Friday 8th May 2026
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Interview: quantum gravity physicist Carlo Rovelli

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Our perception of science has changed. It is often the case that when we learn someone studies a science, we let out a groan or a hum of surprise. Whilst this may come from sympathy, admiration, and curiosity, the separation between scientists and the rest of us can seem vast. But this separation hasn’t always been there. Scientists used to be more occupied with literature, philosophy, and the arts. René Descartes, George Berkeley, Galileo, and Leonardo Di Vinci are some of the philosophers and polymaths who saw science as part of life’s philosophy. Science, for them, was part of life’s beauty and a tool of appreciation. The popularisation of science, through people like Brian Cox, Stephen Hawkings and Richard Dawkins has helped bring out the awe and romance for a subject that for many elicits a deep wonder.

One of the most influential, meditative, and eccentric popular science writers is Carlo Rovelli: a man inspired by the beauty of the discipline, who has reached millions of people with his insightful and accessible books.

Rovelli is an Italian physicist, best known to the public for his popular science book Seven Brief Lessons on Physics, but renowned in the academic world for his role in the creation of loop quantum gravity theory.

As well as his illustrious academic career, he has always been involved with the politics, culture, and people surrounding this subject. In recent times, he has written extensively for the culture supplements of various Italian newspapers including Corriere della Sera, Il Sole 24 Ore and La Repubblica.

As a student, he was involved with the foundation of two political radio stations and was later temporarily detained for crimes of opinion in the 1980s due to the controversy of his book Fatti Nostri. His individual, free-thinking, and rebellious approach make him a fascinating member of the scientific community.

Rovelli’s classically Italian mannerisms and eccentric enthusiasm make for a warm but engaging interview. His written responses come in frantic, clipped sentences and vividly told tales. He speaks first about his journey into physics, not with the usual one-track determinism of those who have dedicated their lives to a subject, but with a carefree respect for pure chance.

“I did not know what to do with my life when I was a young man. I did not imagine I was going to have the life I have had.” He explains. “I was very confused, attracted by all sorts of things. I was curious, rebellious and I did not like school. I was thirsty for all possible life experiences, so I read a lot and travelled.”

The picture that Rovelli paints of his school days marries up with his compelling career. He ended up studying physics at the University of Bologna in 1978, before doing a PhD at the University of Padova.

He tells me, “I chose to study physics a bit by chance, and perhaps I was attracted by the fact that it was a very general subject. It was only in my third or fourth year of university that I began to actually like physics. I was sort of falling in love with the beauty of the subject, which came from a love for life.”

Since discovering his love for physics at university, Rovelli has written multiple popular science books to share his passion with his readers, including The Order of Time, Reality is Not What it Seems, and most famously, Seven Brief Lessons on Physics. Like many things in his life, he puts much of the writing of this best-selling book down to chance.

“It all started with an article in a newspaper. I was asked to write about my own research into quantum gravity for the cultural supplement. I knew that the topic was too hard, because most people do not even know what ‘quantum’ means, let alone anything about Einstein’s theory of gravity. But my girlfriend said, ‘Well, then write three articles: one to explain quantum, one to explain gravity and the last one on quantum gravity’. At first I laughed, then I thought, why not? So I did it.”

In his anecdotal, humorous style, Rovelli continues, stressing the serendipity of his opportunities. “These articles had remarkable success, to the point that a mythical Italian publisher, Adelphi, contacted me and suggested I expanded the three articles into a book. I still thought it was a crazy idea but, I gave myself the objective of condensing the core of modern physics and my own fascination into a slim 80-page book. I put my passion for science into it, and my general world view.”

Rovelli has not limited himself to writing about the theory of physics. He has also reflected on science as a discipline, and the conflict between science and religion. In his 2011 book The First Scientist Anaximander and His Legacy, he expresses many of his views on these topics. His passion for the philosophical questions of science is clear, and he tells me that this book, out of all of them, he is “particularly attached to”.

“Each book has a different story and the process can be extremely different. My book on Anaximander simply grew out of notes that I was taking for myself when reading. I realized how amazing Anaximander had been and how immense his influence was on the subsequent development of science. My notes grew very, very slowly, while I was studying and reading.

“When one of my friends read them, they suggested I transformed them into a book, using Anaximander to detail what I think about the deep nature of science. Because I was working in this way, it took years before the book was complete.”

This book provides an insight into Rovelli himself, with provocative questions being raised throughout. Tellingly, he titles one of his chapters ‘Rebellion Becomes a Virtue’, a mantra that seems apt for his own life, as well as his understanding of the universe. He concludes the book with the idea that the success of scientific thinking is grounded in pushing the boundaries of our collective knowledge, and using acts of “learned rebellion” to break ignorance.

As our conversation moves towards his book on loop quantum gravity theory, Reality is not What it Seems, he again recants a story. He seems to have a well- rehearsed anecdote ready for the question.

“One night I was driving from Italy to France. The highway was empty as it was the middle of the night and I was thinking. Suddenly I got the idea of how to write the book and imagined its entire structure. I got excited and started putting together the book in my mind, until I realized that a police car was flashing me and I was going far above the speed limit. The policemen pulled me over and asked what the hell I was doing at such a high speed.”

Rovelli relishes the mischievousness of his rule-breaking and the theatre of the story. “I explained that I had just realized how to write my next book. The policeman smiled, wished me well for the book and let me go without a ticket. After that, the writing of the book was relatively fast. In a sense, I had been composing the book in my head for years. I just hadn’t found a way to structure it and I didn’t know where to start.”

The book reads as an account of the evolutions of science and philosophy. Rovelli stresses his core idea that, “our culture is foolish to separate science and poetry”.

He believes that science should be seen first as a lens through which to see the beauty of the universe, and not as a method that clashes with other disciplines.

He seems fascinated with communicating his complex ideas to the everyday reader and banishing the impression that science is in some way separate from our lives. But, when I ask him what the public should know more about, he gives one of the most passionate responses of our exchange.

“I think that the question should be put differently: the problem is not what the public ‘should’ know, but what people miss by not being aware of what we already know about the world.”

He expresses his frustration at people who do not approach science with the same wonder as him. “There is a beauty in all of this knowledge. There are marvellous treasures in the sciences and it is sad that so many people ignore them. It is like in music: there isn’t really music that people ‘should’ know, but ignoring music altogether means you are missing something beautiful in your life. Modern cosmology is extraordinary, and so is biology, and physics, and the list goes on.”

His animated response provides an insight into his own view of physics, but also his interest in writing popular science books on highly complex topics and agonizing over how to make them palatable for the every day reader.

As well as his popular work, Rovelli’s contributions to science have been remarkable. He has written over 200 scientific articles that have driven forward our understanding of gravity, winning an award for his contributions to theoretical physics in 1995.

This all began in the late 1980s, when in collaboration with Lee Smolin and Abhay Ashtekar he created the theory of loop quantum gravity. I ask him how he sees his popular books in relation to his ‘serious’ academic work and his feelings are clear.

“I prefer working on my science, my ‘serious academic work’. That is my true passion and what I mostly want to do. I see writing popular books as a side activity, and I hope it doesn’t absorb too much of my time.

”Despite these explicit preferences about his focus, he adds, “the books have given me contact with many people and this is a gift.”

The eccentric energy and rebellious spirit of Carlo Rovelli were apparent from our first exchange. He became animated with a boyish excitement when he spoke about his scientific work. His ability to connect with people’s childlike wonder and articulate his authentic, emotional desire to understand the universe is remarkable. Rovelli feels that chance has been the primary mover in his life, but for his readers, his ingenious skill, passion and love are what define his success.

It’s not brain surgery, so it must be rocket science: A Psychologist in the Oxford University Rocketry Society

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This isn’t supposed to be a typical article. I’m not going to tell you about politics or protests or why you should be volunteering more on Saturdays – this isn’t really one of those. This is a long winded, rambling anthology about firing off homemade, solid fuel rockets high into the sky out near Bicester, and all the stuff that went into that. And it’s an open invitation for all of Oxford to follow us in the great adventure. So, you know, it’s supposed to be whimsical. You’ll have to let me know how I’ve done.

Finding a suitable rocket range anywhere near central Oxford turned out to be unexpectedly difficult; funnily enough, colleges that don’t let you tread on their lawns don’t take too kindly to your launching missiles off them either. Huh. Magdalen lets you play croquet off theirs, though, or so I hear. On that front, we actually got pretty lucky; our society president’s family has a farm out in East Bicester. It’s big enough to launch rockets up and descend them back by parachute safely, it’s out from under both Oxford and London/Luton flight restrictions during the weekend – and no tourists or thousand-year-old buildings we might accidently hit. We have special rocket insurance now, but early on, our events caused the clubs office insurance people at the uni some chagrin.

Of course, if you’re reading about rocketry, you want to hear about the launch days. That’s what it’s all about, what it all adds up to. Push a button, and the full sum of your hopes, dreams and fears leap, scream, and hiss into the air, all at once going 200 m/s. You swing your head back, watching the thing soar up with this awestruck, gaping smile automatically smacked onto your face. It’s glorious, even when it isn’t a big launch. Our “Launch Zero”, where the president and I launched one on our own rockets to test safety systems, resulted in a series of pinwheels, side to side loop the loops, and a lot of ‘wishing the fins had stuck on in there properly’. On the bright side, people seem to like loop the loops. On the downside, you don’t go very high up doing loop the loops, which is why I assume NASA tends to shy away from those sorts of maneuvers.

“Launch One” was an extraordinary endeavor, an auspicious day. I began, in the appropriate spirit, by waking up twenty past my alarm, and dressing like crazy person before flying out the door. We’d been up late into the night putting finishing touches on the rocket and trying to solve a computer error our Arduino avionics chip setup had been throwing – all to no avail, so we would be launching with no computers. It was alright, we had a 3D printed nosecone and fins to test, so we still had a mission to justify the launch.

We met at the train station, where I could see our fuelless rocket sticking, noticeably, out of a just-barely-too-small bag, back end out, with the fins clustered around. They were bright pink, stark against the body. The pink was for visibility, but the body was painted by a fine arts student who agreed to help – the thing looked gorgeous, black backdrop, all sorts of gold lines like circuits and wires dancing across it, it felt electric just looking at it. Dangerous, almost. Excellent, definitely. It’s a shame what happened to the thing, it would’ve been fabulous in a case. The OXS ‘Run Faster’, we’d named it – because if you were close enough to read it, that’s what you needed to do.

There was a lot of staring at the station, and a little pointing, but we were all too excited to care. I grabbed a desperately needed coffee, and we headed on through the gates. One of the guys working the gates actually stopped us to ask some questions about the spunky group of kids trying to carry a pretty conspicuous rocket onto a train. Is that a rocket? Yeah, it is, we built it. Are you going to, you know, launch it? Yeah, we are, we’re pretty excited about it. Oh, alright then. And then he waved us through.

Our taxi pulled in and we finished the third or so recap of the safety procedures. There would be a camera drone whizzing overhead, water buckets placed at particular distance intervals, people behind ‘safe zones’. One of the many things we’d learned from ‘Launch Zero’ was that we wanted more launch cable than the minimum required – in fact, we’d added twenty meters onto the minimum so we would be very comfortably far away. With everything set up, everyone ran out to their respective distances as we did a final check in over the phones. The countdown began, from ‘ten’ down the line. We hit two, breathed in to count one and then from nowhere a physicist yells WAIT over the comms. Pretty much everyone jumped or fell over, exasperated, frustrated, laughing. An instrument to measure altitude had been fumbled at the last second, of course it had. We yelled ‘stop’ at the final second, of course we did. What a trope, always happens in the movies. We figured that was our only goof up for the day.

We got through the count again, and hit the button. Nothing. The launch ‘idle’ light was on, which meant current was flowing out of the batteries, down the dozens of meters of cable, into the blast caps in the fuel slugs, and back out to the controller. The light would flicker correctly when we punched the button over and over again, which meant it was pretty sure it was working, despite the evidence to the contrary. Cursing, pacing, head scratching. Now that we’d punched the button, it wasn’t safe to approach the rocket for a good long time and not without taking all sorts of precautions – some of which call for discarding all the fuel that failed to ignite. How boring, how wasteful, how very much not what we came for. Eventually it dawned on us, flicking on like the idle light across the team, one after the other; looking to the extra cable, back to the remote and sighing. Finally, someone said it aloud, one word, ‘voltage. There was extra cable, lots of extra cable. Lots of extra voltage drop. Meaning there was enough power for the test light to come on, but not enough juice to set off the blast caps. ‘We’re going to need a bigger battery’ came next.

For the record, we did some quick mental maths beforehand to make sure we weren’t going to melt any faces, and it looked good. The homeowner on the property had a riding lawn mower which ran off of a car battery – he was more than happy to loan it for a quick jump. Yes, we would be jump-starting our first brazen foray into the wild unknown, our precious rocket, like an old jalopy off of a car battery. And what a sight to behold, I tell you. Our intrepid president stepped up – ready to lay down his life in the noble pursuit of science (well I certainly wasn’t going to do it). Insulated garden gloves adorned, jumper cables held wide apart in either hand, with a steely-eyed-missile-man look that said I cannot believe what I’m about to do, he announced: we have a go. The countdown began. One way or another, it was going to be the last one. Three, two, one. Then, the Run Faster did just that.

Our team’s physicists keep telling me it couldn’t have gone any higher than 400, 500 meters at maximum, and that I’m being melodramatic on purpose, but I’ll swear until I die it soared for miles and miles into that great blue yonder – long after we saw the smoke trail off. Be that as it may, our physicists will die trying to prove me wrong. It might have gone as far as Mars for all we know. We never saw it again. We looked, and looked and looked and looked. All the adjacent fields were cow pastures, meaning manure, cow herds and all. Now that was one way to spend an afternoon. Splitting into teams, we went searching. It was supposed to have come down by parachute (and it may very well have) but we couldn’t see any evidence either way. Team one had more bodies, but team two had the camera drone, so we split the ground evenly. At first, when the cows got curious and the herd started rambling slowly and methodically towards us, some of our rocketeers became worried for a stampede and bolted right back over the fence. “Southerners” as one, I assume northern, physicist put it.

The final danger was the electric cattle wire all around the fields. Despite many warnings to the contrary, some rocketeers asserted it must be inert and would be fine. On team one, I was the liability, and had to be grabbed by the collar and yanked back from running into a cable about chest high. Wasn’t looking where I was walking.

We rode home that day cold, tired, our rocket missing in action, us literally covered in s-, and, heck, one of us even electrocuted (but oddly enough, not the one who handled the car battery). And yet, we were smiling, beaming with this giddy, ear to ear glean that must have made us look like an odd bunch on the way back. Hoots, hollers, the works. Yes, it could have gone better – but we launched a rocket. We. Launched. A. Rocket. I wouldn’t trade that train ride back home for anything.

We have fun, and we don’t take ourselves too seriously. The fuel, flight permissions, planning safety – no kidding around. But each other? Not a chance. Rockets are cool. Building the best rockets possible is gratifying. Doing it with the a brilliant, joyful, collaborative team – that’s a privilege and a pleasure. And, an invitation.

Sex Education review: exuberantly explicit

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Though the opening shots suggest a John Hughes or Stranger Things-esque setting in an endearingly overlooked middle-American town in the 1980s (with a soundtrack to match), Sex Education is Netflix’s latest contemporary, explicit, and very British discussion of sex, sexuality, and all that comes with it. The eight-part series sees seventeenyear-old Otis (Asa Butterfield), the sexually inhibited son of a relationship therapist, strike up an unlikely partnership with Moorfield High’s best answer to the ‘riot grrrl’ movement, Maeve Wiley (Emma Mackey). Together, they start a sex advice clinic
for their peers.

If I were asked to sum up the show in one word, it would almost certainly be explicit. Nearly every single one of the episodes opens with a sex scene of some variety, including straight up full-frontal nudity. Since its debut, it’s no surprise that a central talking point has been the appropriateness of the content for the intended audience. Taking pride of place on the streaming service’s front page alongside comparatively innocent teen shows such as Riverdale and Pretty Little Liars, the potentially affrontive nature of the show in relation to its target audience has been the topic of many headlines.

Several online news outlets have drawn comparisons between Sex Education and the controversial Thirteen Reasons Why, both of which utilise explicit imagery to forward their storylines. However, where the latter veers towards gratuitous trauma porn, Sex Education presents an honest and realistic representation of contemporary teenage culture.

It refuses to conform to the tiring tradition of sugar-coating anything that sits outside the realm of the PG-13, and this refusal makes it the relatable and refreshing show that it is. In their clinic (in reality, an abandoned, asbestos-filled toilet block), Maeve and Otis confront issues that are prevalent in young adults, removing the taboo and encouraging honest, open discussion. Combining these hard-hitting topics with some of the most quotable one-liners of recent times (see “she touched my eyebrows, and now I have an erection”) is what the show does best.

Aside from the issues directly tackled by Maeve and Otis in the clinic, the show shines in how it addresses the wider experiences of real teenagers. This is poignantly done through the character arc of Eric (Ncuti Gatwa), Otis’ best friend, and a victim of both verbal and physical homophobic attacks. His character arc sees him tackling these adversities as well as the pressures from his religious family. We also see the status quo being challenged through Maeve’s character. She is labelled a ‘slag’ and a ‘cock-biter’ by her peers, yet seems utterly unshaken in her sex positivity, reinforcing the revolutionary idea that women can actually enjoy sex too. In the second episode, Maeve falls pregnant and makes the choice to have an abortion. Instead of making this the focal point of her character arc, Sex Education does not let this define her. All the while, the topic is handled with great sensitivity, as an issue that is faced by women from all backgrounds and walks of life. The issues are breached with a comforting sense of normality, providing an honest and real exploration of the issues that many of its contemporaries push under the rug. It is welcoming that such a diverse and meaningful show is taking centre stage, reminding us that in whatever circumstance (really, whatever circumstance) we find ourselves in, we all need to “own our narrative” a little bit more.

The illusion of reality television

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When the first series of reality show Made in Chelsea aired in 2011, it was clear from the beginning that the heart of it was the relationship between two young Londoners, Spencer Matthews and Caggie Dunlop.

Between them, their conventional good-looks and blasé affluence became the distilled essence of the show. He was a bad boy socialite, as much a charming womaniser as he was caught up by other women’s charms, a Restoration rake stuck in Belgravia; she was the vulnerable, uncertain girl-next-door, someone from his childhood who suddenly reappears as a beautiful adult. Her re-entry into the Chelsea bubble disrupts his relationship with his long-term girlfriend, and throws the whole series into a drawn-out will-they-won’t-they arc of constant romantic deferral. The plot is perfect – part fairytale, part realism, all performed against the backdrop of the mansions of Knightsbridge. But doesn’t it all sound a bit too good to be true?

Made in Chelsea is a reality television show, but it admits to being a ‘structured-reality’ television show. The true nature of Spencer and Caggie’s real-life relationship cannot be truly known, by virtue of the fact that nobody’s relationship can authentically exist in the public eye. But its depiction on the show cannot be the truth of it. For one, nobody can make genuine, heartfelt declarations of love with cameras shoved up close and a whole crew of directors, producers, and engineers leering round; for another, by claiming to offer a ‘structured-reality’, the show effectively concedes to the fact that it hires scriptwriters and story developers to construct the ‘reality’ we observe; they admit to using television magic to conjure illusion.

The great irony of reality television is that it is, of course, an illusion. The creators manage to construct this pretence in two ways. On set, producers are able to contrive circumstances that allow them to control the content of the show.

For example, in the Love Island house, books and televisions are banned. The contestants’ phones are taken away from them, and they are instead given ones that are disabled from the internet. As it turns out, great television isn’t made by letting people watch it all day. It’s easy to imagine how this absence of mental stimulation cultivates an atmosphere of cabin fever, one in which tensions are raised to fever pitch and pack mentalities doggedly persist, when there isn’t a great deal else to do. Ironically, it’s the absence of activity that makes the show as voyeuristically entertaining as it is.

But when they have the footage, the producers then have to construct a narrative for the episode in the editing room. In the moment of filming, what happens can be manipulated to some extent through persuasion, creating high-pressure environments, or penning contestants in, but humans are still humans – they’re still prone to responding contingently, to behaving erratically, or simply to offering very mundane content. In order to make the show feel cohesive, well-structured, and logically episodic, the editors must work to construct narrative threads throughout each episode, whether it be that of conflict, romance, or failure.

Reality television is, then, in many ways a fiction. They tell us they are depicting something akin to an authentic reality, but flatten and stabilise the randomness and contingency of actual life, while refusing to overtly acknowledge the authorial voice behind it.

None of this manipulation would really matter if the content was actually fictional. But real people are implicated in this process, and their representations on national television won’t always help them when they leave the villa, or step back into the world of work.

Narrative arcs in reality television follow the tropes of folklore – good vs. bad, hero vs. enemy – and so those who are demonised in the editing process have their reputation soured. In an age of internet trolling and hyper-awareness about online reputation, this depiction isn’t easy to come out of. For all those celebrities who feed off of this gossip for their fame, like the Kardashians, for example, this concern is perhaps no issue.

But for the average person thrust into the limelight, they will come out of reality television with bucket-loads of baggage that has been amped up by producers, dissected by the Twittersphere, and dumped unceremoniously on their CV.

The fact remains that people still tune in. People will happily block out that which disrupts their illusion, when the illusion is far too much fun to bother becoming disenchanted with.

It seems it might all be too good to be true – but it’s also too far good to ignore.

Cracked Actors: Invention and Reinvention in Music

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We drove on through the night, our faces illuminated by nothing except the flash of the occasional speed camera. My father was driving as quickly as he dared. He drives like a vicar. A slow vicar. A really slow vicar. So, this was unusual. But for a good cause. I was playing an evil headmistress. As you do.

For two nights only, the people of Amersham got to see me in a production of Matilda. I looked like an evil drag Mary Poppins, except with a riding crop and an itchy white wig. Quite the look, and brilliant fun. It was very silly, very funny, and camp as your hat. I even had some solos, which is always exciting. Not that I’ve got an ego or anything.

Any way, the point of this nostalgia, apart from gratuitous self indulgence, is to show how playing a persona on stage is something dear to my heart. Broadly, a persona is a character a musician creates for performances. Mine was far from Ziggy Stardust, but probably had just as much makeup.

Ziggy is, of course, the most iconic musical persona out there. Chances are when most think of Bowie they have the shocked orange hair, ghostly white face and outrageous outfits in mind. With a man who was everything from a Nazi space duke to a ghostly harlequin, it’s interesting to that this persona endured. Why, in fact, do any? Why are Ziggy, Alice Cooper and (ahem) Sasha Fierce so iconic?

Adopting an alter ego for the stage is often sparked by a desire to draw attention to a subject, like Marilyn Manson exploring death, or Madonna sexuality. Sometimes it’s because a certain look proves memorable – think Bob Dylan with scruffy hair, clothes and guitar. Sometimes it’s to strike a pose for a particular song or album – like The Beatles and Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely-Hearts Club Band – or for spicing up a song, such as Mick Jagger playing Satan in ‘Sympathy for the Devil’. They’re either a way of bringing personal interests on stage, or something to make a song stand out.

If I’m honest, I don’t buy any of those excuses. Well, not entirely. Because I know what it’s like playing someone outrageous. It’s too much fun. I wouldn’t want to dress like Miss Trunchbull all the time, but up onstage, the audience cheering me on – it was liberating. My worries, my shyness, my irritating awkwardness, all wiped away. I was someone else, just for a little while. That’s why, I think, personas remain popular. Sometimes the only way to escape the usual is creating a whole different character. We get a chance to be who we’re not, who we want to be, or who we could never be but would love to be.

Beyoncé goes wild as Sasha Fierce. Nicky Minaj pushes boundaries as English homosexual Roman Zolanski. And Bowie? A man can’t go through that many faces without wanting to be someone else. There’s a fascination with the transgressive, a burning desire to do something completely crazy, that lurks within all of us. Bowie was just lucky enough to be able to let it out. Musicians are only human, and they dream of being someone else just as we all do. Fortunately, for them, they can make money out of it. You can’t be you all the time. Who would want to be? Not me. Being a bit outrageous occasionally is healthy. If it’s good for Bowie and Beyoncé, it’s good for us. Or at least that’s what I told the police officer who stopped my father for speeding.

Concerns raised about religious inclusivity at Somerville

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Somerville JCR has faced controversy this week over a motion seeking to introduce halal and kosher food to hall, including accusations that the JCR is not sufficiently concerned about the welfare of its Jewish students.

The original motion proposed that “Somerville have decided to take octopus off the menu for the annual Fresher’s Dinner so this appears to be is a good time to review the menu in general, we think that they could do more in terms of hall provision to ensure that different groups of people can eat in hall more.”

The proposed changes faced opposition from some JCR members, who raised concerns that halal and kosher meat were produced in “inhumane” ways.

An amendment was then proposed “to remove the halal and kosher aspects of this motion due to the animal welfare concerns about how animals are killed in order for them to be halal and kosher”, which passed with 22 votes in favour, 8 against, and 7 abstentions.

Supporters of the initial motion argued that between 80% and 90% of animals used to produce Halal and Kosher meat are stunned beforehand (the correct figure is 84% according to the RSPCA), but concerns were raised that religious law prevents Kosher meat from being pre-stunned.

In the end, the motion passed with 26 JCR members voting “in favour of re-adding the halal and kosher aspects of the original motion on the condition that it is pre-stunned”.

However, this was met with a backlash on the JCR’s Facebook page, with one student even questioning whether “the JCR cares more about animals than its Jewish members”, whilst others noted that the acceptability of stunning is widely debated in Islam and particularly Judaism.

Another student claimed that the JCR’s Head of Environment and Ethics was “doing his best to ensure that we source ethical produce: “He is doing so in good faith and because he believes passionately in animal welfare.”

In a discussion about the new rules on Facebook, one JCR member said, “The forms of kosher and halal without pre-stunning were considered deeply unethical during the meeting so were removed from the motion. Religious thoughts were put aside for the sakes of animal welfare, quite rightly.

“This was later re-amended to permit halal and kosher only if animals had been pre-stunned, even though many are uncomfortable with this as this sort of meat fails to qualify as kosher/halal to many people (especially orthodox Jews).

“The Jewish and Muslim communities were poorly represented in the meeting as there was simply no one to represent them. In the mean time, I hope we continue to prioritize animal welfare over other abhorrent practices, without anyone feeling the need to get offended.

“We continue to offer vegetarian meals 7 days a week for anyone unhappy with the fact that their meat did not suffer the cold sting of a blade to the throat.”

The President of JScoc, Nicole Jacobus, told Cherwell: “The very fact that this amendment was passed in a JCR meeting without a Jewish student being able to challenge it highlights the lack of diversity and awareness of other cultures amongst students in Oxford.

“The vote to ban kosher food only makes the diversity issue worse, as it shows that Jewish students are not only poorly provided for, but that they cannot actively practise as Jews at Somerville.

“This reflects badly on the whole of the Oxford student community. Oxford JSoc is always there to ensure Jewish students have the freedom to practise their religion as they choose to.

“We appreciate that the Somerville JCR President has now liaised with both Jewish students at the college and the staff to clearly work towards making kosher food available to students.

“Nevertheless, this situation has demonstrated the severe lack of cultural awareness that Oxford is facing.”

Somerville JCR President Emmanuel Amissah-Eshu has said, “We are pleased that we have been able to secure the support of the JCR in asking College to provide more inclusive food options in the form of gluten free, lactose free and pre-stunned halal meat on our menus.

“It has resulted in a productive meeting with College where they said they would look into providing the above as well as a proposal for kosher food to be available upon request for those that want it. This will be followed up on to make sure it happens.

“The debate following the motion to ask College to provide more gluten-free, lactose- free, halal and kosher food was a difficult and controversial conversation at times but the JCR is a place for such discourse but the motion amendment and the resulting vote was solely based on the debate of stunned vs pre-stunned meat provision in Hall and not the religious implications.”

Changing Perceptions: Contraception is not just a ‘Women’s issue’

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In 2018 new developments in contraceptive technology were the cause of much excitement, as reports of a contraceptive injection for men dominated the headlines.

There was a sense that the conversation surrounding contraception might be changing. However, as drug trials for this drug progressed, reports of the side-effects and how they were affecting men take over the news cycle. Men reportedly complained of mood swings, acne and weight gain.

For women who have used birth control such as the pill, these side-effects will be strangely familiar. They are, in fact, the very same sorts of side effects many women experience when taking the pill, or using other methods of contraception such as hormonal implants.

Many newspapers told us that because of these side-effects, men dropped out of the drug trial, resulting in its closure. However, this was erroneous reporting. Most men were happy to continue the trial. It was the trial monitors that decided to stop the trial, because they were concerned about the side-effects men were experiencing and the medical ethics surrounding the issue. In this particular trial, 20% of men reported side-effects, which led to the monitor’s decision to shut it down.

This would be less galling but for the fact that in recent female contraceptive trials, 30% of women have reported side-effects for the trial to be stopped. It is disappointing but not surprising that the side-effects men had to suffer were viewed as intolerable, despite the fact that women have routinely experienced similar side-effects ever since the pill became widely available in the UK in the 1960s.

In a society where masculinity is often highly prized, the idea of talking about contraception methods with partners, let alone friends and peers, seems unthinkable and alien to many men. They fear that, in expressing a willingness to take such a contraceptive, or even to engage in a conversation about contraception, they will be viewed as ‘less of a man’. This hyper-masculinity leaves no space for men to engage in a conversation about contraception, much less to consider taking on the burden themselves.

Besides this, weaknesses in sex education mean that even if men wanted to discuss contraception, they don’t have the available knowledge with which to do so. In school, girls and boys are often split into separate groups to talk about the different experiences that they will undergo during puberty.

Often, men are not taught about female contraceptives, and thus feel that they have little to add on the subject. Beyond simpler and less effective methods, like condoms, men don’t feel they are in a position to discuss contraception in much depth. The onus is on women to make sure they use protection during sex, because they know more about it and they will face the ramifications of it going wrong.

It is said that a viable male contraceptive will not be readily available on the market until 2022. Despite this, it is clear that we need to re-think our understanding of contraception and our perceptions of the gender roles that are so closely associated with them in order to implement meaningful change to- day. We need to reassess our preconceptions of what contraception is, who is in a position to talk about it, and who has to make sacrifices in order to make sure sex is safe.

In order for the contraceptive methods to progress, the way we talk about contraception must progress too. And the potential consequences of sex are the responsibility of both parties.

It follows that the burden for preventing those consequences should be shared equally as well.

The demonisation of antifascist protestors cannot continue

1

You would have to be living under a rock to avoid talk of the Oxford Union’s controversial invitations. As someone of German heritage I cannot help but notice the ongoing misrepresentation of antifascist protests outside the Oxford Union. Coming to Oxford, it soon became clear that the student political scene is quite far removed from British and European campus norms – both those of my friends and those in my parents’ heyday. Peculiar to Oxford, especially when compared to what my family taught me, is a deep-seated disaffection for protest and indeed many overt forms of political expression. Protests are almost always maligned in the comment sections of student newspapers, for example.

With each Union-related fascist controversy, I am certainly pleased to find a host of opinion pieces advocating free speech and a healthy dose of caution when using the fascist label. On the other hand, something that is problematic is that there is such little breadth of opinion represented in the discussions after each protest. It seems almost as if the antifascist protestors are not represented at all in student journalism. I have also become quite disturbed by how often those arguing against the antifascist demonstrators buttress their arguments with an attack on the very essence of protest itself.

The critique of antifascist protest itself made me think of what my mum and dad had taught me. They were at the forefront of student politics when they were studying in 80’s Munich and later 90’s London. Theirs was a childhood steeped in the inescapable spectre of German fascism and its horrendous trail of devastation and genocide. The fear of a fascism’s revival was then – and still is – at the very centre of the German psyche. My mum was taught at the age of five what had happened at the nearby Kemna concentration camp; my dad went on compulsory school trips to the memorial sites once a year. As students, they stood time and time again in solidarity with the Roma communities who were – and still are – being deported from the same countries they were massacred in 70 years ago.

Most intrinsically, they taught me never to forget The Holocaust. They pressed eye-witnesses’ novels into my hands and ingrained in me an innate wariness of fascism. Fascism was unique, dangerous and innately opportunistic. It came in all different guises and its greatest strength was that it was so hard to pin down. It must be dealt with sooner rather than later.

My parents also enshrined in me the importance of protest. Peaceful protest was sacred and always justified. A society in which people are no longer at liberty to assemble and critique authority is a society which has lost its freedom. They warned me that protest as a legitimate form of political expression was going to become more and more endangered as the internet took hold, whilst fascism was going to become increasingly dangerous as the holocaust faded from collective memory of Europe[1].

And so it was disheartening to find that many of those who took it upon themselves to use the Cherwell Comment section to castigate antifascist demonstrators do not seem to have grasped the centrality of protest as a universal human right[2], an intrinsic form of political expression and a crucial tool to stop fascism’s deadly spread[3]. Each time the Union invited Tommy Robinson, Marine Le Pen, Alice Weidel, Steve Bannon or Marion Maréchal Le Pen to speak, numerous comment pieces appeared chastising antifascist demonstrators on increasingly ludicrous, unfounded grounds[4].

One theme which is running through the pieces is that protesters are somehow ‘wasting’ police resources[6]. This is not a valid line of argument. Protest is as much a civil liberty as free speech is, in fact, the two are part and parcel, and the function of the police is to protect both. As the East Oxford MP Anneliese Dodds so aptly put it, it is the Union that is wasting police time by consistently inviting propagators of hate speech as a publicity stunt[7]. The opinion pieces tarred all protesters with the same brush, suggesting that the most ‘extreme’ slogans, the swearing at police or the physical violence were somehow totally universal amongst all those who chose to speak out against fascism. To expediently negate just how multi-faceted and broad a church protest can be so as to better make a point is hardly accomplished reporting. Throughout these myopic, finger-pointing generalisations, it soon becomes easy to forget that those protesting outside the Union are united behind a cause we all sympathise with. They are saying no to fascism, racism and hate speech.

But what I found by far the most disturbing is the lack of responsible journalism. In spite of the critical acclaim many of these ‘free speech’ articles receive, there is little to no attention paid specifically to what antifascist protestors are demonstrating against. Instead, commentators write a thousand words in voracious attacks directed towards what they see as illiberal, intimidating leftists.

Predictably, earlier this week heralded the publication of another immensely popular Comment piece criticising those protesting against Marion Maréchal Le Pen’s visit last week[8]. It re-used the trope of demonstrators wasting police money and shouting ‘disrespectfully’ at police. It is also the latest in a long succession of Cherwell Comment pieces which grossly misrepresent those standing up to fascism. Not a single ‘free speech’ advocate who has thus far chosen to  protestors has taken the time to properly interrogate why so many see the likes of Robinson, Le Pen, Weidel, Bannon and Maréchal as fascists.

And so it was hardly surprising that an article avidly defending Maréchal’s right to speak at the Union did not feature the words Front National a single time. Maréchal is practically guaranteed to become the next leader of France’s Front National (recently rebranded as National Rally[9]). She represented the party in the French parliament and is tipped as its most likely candidate for the 2022 presidential elections[10]. To discuss the politics of protesting Maréchal’s visit whilst alluding only once to the political party and ideological movement she represents surely fails to grasp even a sliver of what the debate is all about. A piece earlier this week offered a thousand words on how the term Nazi had been ‘taken out of context’ but did not once attempt to properly explain how Maréchal and her movement are not Nazis. This is symptomatic of the reaction to antifascist protests over the past two years and is simply irresponsible and lazy journalism.

In the case of Maréchal’s Union speech, its defender’s constantly cite her party’s recent electoral success in the French presidential elections as some sort of loose justification for her right to speak. Since when did mainstream public opinion suddenly serve as a benchmark for what ideologies are considered acceptable? Was it not one of the first lessons we learnt in history classes on Nazi Germany that what is mainstream is not necessarily justifiable? Public opinion is hardly a bastion of progressive values – 55% of Europeans would ban immigration from majority-Muslim countries[11]and only 55% of Brits support gay marriage[12], to cite two of many examples. Maréchal’s Front National received 30% of the French vote in 2017, the exact same proportion as Adolf Hitler received in the first round of the German elections in 1933. Both achieved unexpected success, in part by promising to tyrannize and persecute minorities, be it the Jews then, or the Muslims, Roma and migrants now. In both cases, a third of the public cheered them on: the people had spoken[13].

The Union invited a speaker who represents a fascist movement which singles out minority groups as enemies of the people. 82% of Front National’s members self-identify as racist[14]. Despite their leaders attempts to ‘de-demonise’ the movement, another poll found 87% to still be ‘very racist’[15]. The FN’s regional elections were run on a campaign slogan promising ‘to decry and eradicate all bacterial migration’[16](my own emphasis added to highlight the fascist language of racial contamination). The FN frequently promises a ‘great displacement’ of migrants who have settled in France[17]. One FN councillor recently suggested that Roma families should pay for their houses by having ‘their gold teeth…collected from them’[18]. I simply ask, does this idea of ‘mass removal’ of minorities or the extraction of gold teeth remind us of anything? More pressingly, what is the difference between this rhetoric and that of the Nazis and where would those arguing for freedom of speech draw the line? Is there even a line?

It is obvious. Maréchal’s movement has a long-standing affiliation with fascism which refuses to go away. This is not an extreme leftist or progressive opinion. 58% of French people perceive Front National as a threat to democracy[19]. It is a movement which has always been home to fascist undercurrents. Only a few months ago it was explicitly renamed after a party founded by French Nazis. This tradition stretches far back to Maréchal’s racist, fascist, homophobic, holocaust-denying grand-father Jean-Marie Le Pen, who founded the party in 1972[20].

Maréchal herself – far from merely making ‘controversial comments about Islam and homosexuality’ as previous opinion pieces have indifferently put it[21]– has always refused to fully condemn her grand-father Jean-Marie’s hate speech. Not in 2014 when he jeered that Ebola would solve France’s migration problem ‘in three months’[22], nor in 2015 when she deemed his horrendous gas-chamber comments nothing more than ‘a useless provocation’[23]. The Union invited a speaker who condones racist hate speech and blasé allusions to the mass murder of minorities to give a 15 minute address up the road from a holocaust memorial exhibition.

Jean-Marie Le Pen’s descendants Maréchal and Marine, her aunt and current leader of the Front National, continue to communicate the same fundamental hate-filled, fascist message, simply cloaking it in more palatable language[24]. The pair of them have simply shifted the goal-posts: antisemitism and homophobia have been toned down. Overt ethno-nationalism has been replaced by a kind of ‘civic-nationalism’ with distinctly racial undertones[25]. Let us not forget that the latest ‘reformed’ generation of the Le Pen dynasty did not describe Jean-Marie’s racism, homophobia and antisemitism as deplorable or criminal. No, they simply deemed it a political suicide[26]. It was more than enough to win them an audience at the Oxford Union.

In any case, where antisemitism and holocaust denial have been swept under the carpet, the FN’s Islamophobia and racism remain full-throated as ever[27]. Maréchal claims that Muslims ‘cannot have the same rank’ as Catholics in society[28]. Her aunt compares Muslim street prayers to the Nazi occupation and once asked an audience ‘would you accept twelve illegal immigrants moving into your flat?…some of them would steal your wallet and brutalize your wife’[29].

Perhaps a closer look at Marion Maréchal Le Pen’s record and a broader interrogation of the movement she represents can give us a better picture of how diligent we should be. It is patronising to suggest, time and time again, that protestors who ‘lump’ her and other controversial figures into the category of ‘Nazi’ are misguided, without even touching on the political movement she or other supposed fascists represent. It is foolish to presume that any political movement operates in a vacuum away from its members, followers and voters. Robinson’s white supremacist followers, Breitbart’s hateful authors, Weidel’s neo-Nazi following and Le Pen’s racist voters should be considered just as much as what their figureheads say on record. Perhaps the Union could rescue its reputation by evaluating what is fascist through a more comprehensive framework. As for the Maréchal speech’s relevance to us in the UK? The ‘foreign country’ that one article described Maréchal as affecting is France, one of the UK’s closest allies, £33.8bn of its exports, and a shorter drive from Oxford than Newcastle. Maréchal and the Front National are on our doorstep, threatening the very values that make Great Britain, namely inclusivity, equality and multiculturalism. Upon closer inspection, some things explain themselves.

[1]https://www.history.ox.ac.uk/article/no-isnt-1930s-yes-fascism

[2]https://www.libertyhumanrights.org.uk/human-rights/what-are-human-rights/human-rights-act/article-11-right-protest

[3]https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2019/jan/07/st-kilda-rally-a-fascist-movement-can-only-be-kept-small-if-we-call-it-by-its-name

[4]http://cherwell.org/2018/11/16/dont-confuse-free-speech-with-hate-speech/?fbclid=IwAR3gBy7-PZps_ZiM693P_XTTf_daC4m7N1o7De9aOf6ZP_idqnMPsnGrH8s

[6]http://cherwell.org/2018/11/16/dont-confuse-free-speech-with-hate-speech/?fbclid=IwAR28relvFOD-obwGmqLuV2HwPsIbiQbUgMkCeKVrihPpKqPSBYBvcsIw1co

[7]https://www.oxfordstudent.com/2019/01/22/marechal-talk-draws-protests/

[8]http://cherwell.org/2019/01/29/bring-down-controversial-speakers-with-debate-not-disorder/?fbclid=IwAR1gu3EYz82GgzCquKyb3Vix2-ZLTwgVASvVZ2itAvBho9r-JR5Y0OOwzBQ

[9]https://uk.reuters.com/article/uk-france-politics-nationalfront/frances-national-front-renamed-national-rally-idUKKCN1IX5LR

[10]https://www.dw.com/en/cpac-2018-marion-marechal-le-pen-marines-hardline-niece-to-share-stage-with-us-conservatives/a-42665843

[11]https://www.chathamhouse.org/expert/comment/what-do-europeans-think-about-muslim-immigration

[12]https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-35447150

[13]https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/oct/07/politicans-must-shape-public-opinion-not-follow-it

[14]https://booksandideas.net/The-Front-National-Still-Racist-and-Xenophobic.html

[15]https://www.marianne.net/politique/retire-le-noir-le-racisme-decomplexe-des-jeunes-du-front-national

[16]https://www.ardi-ep.eu/marine-le-pen-proposes-to-eradicate-bacterial-immigration/

[17]https://jyx.jyu.fi/bitstream/handle/123456789/58696/URN%3ANBN%3Afi%3Ajyu-201806213316.pdf?sequence=1

[18]https://www.20minutes.fr/politique/2131615-20170913-elu-fn-voulait-recuperer-dents-or-roms-exclu-parti

[19]https://www.businessinsider.com/french-see-marine-le-pen-front-national-as-danger-to-democracy-2017-3?r=US&IR=T

[20]https://www.rtl.fr/sujet/jean-marie-le-pen

[21]http://cherwell.org/2019/01/29/bring-down-controversial-speakers-with-debate-not-disorder/?fbclid=IwAR1gu3EYz82GgzCquKyb3Vix2-ZLTwgVASvVZ2itAvBho9r-JR5Y0OOwzBQ

[22]https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/france/10847344/Jean-Marie-Le-Pen-Ebola-epidemic-would-solve-immigration-problems.html

[23]https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/apr/08/frances-front-national-plunged-into-family-feud-over-holocaust-remarks

[24]https://oeilsurlefront.liberation.fr/en-bref/2018/03/11/un-cadre-du-fn-suspendu-apres-des-injures-racistes_1635321

[25]https://www.history.ox.ac.uk/article/no-isnt-1930s-yes-fascism

[26]https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/apr/08/marine-le-pen-front-national-jean-marie-elections-holocaust

[27]https://sos-racisme.org/fn-pas-change/

[28]https://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/politics/exclusive-interview-with-frances-youngest-and-most-controversial/

[29]https://www.businessinsider.com/john-oliver-france-election-warning-2017-4

Budget cut for Bodleian Libraries

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The Bodleian Libraries’ book purchasing budget has been cut for the 2018-19 academic year.

The central library budget for the 2018-19 financial year is £8,699k which is a fall of over £50k from the previous year. When adjusted for inflation over the period, this amounts to a near -3% cut in the library’s book-purchasing capacity.

One librarian who wished to remain anonymous told Cherwell: “it’s disappointing to see that the book purchasing budget has fallen in real terms for the 2018/19 financial year.

“The problem is being exacerbated by the fall in the pound, which has meant that books published outside the UK cost a lot more than they used to. We have a smaller budget but an even smaller number of books that we purchase with it.”

Philanthropic donations to the Bodleian, which are counted towards the library’s book purchasing budget, have also fallen from £1,088k to £993k, representing a 12% real-terms cut from 2017-18 to 2018-19.

Philanthropic donations include “income generated by Trust Funds being used to purchase materials and one-off donations for the purchase of particular items or groups of items” according to a spokesperson from the Bodleian Libraries.

No squidding! Time to ink again about octopus terrine?

Squidnap!

Michael Culbert

The recent controversy over whether Somerville was right to remove octopus from their formal menu highlights the persistence of a lack of understanding of how it feels to come to Oxford for someone from a working-class background.

As someone from a council street in Belfast who has tried some of the more unusual seafoods, I welcome the Somerville principal’s decision; and I’d say if you are an Oxford student finding yourself outraged by the fact octopus has been taken off your formal menu, you might want to re-evaluate your priorities.

Of course, there is nothing wrong with eating octopus, as far as I’m aware there are no ethical issues beyond the usual for any meat, and branding foods as “too posh” misses the issue here.

I would, in fact, quite like to try octopus after hearing about this mini-scandal, but I’m somewhat glad that it wasn’t on the menu for my freshers formal.

Coming to Oxford is, for most, a disorienting experience filled with novelty, much of which is exciting, some of which is stressful and takes a while to adjust to, and a little of which is just unnecessary. So why make that any harder than it already is?

Having a plate of octopus – a food I don’t think any half-educated person should need to have pointed out is not a staple of the British working class – set down in front of you at your first formal dinner at Oxford firmly joins knowing which type of gown to buy in the latter category.

For many students at Oxford formal dinner, with its candelabras and three courses, may be at least a somewhat familiar experience, and a great part of Oxford is that formals are, for the most part, very cheap and accessible.

This means that whatever students have (or have not) experienced at home becomes less important.

We should recognise, however, that millions of people in the UK live in poverty, meaning going out for a meal is a rare occurrence for huge swathes of our country; and when it does happen it’s Wagamama or TGI Friday’s, not Somerville for some cephalopod.

Inevitably, then, to make Oxford more accessible to all sections of society we must realise this and alter our expectations.

The ability of any student to feel that they fit in here is more important than scolding them for a lack of adventurous tastes in seafood, and to not recognise that fact is the epitome of middle-class privilege.

We’ll sea

Ray Williams

Octopus terrine. A week ago, I’d never heard of it. Even now I’m not wholly sure what it is.

And yet its supposed abolition from the menus at Somerville College has been talked about in the Daily Mail, The Telegraph, and on BBC Online. We have found ourselves in the midst of a manufactured controversy that should never have gotten beyond the pages of the student papers or the com- ment threads of Oxfess.

Believe it or not, octopuses do not feature heavily in Oxford’s Access and Participation Plan for the coming year. If you read Baroness Royall’s original blog post, she mentioned the ‘bemusement’ of one Somervillian at being served what I gather is some kind of pasted octopus.

Bemusement was the emotional trigger of all this fuss. Baroness Royall’s heart is in the right place and I applaud all those working to make Oxford a more comfortable place for students that do not fit the traditional Oxford mould.

However, access isn’t about removing and hiding Oxford’s various curiosities it’s about making them less mysterious. Indeed, it’s those very curiosities that appeal to many students here.

Students from less advantaged backgrounds, including myself, go to university expecting to try new things.

We expect and welcome change and challenge. We are not afraid of the odd oddity. We are not afraid to stand up and demand that changes be made. And we are not afraid of octopus terrine.

After all, there are far stranger things in this city. And, for that matter, far greater impediments to access.

The media furore around things like this do far more harm than good.

It’s bad enough feeling like a fish out of water without being patronised as well. I am of course sympathetic to the fact that in a place as bizarre as Oxford there is no reason to make it any stranger.

I also empathise with any student who’s been embarrassed in a new situation. I lurched from disaster to disaster in first year. But there’s a first time for everything and university is the place to discover new things. If not now, then when?

Of course we find it comforting to eat food that reminds us of home. But we don’t need to eat such food exclusively to feel comfortable, and we don’t need to be patronised by those who feel we can’t handle the shock of octupus terrine.

We would quickly come to regret it if colleges decided to serve fish finger sandwiches every dinner time in a the name of comfort.