Thursday 12th June 2025
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Preview: Made in Dagenham

Katie Knight
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Preview: Made in Dagenham

It’s a week before the first performance, and I’m told the choreography is being changed to incorporate rotations. Rotations? Is this a particular piece of dance terminology I’m unfamiliar with? Eventually it’s clarified – no, it’s an actual revolving stage. That’s perhaps the best way to summarise FourSevenTwo Productions’ version of Made In Dagenham – an exploration into “seeing how far we could go”.

At least the whole venture seems to be in capable hands. Miranda Mackay strikes me as an incredibly competent director, a fourth year with a whole host of theatre experience under her belt (being involved in 25 productions, six in a directing role). In the time I spend speaking to her she is constantly on the go, offering notes and occasionally handing out cheese and crackers (in what appears to be her secondary role of production motherfigure). Last term she directed the critically acclaimed Nice Guy at the BT, but this is a very different beast. The Michaelmas term production was heart-wrenching, intimate, with a skeleton cast and crew; Dagenham is a bright, bold, flashy production, operating with a cast numbering well into the twenties.

It’s a musical well suited to the Playhouse stage. In fact the script practically demands it – “you can tell it was designed for the West End because it has scenes with nine foldup tables”, she jokes. There are, she tells me, 464 lighting cues (a mere eight away from the company’s own name, which would have made for a particularly opportune coincidence). It’s a student production on a professional scale. In a way, it’s the only way this theatre can operate – you can’t have close intimacy in a 500-plus seat theatre. You need to go all out.

Aside from the aforementioned rotating stage, the production has enlisted the help of the local youth – four children from the local theatre group to play Rita’s two children on a rotating basis. It’s a rarity for a student production, and apparently the kids do remarkably well, although as might be expected, some of the language within rehearsals needs to be toned down. And as someone who’s observed one too many dress-rehearsal day disasters, I’m pleased to see that an understudy has been planned and accounted for regarding one of the major roles.

The Playhouse is also unique in that it able to attract a slightly older audience from the local area – which holds particular significance within the context of Made in Dagenham. Although some of the characters are fictional, key players such as Barbara Castle and Harold Wilson feature heavily – and, of course, the 1968 Dagenham workers’ strike did indeed happen. Some of the audience will be old enough to remember the event – one actor says her nan from the East End is particularly excited to see the show – and that adds another layer of sensitivity to the production.

Mackay tells me the message of the musical shines through as clear as it ever was – it’s hardly a play with a subtle message, it must be said, but unfortunately, equal work for equal pay is still a contentious issue in the current day. However, there have been some developments to account for this new age of feminism. Mackay is keen to emphasise how ‘stereotypical femininity’ and hardline feminism can go hand in hand – one shouldn’t have to change one’s appearance to be taken seriously.

This core message is presented in the form of 60s glam, with some particularly stunning outfit combinations. I assume that the costume department are enjoying themselves? I’m told yes – they’re having a field day, with outfits made to order, Lisa’s dresses being a particular delight.

What I’m surprisingly struck by is just how refreshing it is to have an upbeat, optimistic show made in Oxford. Made in Dagenham is certainly a play which deals with serious themes, but it’s relentlessly idealistic (as Ella Tournes’ fantastic rendition of ‘An Ideal World’ demonstrates far more succinctly than I could ever put into words). In a sea of short, intense theatre and even more depressing real-world politics, it feels like an absolute relief – a feeling that the world might just be alright. After all, it’s managed it before.

But it’s also a performance of great emotional intensity – Mckay is adamant that you need the lows in order to appreciate the happiness of the plot, to understand the individual characters’ motivations just as much as you would in a smaller piece. It’s a curiously challenging work, which switches from scenes of high intensity to light-hearted humour at the drop of a hat – the highly emotional ‘We Could Have Had It All’, a song of breath-taking intensity, is juxtaposed with ‘Viva Eastbourne’, a surreal ensemble piece with prime minister Harold Wilson and dancing umbrellas.

I am lucky enough to not only get to speak with the director herself, but watch a choreography rehearsal of one of the main ensemble songs, ‘Payday’, from halfway through Act One. Although it’s not a song of intrinsic importance to the plot, I’m told it all contributes to the spectacle. Led by choreographer Hannah Klim with rigorous precision – “Did you straighten your back leg? You didn’t” – I’m able to see the whole thing take shape before me, resulting in a wonderfully crisp and energetic final form.

With four weeks of rehearsals behind them, I’m also impressed just how easily each and every cast member manages to slip into character. An initial run-through of the dance is vastly improved upon simply by including everyone’s arrival at the party, with an energetic babble increasing the levels of energy tenfold. Some particularly rowdy male ensemble members steal the scene at points (with some cast members never quite seeming to break character), but it’s wonderful to see so many of the cast together in one scene, giving a flavour of what will be even in a scene which has relatively little plot importance.

Partway through the preview I’m invited to observe the blocking of a transitional scene between our heroine, Rita O’Grady (Maddy Page), and Barbara Castle (Ella Tournes). I feel incredibly privileged to view the close dynamic between actor and director, and even more so to see how easily the two step into their characters. There’s almost a conversational quality to the dynamic: when Mckay asks what Rita is feeling at this moment, Page launches into several sentences’ worth of rigorous analysis, detailing where her character was at the start of the play and how she might feel now. Previous scenes are brought in, examined, and utilised. It’s a technique which really seems to give the actors a chance to explore their characters fully – inquisitive, rather than prescriptive, giving autonomy to the actor – and by this stage of the rehearsal process, every character seems to come to life. It’s a genuine delight to see.

By this stage of the rehearsal process, everything finally seems to be coming together. For a production in its last week everything seems remarkably in place – large rotating set not included, which has to be put in on Sunday – with most of the cast off books and performances looking slick and well-practiced. All that’s left is to see the idealism become reality on the stage next week.

Made in Dagenham is at the Oxford Playhouse from 13th February (fifth week).

The Crisis of Creon

Sarah Haynes
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The Crisis of Creon

In his Poetics, Aristotle discusses the nature of Ancient Greek tragic poetry: what the essential constituents are, and what it takes for this kind of poetry to be successful. The best kind of plot, he writes, is one with incidents that cause fear and pity in the audience, which are at their most effective when unexpected, changing the course of the play without warning. A sudden change in fortune comes about and things that have been going well for a character start to go catastrophically wrong. The Greek word ‘peripeteia‘ (commonly translated as ‘reversal’) is often understood to be describing the change in circumstances itself. However, it should instead be seen as something which accompanies this change; while fortunes can be reversed in the most basic tragic plot, a peripeteia occurs only when a character drastically changes their mind in response to the change in their fortunes. It marks a crisis point for the character, a decision which can only end badly… this is the genre of tragedy after all.

At no point in the Poetics does Aristotle say that a peripeteia has to relate to the protagonist in the play. However, the mistaken belief that it should has caused some confusion over its occurrence in Sophocles’ Antigone. To summarise the plot as briefly as possible: the play opens just after the end of a war between two brothers seeking rule of Thebes. When both are killed, their uncle Creon becomes the new king. He passes a law that Polyneices, the previously exiled, treacherous brother, must be refused burial on pain of death. Antigone, however, sister to the two slain men, believes such a law directly contravenes the unwritten laws of the gods, which grant that all men should receive equal rites in death. Determined to bury Polyneices, and arrested when she tries to do so, Antigone is locked in an underground chamber to die by her uncle who is angered at her remorseless challenge to authority. His pride and paranoia about the fragility of newly-acquired power causes his downfall – upon hearing from a prophet that the gods have been angered by his treatment of Polyneices’ body, he realises his tragic error, and seeks to free Antigone. Of course, he is too late – he finds that Antigone has hanged herself, he watches as his own son (betrothed to Antigone) stabs himself out of grief, and returns to the city to find his wife too has killed herself upon her son’s death. Creon’s overthrow is complete, and, utterly wretched, he wishes only for death. He should be so lucky; the Chorus tells him to give up this hope as “from suffering that has been decreed, no man will ever find escape.”

So where does the key moment of peripeteia come in the play? A quick Google of ‘Antigone, peripeteia’ reveals that a surprising number of readers have fallen into the trap of seeking a peripeteia relating to Antigone, as protagonist. It is true that Antigone certainly undergoes a change of fortune – she starts the play in high standing as the sister of the late king and the betrothed of the new king’s son, before seeing arrest and then suicide. However, she is more a victim of Creon’s pride than she is the tragic figure. For Antigone experiences no true crisis, nor does she change her opinion at any point in the play. In the very opening scene she accepts that she will be sentenced to death if caught burying her brother: “…if I have to die for this pure crime, I am content”. Arrested, she makes no attempt to deny that she was the one who tried to bury the body and declares that, to her, death is welcome. She does not regret her action at all, viewing it as morally correct throughout, and laments only that they should punish her for it.  

It is in fact Creon who displays more of the characteristics Aristotle attributed to the tragic figure of a play. He is essentially a good man who wants the best for his people but is destroyed by his fatal flaw of overwhelming pride. He falls a long way from being the proud, newly-minted king, undergoing the most drastic change in fortune; crucially, this change in status is accompanied by a change in intention and opinion.

While Antigone remains steadfast in her purpose, and is vindicated by the events which follow, Creon comes to realise that he has made a dreadful mistake with horrifying consequences. This realisation is not easily come by, and Creon’s moment of crisis is characterised and prolonged by his indecision. He put himself in an incredibly difficult position by being so forceful in his initial assertion of authority, upon his first entrance proclaiming, “it is impossible to know fully any man’s character, will, or judgment, until he has been proved by the test of rule and law-giving.” Here, his own rule is being tested on himself  far sooner than he expected, and he is reluctant to change his stance when his leadership is challenged. After Antigone’s opportunity to deny or repent, arrogantly “boast[ing]” of what she has done, he is angry and humiliated. Creon’s psychology when sentencing her to death is, therefore, straightforward: it makes no differnce that Antigone is family; he cannot tolerate such insolence and rebellion. Even when Teiresias, the prophet, tells him of the omens condemning his decision, he is reluctant to give way: “to yield is very hard, but to resist and meet disaster, that is harder still… How hard it is”. Nonetheless, it is clear to both him and the audience that he must keep his course of action, and allow the peripeteia to fully take place. The gods are angered, and he now endangers not just himself but the whole city, in his persevered persecution both of Polyneices and Antigone. Finally, he changes his course: “…one cannot fight against necessity. I will give way.”

The tragedy of his mistake is heightened by the Chorus’ indifference – they tell Antigone before her death that she has affronted justice, a statement which suggests that Creon’s actions are not as straightforwardly outrageous as the consequences would make out. Nevertheless, he accepts full responsibility for the events which have occurred (he admits: “the guilt falls on me alone”), and is left with no choice but to endure his existence, miserable, bereaved, humiliated, and full of guilt. As so often in Greek tragedy, the penalty by far outweighs the original sin; even Creon’s attempt to remedy his error upon his peripeteia is tragically futile, and his crisis is a bleak one – once he has condemned Antigone, there is no going back.

Review: The Oxford Revue Newcomers’ Show ‘Scrapped’ – ‘ridiculous, witty, and hilarious’

Reem Ahmed
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Review: The Oxford Revue Newcomers’ Show ‘Scrapped’ – ‘ridiculous, witty, and hilarious’

Having somehow reached my third year at Oxford without watching a single performance by the Oxford Revue, I was completely in the dark as to what I should expect from the Oxford Revue Newcomers’ Show, Scrapped, which premiered last night at the Burton Taylor Studio. What the show promised was intriguing, albeit vague – a brand new sketch comedy performed by a cast of ‘7 hand-selected comedy virgins’, who had been ‘trained up by an experienced team of Revue old-hands’.

I now realise that no description, no plot summary can do justice to this highly eclectic and wonderfully unpredictable piece of theatre. Beginning with a parody of Dragon’s den, the show takes its audience through a whistle-stop series of disconnected skits – skits which are partly ridiculous, partly witty, and completely hilarious. Our protagonist and aspiring inventor, Maurice, having faced the contempt of Deborah Meaden (distinguished by her garish blonde wig), seeks inspiration from the curator of the ‘Museum of Worst Inventions’. The curator takes Maurice on a tour of the museum’s artefacts, offering a ‘History of the World in 100 rejects’
– and thus the framework for the rest of the show is constructed.

From a useless dating service, to the 16th annual session of the ‘Bird UN’ (in which a group of birds bicker and end up going to Nando’s), to the ancient Roman ‘dick pic’ (Verginius, with the help of a messenger, sends sculptures of his penis to the women of Rome), to a Barbie which comes to life (she turns out to be an AI government spy), and to a pregnant cave woman who wants to give her baby the unconventional name ‘Gregory’, the show leaves no stone unturned in its quest to showcase the most outrageous scenarios in the most amusing way possible. Indeed, the audience’s raucous laughter rarely subsided, proving that the Newcomers’ Show had succeeded in its attempt.  

Due to the sheer variety and number of the skits, as well as the innumerable jokes and gags throughout, it would be impossible to offer a detailed analysis of the show in a single review; nevertheless, I do feel that some aspects of the show in particular demand individual praise and comment. In terms of skits, the Greggs ‘Pasty Emporium’ stood out to me as one of the most amusing. Zach Burns plays a French pasty expert who greets a baffled customer with a passionate declaration of his craft. It turns out, in the final punchline of the skit, that he is actually from Bradford and has a strange tendency to adopt this hilarious persona. Though Burns occasionally broke out of character in this skit (and who can blame him), this did not diminish audience’s reaction to this particularly ridiculous sketch.

Whilst the Greggs skit delivered hilarity, at times some skits did not have the same impact. Though the rapidity of the sketches is an attractive feature of the show, one sketch near the end of the performance was so short and swift that I’m still not sure what it was about. Furthermore, in a couple of others, I felt the jokes fell flat due to poor delivery of punchlines from the actors, such as in a skit where Prince Albert is being photographed. In terms of the structure and themes of the show, I enjoyed the contrast of randomness and continuity – though the show is essentially an amalgamation of random hilarious scenarios (including a surprise musical number at the very end), the ring composition of the performance (we return to Dragon’s den at the end, with Deborah Meaden making an investment), as well as the running penis motif throughout, brought the entire performance together.

Ultimately, The Oxford Revue Newcomers’ Show, Scrapped, delivers a healthy dose of slapstick and puerile comedy, puns and dry humour. No prior knowledge is assumed or expected, and the brilliance of the show lies in its accessibility – I dare anyone to watch this show and not crack a smile. That the actors were ‘newcomers’ was barely perceptible and I commend them for delivering quality entertainment.

Review: Pirandello’s Henry IV – ‘earnest production let down by a dull script’

Thomas Player
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Review: Pirandello’s Henry IV – ‘earnest production let down by a dull script’

You will be pleased (or dismayed) to hear that this Henry IV is not one of Shakespeare’s ones. Turns out Henry Bolingbroke of England didn’t have a monopoly on that name, and that this play instead concerns a Holy Roman Emperor from 300 years prior.

Well, not quite: in fact, this play is about an Italian aristocrat who suffers a blow to the head and wakes up believing he is Henry IV – the Holy Roman one, that is. For some inconceivable reason his family neglects to relieve him of this notion and instead encourages it for the following 20 years, decking out his home in 11th century fixtures and employing a cast of actors to play various members of his court. We meet him on the day a doctor comes to see what can be done about this identity confusion. Quite why the doctor wasn’t called two decades earlier I don’t know.

This little-known Italian work, here translated by Tom Stoppard, sees the delusional aristocrat visited not just by the doctor but also by Matilda, the woman he loved, her daughter, and her lover, all of whom are forced to double up as pretend courtiers to keep the illusion going. Plenty of opportunity, then, for a farcical study of madness: delusions, complicated family relationships, mistaken identity… plus there’s a love triangle of sorts, and even a decent twist in the second half. Sadly, precious little is made of the opportunities for laughs, and we have to endure this tragicomedy as plain old tragic.

The convoluted character structure necessitates a decent prior knowledge of the main players in 11th century central European history: something I, for one, was lacking. It did strike me that the story may be easier to grapple with if the fantasy element had a more familiar set of characters – the court of Henry VIII perhaps?

The cast handled this confusing and sometimes dry material well, although a somewhat hammy style pervaded. Some of this will have been first night jitters, but some was just plain old overacting. Not every line need be deep and profound, and this heavy style didn’t fit well on the intimate stage of the BT Studio.

The role of ‘Henry IV’ was gender-swapped but played as written, something that takes a large suspension of disbelief from an audience. Gender-as-performance can and should be engaged with more explicitly by productions that choose to do this, but sadly it wasn’t here. In any case, King Henry was marvellously portrayed with bubbling-over intensity and mania by Kathryn Cussons (ironically with more than a little of the Queen of Hearts about her performance) and special mention must also go to Lucy Mae Humphries who was poised and acerbic as his unrequited sweetheart Matilda.

The production itself was simple but effective, in the style of all good student plays. Costume choices left me a bit confused about when the piece was meant to be set, although since it was mostly pretend 11th century I suppose it doesn’t matter too much. I enjoyed the little pieces of music between acts, which included a clever cuckoo call motif, but the most memorable moment was one specific use of the house lights that evoked being jerked out of your doze on a late-night Oxford Tube as it stops at the Park and Ride…possibly not the intention.

This is an earnest production of an interesting idea for a play, let down by a dull script. Coming in at less than 90 minutes (half the length of one of Stoppard’s other yawn-making hits Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead), it can be forgiven some of its drier moments for its solid acting and intriguing ideas.

Review: How to Make Friends and then Kill Them – ‘brilliantly toes the line between laughing and crying’

Evie Atmore
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Review: How to Make Friends and then Kill Them – ‘brilliantly toes the line between laughing and crying’

“That was intense,” says the person behind me, as the lights go up on the opening night of this punchy, vaguely traumatic, three-woman show. Following the lives of three young co-dependent women, this dark comedy brilliantly toes the line between laughing and crying. By the second half every laugh is forced out of the audience as the dark themes ultimately overwhelm the humour of the first. This is a show about obsession, manipulation, co-dependence, and just a touch of alcoholism, and Coningsby Productions pull it off staggeringly well.

‘How to Make Friends and then Kill Them’ is a play that demands much of its cast. With scene changes depicting the passage of time between childhood to adulthood, Simone Norowzian (Ada), Imogen Front (Sam), and Saraniya Tharmarajah (Dorrie) do well to keep up with the pace asked of them by director Charlie Rogers. The speed of the show is one of its greatest strengths – it is relentless in its movement through the lives of our ‘protagonists’, and this pace is encouraged by the incessant repetition of lines and leitmotifs throughout the play. All three actresses place ample emphasis on these moments of déjà vu, with the return of the words of Sam and Ada’s alcoholic mother being a salient, chilling example. The last scene of the first half, in which Imogen Front (Sam) is equal parts flawless and terrifying, ends with a bang. She leaves the audience both unsettled and desperate to see where the stories of these three broken women will lead.

Simone Norowzian’s role as Ada, the beautiful, self-obsessed elder sister of Sam, is possibly the most difficult – as the impetus and crux of the tension between Sam and Dorrie, she supports their obsessions as well as her own dreams of being someone that people adore. Simone’s delivery of the line: “I’ll be stuck in this house with no one to love me” is gut-wrenching, and amply illustrates the core drive of Ada’s character. Simone’s performance reaches its height with Ada’s monologue, a pay-off which the audience wait for from the opening scene, and her ability to portray both an intensely unlikable and critically vulnerable character is remarkable.

Saraniya Tharmarajah’s character Dorrie, who becomes attached to the two sisters, is a breath of fresh air in a play that could quickly become oppressively dark. Her facial expressions are a true delight, along with her ‘meditation’, and by the end of the show my allegiances are firmly aligned with her. In the final scenes Saraniya’s ability to capture Dorrie’s innocence without lapsing into being childish is truly impressive, and instrumental in carrying the piece to its dark, gripping conclusion.

Lastly, Imogen Front’s portrayal of Sam, the meek, quiet younger sister of Ada, is going to stay with me for a while. Sam is the character who grows (or mutates) the most over the course of the play, and my initial opinion of her from the opening scene was later viciously torn away. Imogen manages to capture brilliantly the nuances of, possibly, one of the most messed up characters I’ve seen on stage, and she should be immensely proud of her performance.  

The opening night show ran without a hitch, and credit must be given to those backstage and in the technical area, who ensured that the actors on stage had no obstacles to their admirable performances. The uncluttered, slightly dilapidated set design by Deshna Shah perfectly reflects the internal decay of the characters, without bashing the audience around the head screaming “This is a Theme!”.

This is a slick, well-rehearsed play, and Rogers’ eye for detail shines through in the seamless blocking of the characters (especially in the final scene) and direction of his actors. My only criticism is a slight tendency towards overacting, particularly in the first few scenes – however, one can understand this direction as the characters are, at this point in the narrative, children. Whilst not for the faint of heart, Coningsby Production’s offering of ‘How to Make Friends and then Kill Them’ is an effective, chilling piece of drama.

Union Librarian Brendan McGrath avoids impeachment

Christopher Sinnott
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Union Librarian Brendan McGrath avoids impeachment

Brendan McGrath, against whom a motion for impeachment was filed on Thursday 7th, has won his vote not to be impeached by 400 votes to 189.

A notice has been pinned on the Oxford Union noticeboard that reads “The Librarian remains in office. The Motion of Impeachment is unsuccessful”.

The 68% vote in favour of McGrath comes after the 12 hours of deliberation that an impeachment motion in the Oxford Union entails. On the day of the vote supporters and allies of McGrath mobilised a “Vote No” campaign on Facebook, posting social statuses that presented McGrath’s potential impeachment as symptomatic of ‘toxic politics’.

More on this story is expected to follow.

Skin a Cat Review – ‘rethinks simplistic sexual narratives’

Lucy Mcilgorm
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Skin a Cat Review – ‘rethinks simplistic sexual narratives’

In the era of sex-positive successes such as the most recent Netflix obsession Sex Education, we might feel as though our yearnings for more diverse narratives about sex have been fully satisfied. Britomart Productions’ performance of Skin a Cat by Isley Lynn proves otherwise. The setting is familiar: the bedroom of a teenage girl (beautifully designed by Flora Clark). Her quest? To achieve ultimate sexual knowledge by losing her virginity. However, the outcome is entirely new, and the production dextrously and humorously articulates all the nuances of a far more complicated sexual awakening than the one we bargained for.

The play tells the story of Alana’s (Millie Tupper) journey towards self-acceptance – a journey which begins, crucially, at the instance of her first period. This opening immediately sets the tone for the production, with direct address to audience working wonders here as Alana’s mother (Martha Harlan) urgently enquires after a sanitary pad to the amusement of people in the front row. However, this uncomfortable beginning also constituted the small but painful seed that births much of the confusion and shame running through later parts of the play. Harlan wonderfully portrays the concerned yet evasive, even angry mother who by attempting an explanation of this experience to her nine-year-old daughter only instils further confusion, concluding curtly with “no more swimming” and “I’ll buy you a book.”

Such moments of shameful inarticulacy are immediately extinguished by the exhilarating frankness of the production itself. The actors revel in the vulgarity of the language which ranges from descriptions of period blood like “stringy aliens” to “trimmed cocks” and “peen in vagine.” The lack of self-consciousness and constant playfulness on stage is worthy of high praise for both the actors, and co-directors Kitty Low and Martha West. The sex scenes are portrayed with zero embarrassment (no, seriously, none), and skilfully towe the line between what seems to be genuine enjoyment and heightened teenage sexual performativity. This comfortability on stage allowed the audience to laugh freely and joyously.

The use of multi-roling was highly effective in portraying the different figures orbiting around Alana, our central focus, as she evolves and matures. Martha West and Harold Serero are particularly noteworthy for their transformations and the humour they brought to each role, yet both never slipping into caricature. Hannah Taylor delivered two standout monologues as Pete, which brought considerable depth and pathos to a role which could have read only superficially as an awkward-teenage-boy. The production in general plays on our fondness for the familiar tropes of teenage sexuality, like Alana’s frantic questioning “Where’s the DIAGRAM?” as she tries to insert a tampon or Pete and Alana hiring a hotel room for their “first time” because they “wanted it to be, you know, American.” However, all these expectations of sex are broken down by the idiosyncrasies of sexual experience and the unattainability of that elusive common denominator – “normal.”

Achieving ‘normality’ is Alana’s quest after she discovers her difficulty with penetrative sex is due to a psychosexual condition called vaginismus. Millie Tupper excellently portrays Alana’s increasingly shameful frustration – and this is not the dorky sexual frustration typical of our favourite high-school movies, but the genuine, tear-inducing, gut-wrenching frustration of reaching a milestone which is supposedly some universal moment – losing your virginity – and….it doesn’t work. According to Alana, her “cunt is broken”.

Low and West’s production, amidst much hilarity, cuts right through to the most vulnerable of feelings, and asks us to rethink the ways we contort ourselves to fit the simplistic sexual narratives we have been ingesting for so long.

Today’s Union impeachment vote: what you need to know

Angus Brown and Libby Cherry
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Today’s Union impeachment vote: what you need to know

Today Union members will be able to vote to impeach the Librarian, Brendan McGrath. The poll will be open until 8.30pm.

The ballot reads: “We the undersigned hereby wish to impeach the Officer, Brendan McGrath (Librarian, Oriel College) on the following grounds: abuse of office, and the deliberate subversion of the expressed will of the Membership and the Rules of the Society, for his own electoral benefit and contrary to the fundamental principles of democracy upon which the Oxford Union was founded.”

The motion to impeach McGrath, which was brought following the resignation of Ray Williams as the Union’s Chief of Staff last Thursday, concerns McGrath’s decision to ask the Returning Officer, Liam Frahm, to review the validity of last term’s “Trial Slate Ban”. Frahm subsequently ruled the ban invalid, triggering Williams’ resignation.

In his resignation speech, given at the end of the debate “This House Believes that Margaret Thatcher was a Hero to the Working Class”, Williams said: “it had shocked me that our Librarian had seeked [sic] to subvert the express will of the membership, conning potentially dozens of other candidates to satisfy his desire for the presidency. I cannot continue to serve as Chief of Staff in these circumstances.

“I thus support the impeachment of the Librarian which is being brought before the Standing Committee as I speak.”

This triggered the impeachment process, beginning with a petition requiring the signatures of 150 members to move forward to a vote of the Union’s membership. The petition received the requisite number of signatures amongst allegations by McGrath that a number of signatures had been acquired through improper means.

McGrath now stands accused of having both abused his office in order to further his own ambitions within the society and of having sought to subvert the will of the membership in overturning the trial slate ban.  

The Union’s Senior Access Officer, Brian Wong, resigned earlier today on the grounds that the overturning of the slate ban was “yet another attempt to subvert the expressed will of the Members.”

In his resignation letter, he wrote: “Today, Members will be going to the Poll to reject the self-serving and undemocratic behaviours that have characterised the Society’s Elections for too long. They are our constituents, and should always have the final say. That’s the only fair solution. That’s the only fair procedure in line with the ethos of the Union – but perhaps incongruent with the zeitgeist of our times.”

In an open letter posted on Facebook, McGrath said: “Last term, a motion was debated to impose a trial ban on slates. Some rules, however, such as those governing slates, are entrenched such that they need to be debated at greater length and with more publicity than usual. The motion didn’t do this, so was procedurally invalid.

“This issue first came to my attention when one of last term’s Officers bragged to me about knowing that the slate ban was invalid, and, after significant research, I approached the Returning Officer, Liam Frahm, to request clarification.

“After his own independent investigation, the Returning Officer deemed the ban to be invalid, thereby overturning it.

“I have been shocked by the tactics the supporters of the motion have employed over this last week. I have seen a lot in my time at the Union, but never imagined that I would be subjected to personal attacks, humiliation and abuse for the sake of a student society.”

The entirety of the letter can be viewed on Facebook.

Students have come out in support of Brendan on Facebook, asking peers to “Stand up to Toxic Politics: Vote No.”

The results of the poll are expected to be announced this evening.

Restaurant Review: Peppers

Darius Parvizi-Wayne
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Restaurant Review: Peppers

I’ve come to realise that a common trope in my reviews is a tendency to praise the simple, traditional, and altogether not overly obnoxious aspects of food in this city. Throw out your quinoa salad, deconstructed oysters, and tahini that you swear you got from Borough Market because you are just that cool. Ok, I may be going a bit over the top: I like Borough Market; quinoa doesn’t deserve its own Instagram page but it’s surprisingly tasty; and I can stomach oysters. But the attitude cultivated by social media seems to suggest that this is all we, so-called generation Z, eat: avocado, sourdough and maybe an egg if you’re really pushing the boat out. Not true: sometimes I, a guy as Z as it gets (is that right?), just fancy a really fucking big burger. There truly is only one place in Oxford such a desire can be fulfilled: Peppers.

Minus the heroin and Ewan McGregor’s hallucinogenic dreams, Peppers looks like something out of Trainspotting. Or perhaps more 1980s Brick Lane. Anyway, it’s a bruttish building, with ugly, red block letters emblazoned on the front. Good. No mood lighting designed for bloggers to peer over their meticulously constructed food is a welcome relief. The crowd is also different in Peppers. No yummy mummies – they’ll surely be in Opera Café having a latte with extra soy milk. Also there are few families – the homeliness of Mamma Mia or Branca will be far more suitable for them. Instead, Peppers attracts those with little time on their hands and big appetites. 

At this point you may be envisioning Peppers to be a sort of prison, beyond the realms of normal society. Well you’d be wrong. Peppers, in fact, embodies everything great about this little, funny city. Perhaps the finest thing is the level of owner-to-customer trust. In a time where turnover is paramount and communication is mostly virtual, nothing beats a genuine smile and a friendly exchange. In this respect, Peppers is in a different league compared to most restaurants in Oxford. Don’t have the immediate cash on you? Feel free to pop to a cash point while your burger is on the grill. Ordered a drink with your food? Slide beyond the counter and take your pick. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were allowed to grill the burger yourself. 

Peppers harks back to a lost era. An era when chefs would see their food eaten and could take real pride in the gratitude of the eater. Now, their work is probably manipulated into a ‘spread’ for an ‘influencer’s’ page, with 90% of the food left untouched, ordered solely for aesthetic motivations. Don’t get me wrong – food is art, and the visual element is certainly important. But when the foundation of the art appeals to the eyes more than the nose and tongue, something has gone seriously wrong.

No such problem here. Peppers couldn’t care less about presentation. Peppers probably doesn’t even know what presentation is. Instead, the first hint of upcoming delight comes from a smell of meat, vinegar and salt that smacks you upon entry, and then wafts among customers who squeeze into tiny chairs, often chatting amongst one another. Think school common room, with far superior food and less BO.

Then the food arrives and you know when it arrives because every element is gargantuan and comes wrapped up in paper in a rudimentary manner that no modern restaurant would dareto replicate. Indeed, you have to come to Peppers hungry. Really hungry. Think Five Guys offers a lot of chips? Think again. Then you bite into it and everything is perfect. Juicy, tender meat, a soft bun and crunchy lettuce and onions – fantastic. You can also choose any sauce you wish. I like sweet chilli and mint and yoghurt. Weird, I know. Nonetheless, it works: everything balances out and sets the stage for that enormous slab of meat. All this, with chips, and a drink, for £7.50 at lunch is beyond a steal.

So there you are, sauce dripping down your hands, surrounded by psychedelic posters, smiling because you forgot that in this strange, strange world, simple pleasure can still be found in a place like Peppers. 

Recipe: Sweet Nachos

Emma Hawkins
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0
Recipe: Sweet Nachos

Ingredients
6 Small flour tortillas (diameter no more than
14cm)
2 tbsp Butter, melted
1 tsp Cinnamon
100g Caster sugar

For the toppings (all optional):
50g Mini marshmallows
50g Milk chocolate
50g White chocolate
35g Chopped hazelnuts
200g Double cream, whisked to soft peaks
50g Salted caramel sauce
200g Strawberries, hulled and chopped into
chunks
100g Raspberries
20g Popping candy

Method

  1. Preheat the oven to 180˚C. Brush a baking
    tray lightly with the melted butter.
  2. Place one tortilla onto a chopping board and
    brush lightly with the melted butter. Place
    another tortilla on top of the buttered one
    and brush it with butter. Continue with the
    others until you have a stack of buttered
    tortillas.
  3. Take a large knife and cut the pile in half.
    Then cut each half in half again, and repeat
    twice more so you have 8 tortilla stacks.
  4. In a bowl mix the cinnamon and sugar.
    Separate the tortilla stacks so that each chip
    is a single layer and arrange the chips on the
    buttered tray. Sprinkle the chips with the
    cinnamon sugar so each one is evenly coated
  5. Put the chips in the oven for 6-10 minutes,
    until they’re crisp and slightly brown.
  6. To check if the chips are done test the edges
    to see if they are crisp and dry. The middle
    may be slightly softer, but they’ll crisp up as
    they dry. Once the crisps are done place them
    to one side and leave them to cool.
  7. Meanwhile, break up the two chocolates into
    chunks and put into two separate heatproof
    bowls. Place each over a pan of water on a
    medium, heat and leave to melt gently.
  8. Begin to assemble the nachos by scattering
    half the chips on a plate or baking tray lined
    with baking paper (whatever you want
    to serve it on). Drizzle with a little of the
    chocolate, and scatter with nuts, strawberries,
    caramel sauce and marshmallows. Pile the
    rest of the chips on top in a pyramid shaped
    pile. Top with the rest of the marshmallows
    and strawberries. Dollop the cream in blobs
    around the stack, drizzle with the rest of the
    caramel and chocolate and top with the rest
    of the hazelnuts and popping candy. Serve
    with any ice cream or sorbet you wish.

Alternatives:
Tropical – Make the nacho chips the same way
as above, but without the cinnamon. Then top
with chopped mango, pineapple, coconut chips,
whisked vanilla cream, dark chocolate and passion
fruit.
Banoffee – Top the cinnamon chips with maple
syrup, whipped cream, chopped banana, chocolate
chips and pecan praline (made by mixing pecans
with caramel and adding a pinch of salt. Leave to
cool on baking paper and then break up into small
pieces).

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