Sunday 24th August 2025
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“Ugly Delicious” explores the twisted perceptions of Eastern cuisines in the West

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Most food documentaries tend to be easy, unchallenging watches. We’re treated to aesthetic shots of dishes for us to enjoy vicariously, and nuggets of trivia which help us sound more like the foodies we aspire to be. David Chang’s Ugly Delicious however, makes for quite a different experience. A running theme through the eight episodes is Chang’s experience of growing up in Virginia and not properly celebrating the Korean food he ate at home because of the pressure to assimilate into ‘American’ culture. This experience fuels his desire to explore the cultural issues around certain cuisines and their perception in the US, though much of this is also relevant in the West more generally.

Chang questions why certain cuisines have the reputation they do. For example, why do most of us associate French food with sophisticated candle-lit date nights and Chinese, Indian or Mexican food with greasy takeaways? Chang suggests that the reasons for this are largely historical and cultural rather than anything to do with the food itself. When the early immigrants from China, India or Mexico began to settle in the US, they were poorer than — and thus segregated from — the white population. This meant that their food was perceived as unhygienic, cheaper and generally less desirable. A horrifying illustration of this is the portrayal of Chinese food as dirty and rat-infested in sinophobic propaganda in the US which culminated in the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. This lingering xenophobia may be a plausible explanation for why certain cuisines have developed the connotations they have. However, this is clearly changing, certainly in big metropolitan centres like London with the rise in restaurants like Hakkasan or Yauatcha. People seem to be waking up to the fact that ‘Chinese’ can mean fancy restaurants as well as hangover cures.   

Chang also points out that much of what we think of as Chinese cuisine in the West bears, at best, only a slight resemblance to what you would find in a restaurant in China. A prime example being the infamous General Tso’s chicken. These westernised versions of traditional food made sense because early immigrants setting up restaurants had to be sensitive to a highly sheltered palate and to be authentic simply wasn’t commercially viable. This, of course can be seen with Indian dishes like Chicken Balti as well. However, this also seems to be changing as people begin to seek more authentic versions of cuisines that have historically been adapted. This is not to say that inauthentic adaptations are necessarily bad and of course, these can often develop as a sub-cuisine in their own right. However, a clientele with a more adventurous palate is likely to mean that restaurants feel able to offer dishes that are truer to home without fearing the loss of customers.

Chang highlights that whatever this ‘Chinese cuisine’ in the West is, it certainly does not reflect the remarkable differences in regional cuisines in China. Fiery Sichuan food is wildly different to the more subtle Cantonese dishes, for example.  This homogenisation of regional varieties is again not an issue specific to how the West views Chinese food, as clearly Indian food also falls prey to this. The Indian ‘curry’ in the UK is generally a mutation of north-western Indian food and incredibly complex Southern cuisines barely have a presence. Indeed, it works the other way too. In India and even Hong Kong, for example, it is common to come across restaurants serving ‘Western’ cuisine, ranging from pizzas to fish and chips. Fortunately this too, seems to be changing. As our generation becomes increasingly curious about the regional varieties in cuisines, hopefully this demand will be reflected in more regional restaurants.

Chang’s documentary offers a different way of exploring these important issues and questioning the foundations of why we think of some cuisines the way we do. It is definitely worth a watch over the vac and feeds both soul and mind.

Women in sport: a conversation with Eleanor Oldroyd

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To listeners of 5 live, Eleanor Oldroyd’s voice will be a familiar one. The broadcaster, who started her career on BBC Radio Shropshire, now covers a broad range of sport from the Winter Olympics to Wimbledon tennis, scooping up two ‘Sports Journalists’ Association Broadcast Presenter of the Year’ awards along the way. She’s always been a devotee of sport; when I meet her in her home in London, she tells me with a laugh that whilst “some girls had posters on their walls of pop stars, I was taking The Cricketer magazine”. When she was at school, she bargained herself a day off to go to Lord’s on the grounds that she wanted to be The Times’ first female cricket correspondent – although this never materialised, she’s gone on to be a trailblazer as a woman in the industry. We talk how she thinks the business has changed, both for the players and the reporters.

I ask her what it was like breaking into an industry in the 1980s where women were so few and far between. She admits that her appointment was “extremely unusual”, and that there were definitely colleagues who would have thought it “completely wrong and mad” to have her in a press box, but she remained resolute: “my boss sent me to do it … they trusted me”.

Thirty-odd years later the number of women reporting on sport is certainly rising, but equality is still far away. Figures from 2018 reveal that Clare Balding’s salary is around 10% of what football presenter Gary Lineker earns, and a quick internet search of ‘female sports reporters’ brings up the top result of ‘Hottest Sports Reporters: Photo List of Sexy Female Sideline Reporters’ from Ranker. In spite of this, Oldroyd is still encouraged by the changing scene in broadcasting: “The opportunities are much, much greater than they were 30 years ago”, and she’s right that the likes of Gabby Logan and Alison Mitchell are changing the faces of sport on television.

Oldroyd’s beloved sport is cricket, a game that, perhaps more so than most, remains mostly male-dominated; the MCC only started accepting women members in 1998, after 212 years of male exclusivity. An excruciating interview with Michael Vaughan and Michael Slater in 2013 sees them ask two female players (Meg Lanning and Ellyse Perry) how they physically cope with playing cricket, only to compliment them later for being attractive, the camera lingering on photos of them in bikinis. For women, the game itself is also limited: boundaries are made smaller and test matches are spread over four days not five. Amid coverage of five men’s test matches in the same year, the women were given six minutes of airtime.

When we talk about the changes in the women’s game, however, the reporter seems hopeful for the future: “There are little things all the time that make me think ‘Wow that’s really changed’”. A Wisden cricket periodical published earlier this month carried a feature in which male and female wicket-keepers are spoken about with parity. Similarly, Adam Gilchrist, the great Australian wicket-keeper, tweeted that he judged Sarah Taylor to be the best wicket-keeper in the world at the moment; in the face of international players such as Ben Foakes and Jonny Bairstow, Oldroyd thinks this is “fantastic”. In her opinion, the rhetoric is changing, moving away from discussions about the value of women’s sport and towards “intelligent and informed conversations now about the quality of players”.

The broadcaster attributes some of the changes in the publicity of women’s cricket to player Rachel Heyhoe-Flint (who became one of the first female members of the MCC), saying: “She was unusual because she was relatively high profile, she promoted the team, captaining and then going to write match reports and sending them to The Telegraph and insisting that they were published”. In light of this, I ask whether she thinks it takes a charismatic maverick, say the tennis player Billie Jean King, to change the image of a sport; she says the progress is necessarily “multifaceted”, that the individuals must also be lifted by the broadcasters.

Following on from King, she talks about the high-profile sportswomen in the limelight at the start of the broadcaster’s career, such as Mary Peters and Martina Navratilova, and I wonder why it is that individual sports seem to have more success with publicity. Oldroyd suggests it could be “competing on the same day, on the same track as the men”. It certainly makes sense – we talk about the ban on women’s football using FA accredited grounds from 1921 to 1971 and how this might have affected the game: “It was sending out the message that women’s football, and women’s team sports more generally, was an inferior version of the men’s game”. It seems that this university’s policy of, where possible, hosting men’s and women’s varsities on the same day does, then, carry some weight in the drive for equality.

Regarding progress, “the willingness is there in the governing bodies” she tells me. The England & Wales Cricket Board (ECB) have confirmed their new ‘100-ball’ tournament, in which tickets to the men’s and women’s games will be sold together in packages to encourage attendance. Aside from cricket, she praises Manchester City Football Club who are now promoting the men and women on the same web page “which is huge”. A theme that keeps cropping up in our conversation is the importance of talking about male and female sport with parity, and I’m sure that publishing both of the university’s football clubs’ match reports in the same place can only bolster interest in the women’s game. Lastly, she tells me about rugby which, although she suggests the RFU are “not quite there yet”, is also starting to contract female players and pay them properly. Many of them now don’t need another full-time job to support themselves, a persistent hindrance to the development of the women’s game. Watching the women’s varsity at Twickenham last week, it really did feel like this was a sport gaining momentum.

Although Eleanor Oldroyd gives me lots of encouraging examples of the changes in women’s sport, she acknowledges that there is still a long way to go. I ask her if she still thinks there are significant barriers to women from the emerging generation entering the industry: “Yes, is the short answer”. Social media, in her opinion, is one of the biggest inhibitors of success for women, both athletes and broadcasters. She tells me that “those old-fashioned attitudes do still exist” and that now “the ease with which people can shout abuse at you is horrible”. It is nothing new to say that the anonymity of Twitter gives a greater platform to unwarranted, retrograde opinions, and Oldroyd seems to think this can be particularly harmful to women in sport. Despite covering her first football match in 1986, she reveals she largely refrains from tweeting about football to avoid the vitriol from followers who act “as if their masculinity is threatened”. Undeterred, her advice to those who hope to participate in, or report on, sport is to “listen to the voices of the people who are supporting you, and don’t listen to the constant chatter”.

Festive flicks: the best films to watch at Christmas

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At Christmas, there’s no better way of relaxing than sinking back into the sofa and sticking on a festive film with friends and family. Here are some of my favourites to watch this season, including a few that are technically not Christmas films at all.

Jingle All the Way (1996)

This comedy starring Arnold Schwarzenegger as workaholic Howard Langston remains one of my favourite Christmas films (despite its terrible rating on Rotten Tomatoes). To make up for being an absent father, Howard promises his son Jamie the toy that every child is after: Turboman. Anyone who has ever left their Christmas shopping to the last minute, or got caught up in the mad rush on Christmas Eve, can sympathise with Howard’s increasingly frantic search for the figure. Jingle All the Way may be critiqued for its silliness and unevenness, but with plenty of slapstick humour and a poignant message about the importance of spending time with your family, it is a perfect choice for some light-hearted fun.

Jumanji (1995)

Jumangi is not a Christmas film is any traditional sense of the word – in fact, it only contains one scene that features Christmas – but its focus on friendship and family amidst the carnage created by a supernatural board game imbues the film with the spirit of Christmas. Second to curling up in front of the television during the festive period is undoubtedly a good board game. As heated as family games of monopoly risk becoming, these look tame in comparison to the waves of destruction that Alan, Sarah, Peter, and Judy unleash by playing the game. Their only hope to reverse the destruction is to see it through to the very end. Robin Williams’ comic genius is put to brilliant use here.

Miracle on 34th Street (1994)

Remakes of classic films often get a bad rap, but the 1994 release of Miracle on 34th Street (the fourth incarnation of this classic Christmas treat) is a heart-warming delight from start to finish. Kris Kringle (Richard Attenborough) is hired by Susan’s mother as the new Santa Claus for the department store Coles, but the people’s belief in Santa Claus is threatened when Kris is arrested. Mara Wilson is as charming in the role of Susan as she is in Mrs Doubtfire and Matilda.

Home Alone (1990)

The opening of Home Alone perfectly captures the chaos created by large family reunions at Christmas, as Kevin McCallister is accidentally left alone when his family leave for the airport without him. The film follows his parents’ attempts to return to their stranded son and Kevin’s struggle to defend his home from criminals Harry and Marv. The booby traps that Kevin rigs to stop the burglars liberally stretch the bounds of what an 8-year-old can reasonably construct, but if you can ignore your disbelief, then Home Alone will have you laughing harder than you’ve ever laughed before.

Love Actually (2003)

The number of different stories that Richard Curtis manages to pack into Love Actually is impressive, particularly because it never feels overcrowded. If you are a fan of romantic comedies, then Love Actually is the perfect choice – the film is full of humour and emotionally engaging stories that may even bring a tear to your eye. It combines one of the greatest soundtracks of any Christmas film I’ve seen with an all-star cast, including Liam Neeson, Alan Rickman, Emma Thompson, and Keira Knightley. Hugh Grant gives a wonderful performance as Prime Minister David (and if you’re a fan of his irresistible onscreen charm, then I’d recommend also trying to fit About a Boy into your schedule). Red Nose Day Actually, released in 2017, is also worth a watch to find out what happened to its interlocking characters.

Harry Potter franchise (2001-2011)

Though watching the Harry Potter franchise is not limited to the festive season, a marathon at Christmas will only emphasise the magic of the films. Seeing the Great Hall decorated for Christmas in The Philosopher’s Stone and the beautiful scenes of Hogwarts in the snow in The Prisoner of Azkaban are bound to get you in the holiday spirit.

Plush to stay put through January

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The Plush Lounge has announced it has agreed to remain on Park End Street until the end of January.

The nightclub released a press statement today confirming that it will remain at its current site “until the end of January 2019.”

In their statement Plush said: “The Plush Lounge has extended the move date from our current premises at 27 Park End Street (currently known as The Jam Factory) until the end of January 2019 (previously notified as the 31st December 2018).

“Whilst plans are ongoing for our move, Nuffield College, the owner of the Jam Factory building, which has been home to Plush for the last 8 years, has kindly agreed to extend our occupation beyond the date previously agreed.

Plush would like to thank Nuffield College, and their agents, Savills, for their help and support at this challenging but exciting time”.

The announcement follows previous news that Plush would replace The Purple Turtle at the Oxford Union’s Frewin Court venue in January. The Union told their former tenants to leave the venue after the two parties failed to come to a new lease agreement.

The Oxford Union have been contacted for comment.

Christmas adverts: capitalist emotional blackmail or festive escapism?

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As a foreign language student currently completing a placement in a German high school, I have recently been asked to speak to some of my younger classes about British Christmas traditions. Aside from Christmas crackers and the Queen’s Speech, one of the most quintessentially British aspects of Christmas that came to my mind was our love of Christmas adverts. The release of yearly Christmas advert by companies like John Lewis, M&S and Sainsbury’s have become anticipated events and the adverts themselves have developed into resembling short films in their length and attempts to create emotional resonance. Why do we love these adverts so much? And why do these companies spend millions of pounds every year on them?

When watching television or a YouTube video, we hate having to sit through the adverts. Christmas adverts, however, have become the unofficial launch of Christmas in the UK and, as a nation, we have taken them to our hearts. Often dubbed ‘The John Lewis Effect’, many big companies spend millions on producing adverts lasting between 90-120 seconds which pull at our heart springs. When watching the adverts, we almost forget that they have been created to try and sell us things, often because they do so in a less direct way than we expect.

The most popular and successful Christmas adverts do not tend to feature their products. The adverts of companies such as John Lewis and M&S do not even make a mention of the company until the final frame of the advert. Instead, the adverts focus on telling a story: this is ‘The John Lewis Effect’ – the adverts aim to build an emotional connection with the viewers. We are drawn into the lives of the characters and we often relate to them and their emotions or reactions. Teary-eyed, we share the adverts on social media and discuss how amazing they are with our friends, thus spreading the word. Without any mention of products however, how do these adverts actually make the company more money?

Animals bouncing on a trampoline, a man on the moon, WW1 soldiers in the trenches… the subjects of Christmas adverts are diverse. The common link is that they all evoke emotion, which is an incredibly powerful tool. Usually, brands have to use limited advert time to promote their latest deals and sales, but the premium Christmas advert is a chance to promote the brand itself. The emotion evoked in the adverts is not only linked to the storyline, but also to the nostalgia of childhood Christmas’. When an advert makes us feel emotional and nostalgic, we automatically feel a connection to the brand, a warm fuzzy feeling as we associate them with Christmas and with a penguin called Monty. This makes us more likely to buy from the brand, not only over the Christmas period, but, hopefully for the company, on a long-term basis. The more powerful the Christmas advert, the long the connection lasts.

Although spreading Christmas cheer, making viewers laugh and cry (and even tackling social and environmental issues -see Iceland’s orangutan advert this year) are all well and good, the ultimate aim of Christmas adverts is to make more money for the company. Christmas and money have almost become synonymous. For many, the religious aspect of Christmas has become negligible and it has simply become the biggest commercial event of the year with companies aiming to capitalise on our festive mood. While products may not feature throughout, the closing frames of the adverts make it clear that they want us to come and spend money.

Sainsbury’s Christmas advert this year features a school play, amusing costumes and some sweet children singing and dancing: all the ingredients for a heart-warming advert. As the advert comes to a close, the message on the screen reads ‘we give all we’ve got for the ones we love’. This is a very lovely message, but in the context of a commercial advert, it is still essentially telling us that we should buy more to show people that we love them. Similarly, the John Lewis advert features Elton John singing ‘Your Song’ before we finally see him being given a piano for Christmas by his parents with the message ‘some gifts are more than just a gift’ – suggesting that one gift can change the course of somebody’s life. No pressure on your gift buying, then! Christmas adverts are, essentially, a form of emotional blackmail, playing on our feelings and the festive warmth and turning these into a way of making more money: the capitalistic Christmas spirit.

Why is it that, understanding the purely commercial aims of these adverts, we continue to indulge in them? It is more than the fact that they are sweet and make us feel Christmassy. Christmas adverts take us back to our childhood and our ideals of Christmas. Spending time with our whole family, the excitement we felt as a child opening our presents and the idealised White Christmas. As adults, Christmas loses some of its magical touch as reality kicks in. Adverts evoke nostalgia and permit escapism, allowing us to relive the happiness and excitement we felt as a child. The emotion of the adverts allows for a Christmas catharsis, often necessary for the various feelings built up around this time of year for adults.

For the pleasures that Christmas adverts permit us, it seems that we are willing to put up with the emotional blackmail and commercial takeover of Christmas. It is important, however, that we remember the true meaning of Christmas, something often shown in these adverts, but subverted.

The Tragedy of King Richard the Second – ‘stripped-down Shakespeare’

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One of the first things which catches my eye about this stripped-down set is the large bucket labelled ‘blood’ at the back of the stage. It’s hard to miss – particularly in a grey box stage which eerily resembles a prison cell. The Almeida Theatre’s production of The Tragedy of King Richard the Second is, to say the least, not exactly as the Bard would have staged it. As might be expected for a Shakespearean tragedy (for this is certainly more tragedy than history play), the walls don’t remain grey for long.

The eponymous king is played by Simon Russell Beale, a legend of Shakespearean roles: and, as might be expected, he lives up to his reputation. He does a magnificent job of portraying the wavering king, with all of the character’s inconsistencies, particularly in the inaugural duel – the abruptness with which the duel is ceased and the terms of exile are handed out frame the character effectively (“Four?” the king says with a shrug, holding up the number on his fingers – a number subsequently rounded up to six.) It’s a performance which only grows in depth as the show progresses. It’s perhaps unusual to see an older man in the role of a precocious and immature king – a far cry from the gaunt dramatics of Ben Whishaw – but strangely appropriate. An older performer transforms the king from a precocious youth to a deluded and borderline senile man with a wavering grip on power, though no less immature for all this. The confrontation of Richard and Gaunt, himself an older man, just serves to emphasise the relative difference in maturity. The looking-glass scene is transformed from a diatribe on vanity to a piece of plain delusion.

The physicality of these actors is similarly extraordinary. Everyone in this production of Richard II looks positively miserable, on the verge of nervous exhaustion. Bolingbroke himself appears to be regretting taking the crown at all (perhaps realising it’s effectively made of paper, resembling something you might find in a Christmas cracker). Handled magnificently by Leo Bill, he captures the wonderful paradox of exile, murderer and king effortlessly. “I hate the murderer, love him murdered” is the culmination of this character, and it’s brandished with a painful edge.

The characters which form some sort of rough ensemble appear tense and edgy, by turns huddling together in fearful reverence or sidestepping around the edges of the stage – like an animation from Pink Panther – in a display of surreptitious espionage. A series of camp duel challenges result in an utterly farcical fight, with gardening gloves being launched across the stage and characters running headlong screaming. The timing of many lines elicits genuine laughter from the audience – a purist will of course be horrified by the clownish take on a Shakespearean classic, but in these interesting times we live in, such a take feels intensely necessary. We do live in a political situation as absurd as the one presented on stage. It feels right to present this in all its wonderful, horrifying, farcical glory – the audience is laughing, but it’s a dark humour, akin to laughing at a man on the gallows.

Standing at a relatively diminutive one hour and forty minutes with no interval, the show effectively speed runs through its first portion, with lines coming at such lightning speed that I sometimes struggle to keep up – the pacing of a boxing match seems to be prioritised over clarity of expression. Eventually, however, it begins to settle into a clearer, though hardly calmer, form. The latter two-thirds of the play are intensely compelling, with space given for the weighty monologues which are indubitably the highlights of the production. Richard’s madness, presented largely as arbitrariness towards the start, becomes incredibly, and hauntingly, gripping.

The madness on stage is effectively enhanced by the set which contains it, and the technical elements which at first appear so inconspicuous – yes, even the aforementioned bucket – turn into a messy, stained hellscape, filled with dirt, blood, and water. It’s visceral and compelling, but only heightened by the minimalism it operates in. This creates an interesting dynamic, in which everyone is visible at all times, seemingly unable to escape – the courtiers constantly watch from the side-lines; exiles remain frozen where they are banished, curled up on stage. A letter to be relayed is watched with quiet horror by the one who is to receive it. A cell-like stage offers nowhere to hide, even when a character might wish to. As it stands, both characters and audience are left to watch this political farce unfold together. Appropriately, it ends on a note of hysterical laughter.

The Tragedy of King Richard the Second will be broadcast live to 700 UK cinemas and beyond on Tuesday 15 January – www.ntlive.com

Jersey Boys Review – ‘the drama falls flat’

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After enjoying nine years in London’s West End, Jersey Boys is touring regional theatres in what seems to be an effort to squeeze as much worth out of the show before it becomes confined to the dusty archives of other irrelevant jukebox musicals. Initially, the conveyor belt of hits from the 1960s pop group ‘The Four Seasons’ dazzles musically but, before long, it drones on in a fast-paced narrative that sells the actors short and struggles to retain interest – and this is coming from a massive fan of musicals.

The show follows the rise and fall of Frankie Valli and his co-stars Tommy Devito, Bob Gaudio and Nick Massi as they aim to conquer the American music scene with their catchy, nostalgic tracks. Like every great musical, they encounter problems along the way, dealing with reckless money spending, big egos and group conflict. However, their biggest issue turns out to be a deeper longing for home and family. The musical manages to capture the relentless grind of the music industry and the actors do a great job at imitating the original members of the band, but the text fails to surpass much more than a smattering of superficial conversations and a chain of barely relevant pop songs.

Indubitably, the show serves its purpose as a documentation of events, but the attempt to squeeze the personal story of four men’s careers into a two-and-a-half-hour spectacle becomes tiresome. The lead actors march around on stage like four dads thrown together on a charity tour of the YMCA. Luckily, what they lack in charisma they make up for in technically flawless vocals and blend. The pace, however, leaves them short-changed of any valuable characterisation: the four heroes are given little time to establish any sense of individuality or substance to the extent that I felt completely disinterested in their success and emotional development.

Perhaps it would have helped if their female counterparts were given even a fraction more stage time, or were written with a modicum of personality beyond their roles as wives and lovers. I am all for the historically accurate portrayal of a male-dominated music industry, but the snippets of action the female cast were granted were an insult to both the actresses and the real-life figures they play. As a show that has so much possibility to say something worth saying about the music industry and its pressures on relationships – Hairspray being a good example of issues in the 1960s-television industry – the drama falls flat.

A special mention, however, must go to set designer Klara Zieglerova and lighting designer Howell Binkley whose set and lighting design work together seamlessly. A sequence of backdrops effectively illuminate the stage with rich colours and help to unify the costume, light and set. It is not easy to create something so visually engaging when the narrative moves so quickly through the settings, but the details were impressive.

Yet here lies the main problem: the show is so fast that the audience never gets the opportunity to pause and take stock. Jersey Boys is an endearing story of unlikely success, but the rags-to-riches narrative is hardly new. If the show is to enjoy success with the newest generation of theatre-goers it will need to push at the boundaries of its narrative potential. At a time when most successful new musicals of today are proving that the form does not have to be all glitter and ham, I can only assume that the clumsy art of jukebox musicals like Jersey Boys is going to quickly lose interest – a rewrite would not be a bad idea.

The Cellar Forever – Why The Cellar’s survival is integral for the Oxford music scene

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The Cellar recently faced risk of closing. Again. Except this time it felt like there really was no chance of its staying open, with £80,000 needed in the space of a month. Yet here we are, a month later, and the fundraising campaign has managed to raise almost £92,000. While the fundraising efforts by The Cellar management team were undeniably brilliant, The Cellar’s staying open reflects more than just this. It reflects the need of the Oxford music community for small venues to continue offering what larger clubs and venues simply cannot.

Keen clubbers in Oxford will inevitably have visited the likes of Bridge and Atik, but after making these your clubbing destination for a couple of weeks, you soon start to tire of their predictability. Of course, the Dj may choose to remix ‘Intoxicated’ with ‘That’s Not Me’ one week, and ‘Too Many Men’ the next, but, in large, you begin to anticipate the music you’re going to be listening to – unlike a night at Cellar, where the variation of genres and songs is one of the club’s defining aspects. The genres found in The Cellar range from disco, to grime, to folk, to reggae; the list truly is endless. The variation of genres is essential not just to give your earbuds a bit of a change, but also to allow new developments in taste. The point of The Cellar isn’t that you love the music played there every night, but that for every few you’re not so sure about, there’s one that has you Shazaming on the dance floor and going home to create new Spotify Playlists. The night is not merely an end in itself, but a chance to find your next groove.

But The Cellar’s importance isn’t limited to consumers, it’s also integral to artists and creators. Oxford University and city is filled with musically creative and talented people, who need a platform to perform on. Not all musical talent is suited to an Oxford college chapel, or is quite polished enough to ascend to the heights of The Bullingdon or O2 stages. They need The Cellar as a space to perform and off of which to springboard. The importance of The Cellar as a starting place is testified by the names it once hosted. It was home to FOALS’ first concert, described by them as the place they “first learnt to blow the doors off a joint.” Glass Animals also commented that it was at The Cellar where they met each other while attending a Friendly Fires concert, and where they later performed multiple times. Objekt, now a world renowned Dj/producer, learnt the trade while messing around on the empty decks at The Cellar while helping to run nights there. He explained in an interview with Cherwell earlier this year that The Cellar “gives local artists, musicians and promoters the opportunity to learn and develop.”

The Cellar breaks down the barrier between hobby and profession, allowing artists to simply develop a passion while experimenting with music as a career. Ed Harding, founder of the Oxford Brutalist Society and an aspiring DJ, recently ran an industrial techno night at The Cellar, where he sought to marry together “electronic music with brutalist architecture and visual aesthetics.” The unique and outlandish nature of his night would perhaps intimidate other clubs, but The Cellar jumped at the opportunity to host the event. Harding explained that his night simply could not have existed at any other club in Oxford.

But The Cellar has not restricted itself to amateur artists in their development ages. The venue has also hosted some very impressive names at the height of their music career. In 2011, The Cellar hosted both DJ EZ and Andy C, two massive names in the D.J. circuit, as well as Shanti Celeste and Deadbeat UK more recently. What does The Cellar offer that The Bullingdon or the O2 cannot? Intimacy, in a word. Sure, it gets a little hot down there, but this is part of what makes the music experience quite so special. The music scene both nationally and globally is thriving, with an abundance of artists and venues which facilitate these performers. But unfortunately, as interest grows, so do venue sizes. Now you’re watching your favourite act with a pair of binoculars and an ice bag to ease the neck strain. The spectacular lights and huge stage make for something of a spectacle, but do they actually bring us any closer to the music? Is all this not really a distraction from the music? Of course, the Cellar also has lights, and it also has a stage. But one feels that the lights are simply to illuminate what would otherwise be an abyss of darkness, while the stage stands at a mighty two feet high. There’s an authenticity to the music at The Cellar, a belief that you’re there to listen, whether that be to one of your favourite acts, or a genre the name of which you cannot even pronounce. The Cellar is matching listener with artist and artist with opportunity, but more than anything it is bringing music back to the forefront of nights out. And that is why The Cellar continues to survive.

How should SPOTY evolve to suit modern needs?

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You can probably remember at least one thing that went wrong when the itinerant Sports Personality of the Year ceremony rocked up in Liverpool last year; a presenting gaffe, an erroneous montage, La La Land winning team of the year: you know, that sort of thing.

The chances are that it involved Mo Farah, who finally took home the prize gong after years of nominations but loveless luck in the public vote. It probably involved him being upstaged by his restless infant son; or, perhaps, it was the absence of Farah altogether that sticks in the mind, since a video link announcing his surprise victory suffered a sudden power outage, leaving the BBC camera crew working overdrive to fill the space with a myriad of audience close-ups, and scrambling twitter users everywhere to their Sky+ remotes to decipher exactly what Farah’s brand new coach Gary Lough thought was a ‘fucking joke’.

That’s the slapstick of the occasion, but it was also a year where the unwritten rulebook was thrown out of the Echo Arena; the carefully scripted spectacle thrown into chaos on a night where a motorcycle rider usurped the golden boy of boxing, an inspiring Paralympian was rightly garlanded, but the female nominees undeservedly filled the final four placings.

Casting an eye down the roll of honour, ever since the award began in 1954, the achievements have never seemed to translate linearly to success. ‘54 of course was the year that Roger Bannister flew round the Iffley track to clock the mythical 4-minute mile, but his pacemaker on the day, Christopher Chataway, was honoured at the awards after success at the European Championships.

In the era of a post-millennium medal explosion, the Olympics continue to sink their claws into the public vote every four years, the scale and the prestige and the sacrifices (and the legacy) casting clear light on the anointed people’s champion. Steve Redgrave, Kelly Holmes, Chris Hoy and Bradley Wiggins have all triumphed in years of feel-good global success.

But elsewhere, what exactly are we looking for in our Sports Personality of the Year? Maybe that’s the beauty of the award: the ambiguity and the freedom to ascribe a personal meaning to each vote; the ability of the award to capture a snapshot of the public’s sporting appreciation in the moment, even if it may seem quizzical to a student journalist in twenty years’ time.

It is just as conceivable, however, that last year’s whirlwind was the shot in the arm needed to modernise and to adapt to a generation where sports fans are increasingly a social media hivemind: a congregation asserting judgements on anything or anyone, a public forum where everything from Owen Farrell’s tackling technique to Marouane Fellaini’s haircut are scrutinised and disputed, and where Jack Wilshere wins goal of the season, every season.

The modern sports fan has an opinion on everything and their own personal feed on which to express it, no matter how articulate or reasoned, venomous or targeted. Typing “Harry Kane Sports Personality” into the twitter search bar is seemingly a hard-wired shortcut into observing the full spectrum first hand. It’s cringing to imagine the online bar brawls hosted on Twitter had it been around in 1997 when Greg Rusedski ousted Tim Henman to win the award: the two rival British tennis legions going racquet and tong.

And so, this is the playing field for a vote that has always held its own pocket of prominence late in the sporting calendar as a topic of conversation, but that faces eroding in greater context at the mercy of the internet. How does it evolve into a truly venerable award worth winning again, and not merely a reflection of who was campaigned online most effectively?

The signs are proactive, as for the first time, this year the nominees will be announced on the night, at least re-integrating a lost element of spontaneity, but social media will always be fertile ground, and for votes with more significant standing, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ten reasons you should try Veganuary

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The food we eat seems to be all the talk in the media. From William Sitwell’s comments on veganism to the establishment of World Vegan Day, the word ‘vegan’ has infiltrated every media outlet in some way, shape or form.

As we wave goodbye to 2018, many of us reflect on the year and set resolutions as to how we are going to be a better person and member of society in 2019. ‘I will be a kinder person’ or ‘I will lose this Christmas weight’ or ‘I will dip no lower than £20 into my overdraft next year’ – these are common resolutions I have seen crumble time and time again. However, I believe there is a way in which you could achieve all of these and more. The answer? Veganuary. This initiative encourages people to try veganism in January, hopefully inspiring them to keep up parts or all of the diet.

So, without further ado, here are ten reasons why you should try Veganuary this year…

1. Save the Planet

If you haven’t seen countless articles reporting how bad the meat and dairy industry is for the planet, where have you been? From dwindling fisheries to greenhouse gas emissions, there are a plethora of negative impacts the meat, fish and dairy industries have on our common home. A study from Oxford this year reported that ‘avoiding meat and dairy is the single biggest way to reduce your impact on Earth’. You may have boycotted plastic straws or shared the banned Iceland Christmas advert, but the greatest thing you can do to save the planet is cut down on your meat and dairy consumption. With Linda McCartney and a huge range of nut and oat milks, this substitution has never been easier.

2. Health

According to the Academy of Nutrition and Dietetics, people following plant-based diets are less likely to develop cancers, diabetes, high blood pressure and heart disease than omnivores. Coronary heart disease is the UK’s leading cause of premature death. However, a journal article published earlier this year (Parsons et al. 2018) reported that a plant-based diet has been the only diet to not only help prevent but reverse the effects of coronary atherosclerosis. Aside from long-term health benefits, having myself been fully vegan for three months, I can safely say a vegan diet has made me feel much more energetic, as well as helping me lose my end-of-summer weight much more effectively.

3. Save money

My vegan diet does not revolve around avocado on toast and expensive ‘free from’ products. It is so easy to be vegan on a budget. For example, with groceries bought from Tesco, to make ‘pork Milanese with spaghetti’ would cost you £6.65 per serving, whereas ‘Linguini with olives, sundried tomato and capers’ would only set you back £1.59 per serving. Plants are also more filling as they contain more fibre than meat, so you can eat less, but stay fuller longer.

4. For charity

Why not use Veganuary to raise some money for a charity? Get your friends and family to sponsor you for giving up animal products. Could you be a better person?!

5. Stop supporting animal cruelty

All you have to do is watch some of PETA’s videos to realise there is no ‘humane’ way to kill animals. Countless studies have shown that animals including fish feel pain, calves and mothers weep when they are separated, and if the blending of millions of male chicks every year doesn’t put you off KFC, I don’t know what will.

6. Save water

Want to save 2400 litres of water? You could:

  1. Not flush your toilet for 6 months
  2. Not take a shower for 2 months
  3. Not eat a burger

Want to save 1020 litres of water? You could:

  1. Not do 14 loads of laundry
  2. Not do 34 runs of the dishwasher
  3. Not drink 1 litre of cow’s milk

(figures from gotdrought.info)

7. Better athletic performance

But you won’t get any protein? You’ll be weak! Think about the term ‘strong as a bull’. How many bulls have you seen eat a steak? Protein and other minerals are abundant in plants, hence it is where herbivorous animals, such as cows, get their nutrients from. Some athletes thriving on plant-based diets include Hector Bellerin, Fiona Oakes, David Haye, Jermain Defoe and Venus Williams.

8. Eating your greens is good for you!!

We all know this. Following a plant-based diet forces you to explore a larger variety of fruit and vegetables which are (obviously) packed full of everything that keeps you healthy. Instead of antibiotic-and-hormone-packed flesh, you will find yourself eating a wide range of fruit and vegetables, hitting that 5-a-day goal every day!

9. It’s easier thank you think (especially in Oxford)

Not only is the internet filled with vegan recipes and nutritional information, but Oxford’s food scene more than caters for vegans. Countless restaurants have separate vegan menus, and those that don’t nearly always have a vegan option (would recommend the Californian burger at GBK).

10. You can tell people you’re a vegan

Lucky you! Whenever you have to mention you’re a vegan, your mates will sarcastically exclaim ‘Oh, I didn’t know you are vegan?!’ and ‘Oh, are you vegan?’. As vegans, this is our favourite type of humour as it never gets old!! And remember, veganism is a substitute for personality.