolled out from Monday, 4 January 2021. This will supplement the Pfizer-BioNTech vaccine, which had been approved by UK regulators on 2 December 2020.

The Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine can be stored at temperatures between 2 to 8 degrees Celsius, whereas the Pfizer-BioNTech vaccine has to be kept at a temperature of about -70 degrees Celsius. Furthermore, the Oxford vaccine can be easily transported from UK factories. It is therefore anticipated that the rollout of the Oxford vaccine to GP practices and care homes will be swift.

The Oxford vaccine has a composite efficacy of 70%. For groups that received a half dose followed by a full dose during the trials, the vaccine had an efficacy of 90%. In contrast, two standard doses of the vaccine were 62% effective in preventing symptomatic Covid-19 disease. In accordance with advice from the government’s joint committee on vaccination and immunisation (JCVI), priority will be given to at-risk individuals to receive their first dose of either the Pfizer or Oxford vaccine, rather than providing two doses in four weeks in line with protocols during the trials.

The approval of the Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine comes amidst rapidly rising cases in the UK. On Tuesday, 29 December, 53,135 new Covid-19 cases were recorded in the UK, setting a record for the highest number of new cases registered in a day. At the same time, NHS England has revealed that the number of people being treated in hospitals for Covid-19 is now 20,426, which is greater than the previous peak of 19,000 in April.

Health Secretary Matt Hancock said that the vaccine approval marked a “significant moment” in the battle against Covid-19, adding that “2021 can be a year of hope and recovery because we can see our way out of the pandemic”.

He added, “Because we’ve got enough of this vaccine on order to vaccinate the whole population – we’ve got 100m doses on order – add that to the 30m doses of Pfizer and that’s enough for two doses for the entire population.”

According to a news article published on the Oxford University website, Professor Sarah Gilbert, Professor of Vaccinology at the University of Oxford, said, “This is a day for the team developing the vaccine to celebrate, after a year of extremely hard work under difficult circumstances. Now that the first authorisation or use of the vaccine outside of clinical trials has been granted, we still have more to do and will continue to provide more data to multiple regulatory authorities, until we are able to see the vaccine being used to save lives around the world.”

Professor Louise Richardson, Vice-Chancellor at the University of Oxford, said, “This is a great day for British science and a great day for universities everywhere. Above all, it is a great day for the many people whose lives will be saved by this vaccine. We are greatly indebted to those who have designed, developed, manufactured and evaluated ChAdOx1.

The Oxford Vaccine – How generalisable are the trial results?

Danielle Perro
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The Oxford Vaccine – How generalisable are the trial results?

Preliminary Oxford-AstraZeneca COVID-19 vaccine trial results were recently published in The Lancet. With growing public confusion pertaining to their precise meaning, this publication could not be timelier. Prior to the Lancet Publication, outlets such as New Scientist, the BBC and The New York Times had scrutinized the results of the Oxford Vaccine trial. The Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine’s efficacy, dosages, and trial design were called into question as previous results published on other vaccines, such as those produced by Pfizer and Moderna, demonstrated greater efficacy. However, after closer reading, I’m not convinced that the Lancet Publication has put society’s apprehensions at bay.

The initial trial design included four studies, located in three different countries. Two phase 1/2 trials took place in the UK and South Africa, and two phase 2/3 trials took place in the UK and Brazil. Phase 1 trials are the first step in a clinical trial for a new drug seeking FDA approval, and typically the number of participants is small. If the drug is safe and effective in this small group of healthy participants, then it progresses on to phase 2, and eventually phase 3, where as many as 3000 participants are typically included. If the vaccine is deemed safe and effective in this population, then the vaccine is put forward to bodies such as the FDA for approval for use in the general population. In order to determine the safety of the Oxford vaccine, the results from all four studies were used. However, the efficacy of the vaccine, which has made controversial global headlines, only comes as a result of the phase 2/3 of the UK and Brazil studies. In addition, a few other issues pertaining to the study’s structure, demographics and outcomes appear to be evident. 

Double blinding inconsistency

Blinding, an important part in trial design which aims to reduce bias and improve study validity, was inconsistent between the studies. Double blinding in a clinical trial is the most reliable; neither the patient nor the researcher is to know which group the patients are in. This is done to minimise biases introduced into the study by the researcher, as well as any placebo effects. Double blinding was only used in the phase 1/2 studies done in South Africa. All other studies were single blinded; the patients didn’t know whether they were assigned to the experimental (COVID-19 vaccine) or control group. The authors provided no rationale for this discrepancy. 

Lack of Representative Population Demographics

The efficacy results of the vaccine are pooled from the UK and Brazil phase 2/3 studies. This resulted in rather homogeneous study population demographics; there was a lack of ethnic diversity, as more than 90% and more than 65% of trial participants were white, in the UK and Brazil studies, respectively.  Although the authors, in conjunction with advice from international regulatory bodies, claim that the pooling of studies from different countries would make their results more generalisable, we should look at the validity of this statement on a global scale. In addition to lack of ethnic diversity, 60% of participants were female, and generally those included in the published data were younger (<55 years old). Based on what is known about the virus, some of the most at-risk groups for severe illness and symptoms as a result of COVID-19 are ethnic minorities, older people, and men. While the authors have acknowledged these limitations in their publication, it’s clear that as the trials continue, it will be important to understand how the vaccine will impact these groups, and publish these results.  

Pooling of Results

In order to determine the efficacy of the Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine, results were pooled from two study arms: those which received two standard doses, and those who received a low and standard dose. It was found that the low and standard dose yielded an efficacy of 90%, whereas the double standard dose yielded an efficacy of 62%, creating a combined overall efficacy of 70%. There has been much scientific debate and scrutiny online regarding the scientific rationale of doing so, and what the real-world implications are of combining the results of such different treatments to obtain a cumulative metric.  

Vaccine Effectiveness in Preventing Symptomatic COVID-19 – What about asymptomatic?

In the two combined studies (Brazil and UK), only the UK arm had a testing plan for asymptomatic infections. In the UK study, participants self-administered a weekly swab test for COVID-19, whereas no such test was administered in the Brazil arm. Estimates have suggested that up to 80% of COVID-19 cases are mild or asymptomatic, and therefore the results of this trial are puzzling: how effective is this vaccine really, if uniform testing for the virus in asymptomatic individuals was not considered in the analysis? 

Oxford-AstraZeneca has devised a vaccine in an unprecedented amount of time. Their results are promising, and surpass both the FDA and WHO minimum efficacy requirement of 50% to be licensed. While the Oxford vaccine has not yet been approved in the UK, it is expected to be so imminently as COVID-19 cases continue to rocket across the country. In cooperation with the Russian Sputnik vaccine, there will also soon be another trial whereby the vaccines are combined in effort to improve the efficacy of the Oxford vaccine.

Now that thousands of people globally have received the Pfizer and Moderna vaccines and approval of the Oxford vaccine is on the horizon, there is hope that we will see better control of the virus in the new year. However, with any and all science, it is important that we be critical of the claims being made, and question the scientific method used to arrive at such conclusions. With further work ensuring the generalisability of these results, especially towards the most vulnerable to the virus, the Oxford vaccine will surely join the ranks of the existing vaccines, and contribute to global efforts in reducing COVID-19. 

Image credit: wir_sind_klein / Pixabay

Is Love Actually actually sexist?

James Newbery
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Is Love Actually actually sexist?

Disclaimer: before I massacre the entirety of its script, Love Actually is one of my favourite films. I watch it every year without fail. Sometimes even two or three times. Boring my friends with endless streams of Love Actually trivia is one of my party tricks. I delight in the fact that Thomas Brodie Sangster (who plays Sam in the film) voices Ferb in Phineas and Ferb. Ferb, we later discover, has a crush on Vanessa Doofenshmirtz (played by Olivia Olson who also plays Sam’s crush, Joanna, in Love Actually).  But each time I watch it, the film seems increasingly dated. I am left with the nagging question— would Richard Curtis make the film in the same way in 2020?

There is something particularly disturbing about how the Keira Knightley storyline romanticises stalkerish behaviour. When discussing this scene with my family, they firmly argued that the Juliet, Peter and Mark triangle is merely a story about unrequited love. But what else is Mark’s series of adoring close-up shots of Juliet, other than a video made for his own (potentially sexual) gratification? Indeed, after the cue card scene, Juliet rewards Mark with a kiss for his continued attempts to pursue a woman who has just married his best friend. Certainly, we should feel a degree of sympathy for a man who is tortured with a love for a woman he can never have. The storyline however is emblematic of a trend that is prevalent in the film. The camera lingers uncomfortably on the female body—especially disconcerting when you remember Keira Knightley was only 18 during filming. We see this again in the Colin Firth storyline. The moment when Aurélia dives into the water to save Harry’s book involves a sequence of close-ups of her in her lingerie. I’m not saying that this moment is intrinsically sexist; rather, there is very little balance in the film in terms of sexualising both the male and the female body. In doing so, the camera becomes a substitute for the male gaze.

The Colin Firth storyline reveals another problematic strand of the film: the number of ‘workplace’ romances in which men are in the position of power. Almost none of the women in the film are in any senior managerial roles. In one scene, Alan Rickman confronts Laura Linney about her sexual desires for Karl— an interaction that is not really appropriate, given that Rickman is her boss. Yet isn’t part of the point of Harry that we aren’t meant to like him, and that he gives little consideration to the emotional welfare of the women in his life? The sheer number of storylines in which there is an uncomfortable power dynamic in a relationship unavoidably fetishizes the predatory manner of employers pursuing their employees. The Prime Minister (Hugh Grant) ends up having a relationship with his tea-lady. Natalie is subjected to sexual harassment from the President of the United States, and persistently fat-shamed over the course of the film. In no way is Natalie a ‘chubby girl’. The actress, Martine McCutcheon spoke out in 2016 about the way that body shaming has affected her mental health over the course of her career. The film perhaps subtly promotes the idea that in order for women to conform to societal standards of beauty, they have to have Keira Knightley’s waistline.

For a film with so many storylines, it is a shame about the lack of diversity. Love Actually is not representational of different forms of love. Apart from the interracial marriage between Keira Knightley and Chiwetel Ejiofor, the cast is overwhelmingly white. The relationships are exclusively heterosexual (unless you count the homoerotic subtext between Bill Nighy and his manager). Curtis cut a lesbian storyline with Anne Reid and Frances de La Tour from the final version of the film. The scenes can still be found on YouTube. In the storyline, Frances de La Tour dies from cancer, again playing into the trope that members of the LGBT community are familiar with; lesbian characters getting killed off. Films can be structurally sexist. Love Actually does not for example pass the Bechdel test, in which two women have to talk about something other than a man for a certain amount of screen time. Love Actually is not the most structurally sexist of all of Curtis’s films. Mary in About Time is marginalised and removed entirely from the plot as soon as she has given birth. She is literally a plot point; her only function is to procreate, thus facilitating a later plot-twist about the nature of time travel in the film. The fact she has a job at a publishing house and likes Kate Moss is the full extent of the characterization she achieves. Curtis’s female characters are often little more than cardboard-cut outs. We need to ask the question of whether his sexist depictions of women are unique to Love Actually, or whether they pertain to his films more widely.

Before anyone accuses me of ‘cancel-culture’, I am not advocating that we should ‘cancel’ Love Actually. This article is little more than a thought experiment. The Bechdel test is ridden with flaws; films like Moonlight or La La Land fail the test, even though American Pie 2 passes. There are also several nuanced depictions of female characters in the film. I particularly love the Laura Linney storyline. Linney gives a stunning screen performance, evoking in merely a few scenes the inner conflict of a woman facing conflicting pressures between her love-life and familial duty within the workplace. Emma Thompson’s character also powerfully conveys the emotional burden that being a stay-at-home mum can entail. She really is one of the strongest characters in the film— especially the way that she has to compose herself to take her kids to the Nativity after discovering her husband’s infidelity.

Love Actually is very much a relic of its time. It would most likely not be made in the same way now. Rewatching the film shows us how much social attitudes have changed between 2003 and today. Yet the slightly dated aspects of the movie do not detract from its warmth and charm. The Radio Times voted it Britain’s Top Christmas Film in 2016 for a reason. And I for one know what I’ll be curling up with my family to watch this Christmas.

the peaches

Katie Kirkpatrick
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the peaches

the peaches are rotting 

in the bottom of the fruit bowl

but there’s no time to throw them away

before the cousins arrive,

so we cover them up 

with glistening pineapples,

crystalline lemons,

and bananas yellower than the sun.

the peaches are rotting

in the bottom of the fruit bowl

but it looks like a perfect still life

waiting for an impressionist’s brush.

the walls are dappled with yellow shadows,

as though from buttercups in the summer,

and the cousins say it looks

delicious.

the peaches are rotting 

in the bottom of the fruit bowl

but when the rot spreads 

to the pineapples, the lemons, the bananas,

instead of throwing them away

we pile in more fruit:

blushing cherries,

magnificent raspberries,

and strawberries from enid blyton’s picnic.

the peaches are rotting 

in the bottom of the fruit bowl

but nobody needs to know.

we pile up all the colours we can remember:

satsumas like the sunset, grass green limes,

deep pastel plums, grapes that burst like balloons,

and fire-breathing dragon fruits. 

the peaches are rotting

in the bottom of the fruit bowl

but it’s too late now.

the flies are here, 

congregating in their masses,

and the table is rotting,

and the house is rotting,

and we are rotting too. 

Artwork by Rachel Jung.

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