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Preview: Dates

Charlie Atkins
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Preview: Dates

Given the opportunity, I think many of us wouldn’t mind skipping the traumatic year that has been 2016. And yet when Jeremy (played by Stephen Rose) finds himself in this very situation, having spent the year in a coma, he is presented with more problems than might be expected. His woes are brought to a peak when he tries to re-enter the dating scene, having to be cruelly brought up to speed by Karen (Sarah Borg) as the two go on their first date together. Plenty of misunderstandings ensue, and the audience is left laughing at the absurdity of the political and social events that have happened over the course of this year.

This is the premise of ‘Coma 2016’, the first of three sketches of Dates that I was treated to last week. Written by fourth year linguist Rebecca Heitlinger and produced by Charlie Silver, the show is made up of eight distinct comedy sketches, all highlighting various tribulations faced by young people today. The show can trace its roots back to the end of the last academic year, when Heitlinger and Silver made a successful bid to put on the show, and it was written over the course of the summer vacation. As such, Dates is able to play with the most recent of political and social themes – the rise of Donald Trump, the fall out from Brexit, and the collapse of high street giant BHS are all sources of humour.

But it would be wrong to characterise Dates as show focused on current affairs. The show is at its best when exploring some of the tensions young people face in their romantic and social lives, as I witnessed in a sketch called ‘Tudor Tinder’. Here, the fictional Lady Anne (played by Sophie Stiewe) is introduced to the 15th century’s answer to online dating. It’s not quite as easy as today’s Tinder, with the court aristocracy having to exchange portraits and rely on the hilariously curt Count Tinder (Alex Matraxia) to pass on any messages, but the characters revel at the newfound freedom it gives them. At one point Lady Anne is so enthused with the ability to choose a partner (and to be able to choose based on looks, rather than on the wealth of a prospective suitor’s estate) that she exclaims “Finally I can stop being the property of my father, now I can be the property of another man!”

Despite the fact that the cast were still fine-tuning the show when I came to watch it, the acting was professional and the jokes felt well delivered. And you would expect it to be, given that six cast members (Heitlinger too plays various roles as well as having written it) were chosen from more than 40 auditionees.

The last sketch I was presented with demonstrated flexibility that comes with a talented cast. In ‘iPhone vs. Samsung’, a smug iPhone (Alex Matraxia) gloats of his prowess in front of a woeful but ultimately likeable Samsung phone (Oli Thompson). Both deal with their struggles to ‘connect’ in different ways, but an audience will be able to laugh as the sketch emphasizes the ridiculousness of masculine competitiveness and the (often silly) social expectations we accept as part and parcel of dating.

Sketch comedy can be difficult to pull off–especially when it seeks to tackle diverse and pertinent social issues without sacrificing humour. But Dates manages to keep the jokes consistently funny thanks to a highly effective cast and by being unafraid to base sketches on unusual premises.

As the show reminds us in its opening sketch, 2016 has been a rough year. But if you want something to make you laugh before it’s all over, you could do a lot worse than Dates.

Dates is on at the Burton Taylor Studio daily at 9:30pm from the 22nd until the 26th of November inclusive. Tickets are available from the Oxford Playhouse website.

Is it wrong for a dictionary to offend me?

Laura Wilsmore
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Is it wrong for a dictionary to offend me?

Recently over social media, there has been controversy as the Oxford English Dictionary has defined ‘Essex Girl’ as “a type of young woman… variously characterised as unintelligent, promiscuous, and materialistic.” To add to this complementary description, just some of the example sentences of usage online include “An Essex girl goes to the council to register for child benefit”. As an ‘Essex Girl’ myself, born and bred, you can imagine my initial response. To have such an important, world-renowned publication define you in such a way for future generations is startling to say the least. However, as an English Language and Literature student, I am forced to reflect on the reasons why this definition has become recorded.

The OED defines itself as a “historical dictionary” which is “very different from dictionaries of current English where the focus is on present-day meanings.” Words and phrases need to be used over a length of time in various situations to be recorded. However, the issue arises when the OED’s idealised view of how their dictionary is used meets reality. Much of the public look towards the dictionary to prescribe the ‘correct’ usage of a word or phrase, which is what caused such an uproar from the general public. Some may argue that the definition does state it is a ‘derogatory’ term, but many still view the dictionary as a prescriptive rather than descriptive text.

Linguists may only be implementing their belief of reporting the use of language that surrounds them, but this surely should make us question why this phrase is being used widely enough to be recorded by the OED. Our society too often divulges in and encourages stereotypes of regions, with reality television programmes such as The Only Way is Essex and Made In Chelsea only adding fuel to the fire. Clearly, these shows do not truly represent the variety and complexity of areas in the United Kingdom. If you took TOWIE to be a true depiction of women in Essex, you would believe that we were all beauticians, hairdressers and generally concerned with our appearances rather than pushing our intellectual capabilities.

A video of TV personality Gemma Collins being interviewed on Sky news does not aid the situation as it spreads across the internet. In the interview, she makes incredibly valid points on how hard-working Essex girls do feel that the line has been crossed with such a derogatory definition. She also defends her position as a TOWIE cast-member, highlighting her business endeavours and school qualifications. Unfortunately, the only part of the video that went viral was when she described herself as a “massive fan” of the dictionary and became quite tongue-tied. This convinces the public that the definition is true and usable, as sadly many, myself included, only fixated on a few seconds of the video rather than listening to her whole argument on the matter.

9,239 people have signed a petition, set up by Natasha Sawkins and Juliet Thomas, for the definition to be removed, but there were many similar battles recently over ‘slang’ and ‘improper’ words making their way into the dictionary. The only way we can fight these new derogatory definitions is to change the way we use the word, taking back ownership of what intends to put us down. The trend #IAmAnEssexGirl has taken a brilliant approach to the issue, and I have loved reading posts on social media about the incredible achievements of supposedly “unintelligent” Essex girls.

I am in an odd position. On the one hand, I understand that the OED is only reporting the real, lexical changes in our language. If we opposed every entry that causes offence, then we would lose track of real developments in our vocabulary. However, I believe that events like this should force us all to look at the stereotypes we enforce on areas in the United Kingdom and throughout the globe. I am an Essex girl working hard towards achieving a degree from the University of Oxford, and know that the OED does not define me.

On the incompleteness of reading

Ellie Duncan
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On the incompleteness of reading

“The more personal the metabolism, the deeper the satisfaction…it is not a question of borrowing only, or of imitation, but of bringing forth in one’s own language what has been experienced in another.” Barbara Reynolds’ definition evokes something intangible: a feeling of reassuring illogicality that nevertheless makes perfect sense. But trying to conflate two different expressions of an experience generates resistance. One version of Federico Garcia Lorca’s poem ‘Night’ visualises the boundaries of translation that suggest ultimately irreconcilable meanings—the reader’s eye immediately catches on the word “saeta” dappling the English. “La constelación de la saeta” becomes “the saeta’s constellation”. The simplicity of this phrase only makes the untranslatable element more apparent.

“Saeta” (“dart”) reappears in many others of this edition’s English versions of the poems, along with other non-translated words that create gaps which delay any sense of a complete understanding of a poem. Stopping to Google-translate “saeta” mid-Lorca doesn’t lend itself well to discovering a poem for the first time. In his translator’s note, Sorrell explains how “Lorca’s poetry poses the recognised problems of translation in an intense way. His Spanish is highly charged, culturally specific, strongly rhythmic, always musical.” So much so that sometimes, there simply isn’t a word that can replace and reconfigure.

The English “arrow” only reaches for what the Spanish encompasses. For a non-Spanish speaker, the accompanying Spanish text in Sorrell’s edition only increases an awareness of a gap between the original and the translation, a gap into which words and meanings fall. Most frustrating of all is not being able to know precisely what has been lost. But the translation gap is also productive. Though reading something in translation is to read it at a remove from an original, it is still an experience that is singular, not superficial or lacking.

Sorrell’s translations are echoing and elegant and the result will still produce personal responses that belong outside the realm of comparison or loss. The English translations are their own work of literature, by no means superior to the original, just a new dimension unfolding from the edges. And Lorca’s poetry itself conveys a way of thinking about writing which touches on an important aspect of translation: its minimalist, sparse style “reminds us that poems work on the basis of what comes out of them rather than what allegedly goes into them.” It would seem that translation only literalises what all reading is, a process of the reader’s private articulation of a writer’s expression.

Though reminding us of the privacy of reading, translation’s purposes look outward too. Indeed, it is often used as a marker of a poet or novelist’s commercial success, presented as a requirement generated by the text itself. Harry Potter has been translated into over seventy different languages and dialects—information usually included in the introductory note or the blurb for example. But it is of course a testament to the imaginative element of Rowling’s story too. In the Ancient Greek version of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (incidentally, the first children’s book to have been translated into that language) the translator decided to keep the unique vocabulary of the fantasy world, such as technical Quidditch terms. Rather than show up as an irritating limitation, this amusingly reaffirms the inventiveness of language, and captures the way in which different contexts and vocabularies can be patched together.

Translation reminds us of the countless possibilities for interpretation of a text, though some might remain inaccessible to us. New meanings are generated by a Shakespeare play reworked in modern contexts, the realisation of an individual director’s vision; listening to the cover of a favourite song produces new emotions via an appreciation of choices and changes. The incompleteness of reading is worth celebrating too.

One thing I’d change about Oxford… The Gladstone Link

Nicola Dwornik
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One thing I’d change about Oxford… The Gladstone Link

Haphazardly staggering along the flagstones, I clutch my illegal energy drink close to my chest and scurry towards the building. After passing through double-doors and threatening security barriers, I’m in. It’s dark, it’s wooden, it’s glorious—no place for a mere mortal. Godly figures of intellectualism sit in lines, radiating auras tinged with green as the lamps light up their books. I do not belong. I quickly veer right, descending the staircase and passing through another electric door. Fluorescent lighting immediately burns into the back of my eyes. A musty smell and superfluous piping. White walls surround me. Is this hell? Is this Tartarus? No—it’s the Gladstone Link.

The first floor is a scrapyard of abandoned metal—bashed into industrial shelving, with holes. The books, confused by these metallic ‘bookshelves’ and the edgy diagonal layout, frown as I fail to find them. I too scowl as I search for a place to sit, and I soon realise that at 9:20am I am twenty minutes too late. Fellow students, having already securing a famed expansive desk, smile smugly at each other, flaunting their battle spoils. Here they proceed to sit, like vegetables tanning under UV, until day’s end. The sofas dotted around aim to provide an atmosphere of comfort. The scratchy cheese grater floor provides the opposite.

Failing to find the books I need, I proceed down into a deeper circle of the inferno. The grumbling echoes from the floor above provide background music as I browse the books that cannot ever be exposed to the air of the outside. I quickly realise that I am in the land of the Lotus Eaters. Apparently, people sometimes have sex here. I guess the scraping sound of people walking above is slightly erotic, as is the fear of being sandwiched between two bookcases. Silver linings I guess.

The Gladstone Link is a cave: a fluorescent and stuffy one. In the land of dreaming spires, I really don’t understand why someone would willingly submit themselves to such sterile torture.

Liberalism can no longer ignore anti-globalisation

Daniel Curtis
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Liberalism can no longer ignore anti-globalisation

One unexpected result is an outlier. Two is a trend. It seems there is now a western revolt against internationalism and globalisation. While those two concepts have certainly brought their benefits, we cannot turn a blind eye to a result simply because it contravenes our 21st century progressivism. It is well documented that Brexit and now Trump are ‘protest votes’. What UKIP and Trump have done is provide a conduit for this very real and very justified discontent.

Yet where the right would stir up division and fulfil political agendas, we progressives in Britain must use it for what it is meant. Namely, to re-represent those who feel abandoned by the political system, and to contribute to the defining work of historical progressivism: the NHS, better living standards, a more equal and just economy, instilling liberal social values.

All of these are under threat now that progressivism is becoming increasingly insular. Take the Labour party, torn between two histories, one an ancient, leftist dogma, the other a pro-capitalist, pro-globalised Third Way. Both had their time, their merits and their successes.

Clearly we must provide bold answers to a Western public who are visibly antiglobalisation by securing jobs for Britons who, in post-Thatcher Britain, are cut off from financial comfort and professional satisfaction. It means ensuring that social cohesion, something which Britain has treated with complacency, is at the forefront of our minds. It means restoring the craved sense of patriotism and agency.

It is no coincidence that Trump’s “Make America Great Again” and Vote Leave’s “Take Back Control” resonated so strongly with voters. Both relate to having a national identity. This desire is not necessarily jingoistic and certainly not racist.

Patriotism must be reclaimed. It should relate to the NHS, our literary history, our architecture, not simply to imperial throwbacks or blatant, rancorous nationalism. The common threads which bind us all together as Britons must be not just suppressed but celebrated—and that extends to making an ardent case for controlled immigration, not just pandering to the right.

And finally comes the issue of economics. While being anti-austerity is a given, modern capitalism and globalism go hand-in-hand. It is left to us to make capitalism fairer for all while also accepting the public’s growing antipathy towards it. Syriza, Podemos, Sanders and Corbyn all hint at the growing germination of post-capitalism. This article isn’t a call for it—I am a moderate, not a Marxist. However, it is a fallacy to believe that everyone who voted for the right’s ascension is right wing themselves. Rather, they simply want a more just society, one in which they feel listened to. Isn’t that what progressives have always worked for?

Judge not, lest ye be judged: Article 50

Alex Waygood
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Judge not, lest ye be judged: Article 50

The press quickly came to grips with the most recent constitutional crisis. “Enemies of the people,” screamed The Daily Mail. “Who do you think EU are?” demanded The Sun. The Daily Express was the most forthright, calling its readership to arms with the headline: “Now your country really does need you…”

I’m glad that’s been cleared up. I hadn’t quite realised that a court ruling delaying Brexit was comparable to the horror of the Great War.

So what exactly is the cause of this dire peril? On November 3, three judges ruled that British constitutional law does not allow for the Government to begin the process of leaving the European Union without first passing a law through Parliament. The reason? “The most fundamental rule of the UK’s constitution is that Parliament is sovereign”—meaning that no law passed by Parliament can be overridden by the Government without passing new legislation.

It sounds boring and technical, and really, that’s because it is. It’s the job of the British judiciary to consult legal precedent and rule on the interpretation of Britain’s strange, amorphous constitution. Has Brexit been blocked? No; it will probably take Theresa May longer to begin the process of leaving the EU, but it still seems highly unlikely that a majority of MPs would choose to vote against the will of the people as expressed in the referendum.

So this isn’t a ‘power grab’ by ‘activist judges’ that ‘undermines democracy’. Far from it. Newspapers and politicians lambasting the judges should take care: the separation of powers between the government, parliament and the judiciary is one of the fundamental pillars on which our democracy is founded. The independence of Britain’s courts provides protection for the judiciary, ensuring that judges cannot be fi red should they choose to rule against the government. But it also provides important checks and balances on the Government’s power that protect the rights of us all. Crucially, these do not place limits on Parliament’s sovereignty, which remains supreme—our Supreme Court does not have the power to ‘strike down’ legislation. But the courts do have the power to call into question important procedural errors committed by the government, which is what has happened here.

The government decided, rather belatedly, to defend the independence of the judiciary. This is meant to be one of the primary roles of the Lord Chancellor. Yet the words of Liz Truss and Theresa May—the latter only qualifying her support by saying that she also values ‘the freedom of our press’—have been half-hearted and weak.

That is unacceptable. Freedom of the press is irrelevant, and a cowardly excuse. This Government should vigorously attack the tabloids for seeking to undermine our judicial process.

Perhaps the inherent suspicion of many Brexiteers that the country’s institutions are biased against them is reasonable. Yet, the decision seems technically uncontroversial. Perhaps this is why nearly all the accusations of political bias from pro-Brexit politicians seem to have come in the form of such dismaying and unqualified assertions.

A night at the clubs: Hypnotize

James Lamming
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A night at the clubs: Hypnotize

As the last ISIS night of Michaelmas Term jammed and funked its way to life last Thursday evening, the scorching rays of West Coast sunshine began to clear away the fog of Oxford’s fifth week blues. Promising a tantalising hip-hop fusion of Old Skool 90s classics (think Grandmaster Flash, NWA and Tupac) and the new kids on the scene, Cellar coaxed out every R&B purist in Oxford ready for a night of raucous bars and beats. Still, there was a sense of uncertainty before the event among some would-be Cellar-goers. Song selections on the event’s Facebook wall had been both sparse and eclectic, ranging from the classic Nas, Tupac, and Biggie Smalls to the ambitious selection of David Guetta’s ‘Titanium’, perhaps not strictly classed as a 90s hip-hop classic. Most meekly listed their names alone, unwilling to be named and shamed for insufficiently ‘hip’ song choices.

Despite this, a long queue wound its way from the High Street to the Cellar stairs and snatches of Nas’ ‘The World is Yours’ had those in the cold air nodding along in anticipation. At £4 entry and a pound a pint, the night easily offered some of the best value for money to be had in Oxford. Inside, Cellar had clearly put great effort into reproducing the heat of Southern California; the venue was both overcrowded and under-ventilated, without any of the romance of Venice Beach. Despite the heatwave, masterful DJs mixed up an excellent selection of the classic and the modern, fading the masterful lyrics of Tupac into Chance the Rapper’s laid back beats. Everyone agreed that Ice Cube had been right about Thursday of 5th Week: ‘Today Was A Good Day’.

Editing genes: Can we? Should we?

Calum Stephenson
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Editing genes: Can we? Should we?

It’s the year 2116, and the last person to die from malaria did so fifty years ago. Genetic demons such as Huntington’s disease and cystic fibrosis—whose heritability was a scourge on the psyche of those with a family history—can no longer hold prospective parents hostage. We’ve cracked the problem of world hunger and started bringing species back from extinction. Humanity has never had it better.

This is our future, or at least it could be. All of this is possible through the newest revolution in science, a technology affectionately known as CRISPR, the latest and greatest development in the field of genome editing. It allows the genetic makeup of an organism to be altered by adding, removing or swapping letters in the DNA nucleotide code.

Although similar targeted editing technologies have existed since the 90s, CRISPR is special because of its unrivalled accuracy and speed. Critical to the process, enzyme Cas9 is often described as the pair of ‘molecular scissors’ that snip the DNA at the point of modification. The enzyme is guided by an artificially synthesised RNA molecule to the appropriate sequence in the genome, meaning that researchers can manipulate where Cas9 cuts through changing the code of this guide RNA.

Earlier this year the HFEA, the UKs Fertility authority, approved a request allowing use of CRISPR on human embryos, as long as all embryos are destroyed after seven days of development. This allows study of the earliest stage of human embryonic growth, a major landmark in the history of the technology.

CRISPR has the potential to represent the next step in human evolution. However, there are many who would prefer to remain in the present, or even to turn and run back into the past.

Arguments against genome editing take a primarily ethical route. Critics propose that the concentration of these technologies in developed nations would mean they would only be accessible to the most fortunate of our planet, creating an evolutionary gap in class. Furthermore, eradicating conditions such as Down’s syndrome could devalue the lives of those afflicted, portraying them as less than human. And many feel that power such as this should not be wielded by humans that we would be playing God.

Are these arguments relevant? Yes, of course. But they are at risk of missing the greater point.

Science itself is unprejudiced and unemotional. It is not in itself evil, but it can be used for evil. Therefore genome editing must be monitored on an international scale to ensure the fulfilment of its potential to do an incredible amount of good and minimise undesirable social side-effects.

Those who say we would be playing God should be reminded that we live in an artificial world forged by us for us. Humans created dogs, dams and cities. We’ve eradicated smallpox while harnessing natural energy sources to generate power. We are becoming increasingly more aware of the villains of the future, from climate change and antibiotic resistance to overpopulation, and taking control over our own genetic destiny should be the next stage in our defence.

Every generation has a duty to the next to decrease the suffering it itself faced from genetic diseases, and we have an opportunity to do just that, beginning with CRISPR.

Interview: Elspeth Garman

Josephine Pepper
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Interview: Elspeth Garman

Elspeth Garman is a Professor of Molecular Biophysics in the Oxford Biochemistry department. Working at interface of all three core sciences, she has helped develope physical techniques in a field that has yielded 28 Nobel Prizes to date, unpicking the chemical properties of biological molecules. One of these techniques, cryo-crystallography, is now the principle method of protein structure determination worldwide. Elspeth told Cherwell about the Garman limit, misogyny she has faced in her career, and why, even after numerous awards marking her as a forerunner in her field, she is most proud of her graduate students.

How would you describe what you do to the layman in the street?

I like talk to all sorts of people that I meet on buses and in taxis and the way I explain what I do is find the three-dimensional shape of big, biologically important molecules—proteins, which are like strings of beads that wrap up like wet spaghetti. Why do we need to know the shape? Using insulin as an example, from knowledge of the 3D shape of insulin we have been able to see what’s on the inside and what’s on the outside [of this protein] and how the mechanism of glucose regulation works. From that shape it has been possible to make a synthetic insulin which is absorbed more slowly by diabetics, so they benefit by not having to inject so often.

The method we use sounds ridiculous: we grow crystals. The biological molecules line up like soldiers, but 3-dimensionally, so upwards as well. It’s not like a diamond crystal, which is hard and only has carbon in it, because we have gaps between our blobby molecules which have liquid in, so it’s like these soldiers are in a swimming pool. If they are removed they tend to bend and not stand to attention in same way; we rely on the fact that all the soldiers are standing to attention to get our [X-ray] scattering. We hit them with X-rays and from [the way X-rays scatter from the molecule] we can deduce the shape.

The actual growing of the crystal is more luck than good management. It’s trial and error. In a recent project we tackled, the tuberculosis enzyme, we set up seven thousand crystallisation conditions and we only ever grew one crystal which was only 23 microns [one fiftieth of a millimetre] in size.

I gather you are very instrumental in improving the techniques used rather than working on the results.

The things I’m known for is development of cryo-crystallographic techniques. Now nearly 90 percent of Protein Data Bank [the primary protein structure reference database] entries are determined like this. We plunge-cool the protein crystals into liquid nitrogen and then we collect data with a gaseous nitrogen stream at 100K [-173°C]. Why do we do that? Because we get on average seventy times more data at cryo-temperatures than we get at room temperature. At room temp you need tens of crystals because the radiation damage is so intense.

I [helped by] putting some systematic physics onto the problem, and we made a lot of gizmos. I found that my baby’s hair could make very nice loops [to hold the crystals]. It is quite difficult to tie the loops so I made a little machine which helps you do that, then we would loop the crystals, like bubbles, using surface tension of the liquid to hold the crystal in the loop, then plunge-cool it.

What my group looks at now is trying to understand the damage the X-rays are causing [to the proteins] to give people an idea of how many X-rays they can put on their biological sample before the information yielded is compromised. In 2006 we published a [seminal] paper which gave the experimental dose limit, embarrassingly called the Garman limit. It is great to have something named after you, it was the best experiment I’ve ever thought of and I’m very proud of the way my student and I did the experiment.

What makes you get up in the morning?

My graduate students. The greatest fun I have is with my graduate students. They give you three years of their life to study something you’re interested in; it’s an amazing gift! I feel a responsibility to make sure they network, do something positive, enjoy what they’re doing, get publications, can get a good job afterwards, and learn respect for the human race. In my view I owe them. All my research has been made possible by graduate students.

One hears a lot about the gender gap in science. Having spent your entire working life in science, particularly in physics, how much of an issue do you feel it to be?

It’s not changing as fast as we’d like and yes it is an issue. The problem in physics was I was the first female graduate student for fifteen years in the area I was in, so you bore the flag for all women-kind. If you did something stupid it was because women were stupid, not because Elspeth made a mistake. I found that difficult. And when I was younger collaborators and people who wanted to talk science with me got teased by the other men. I tended to just plough on. But there were advantages as well as disadvantages; the worst moment—the worst I can put on record anyway—was when I went to my first international meeting in Berkley, San Francisco with 992 men and eight women. The equal rights amendment had just come in in the States and the physics department had been told it had to recruit a female nuclear physicist. In five days I was offered twelve jobs, only one of which was a genuine ‘fit’ for my experience and research interest. It was the most demeaning, degrading experience—job offers just because I was female. Unfortunately in the States in nuclear physics a few women were taken on who shouldn’t have been, filling quotas rather than selecting the best candidate, and then subsequently more women weren’t welcomed as the earlier one had been no good. This back lash was quite serious and makes me very hesitant about positive discrimination, so I am torn.

It’s not really about being a woman in science, it’s about being a scientist.

Bah, humbug: An Oxmas Carol

Charles Britton
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Bah, humbug: An Oxmas Carol

Michaelmas term fading on the winds of goodwill, tickling the spires in their sleep. Blackwell’s admitting nobody, but quietly shunning a few wayward party-goers. All Oxford seemed arrested in either expectant slumber, or festive fervour.

And yet, tucked away at the top of staircase nine was Edward Stooge, a miser in a youth’s body. While his surroundings throbbed with excitement, he paced his cramped cell, clad in his onesie of loneliness. Procrastination, that cruel spectre, haunted him there. A knock at his door brought him to his senses. How stunned was Edward’s friend Matthew to see such ghastly attire! His grin seemed to blurt out without moving.

“Eddie,” (Edward resented the nickname) “you are going to Lola’s tonight, right?”

Edward tried to excuse his own misanthropy, but Matthew’s dog-like loyalty was insufferable. He would not understand.

The door was thus slammed upon him, not without some force. “Suit yourself,” Matthew was heard to say, totally unaffected. “I’m gonna get sloshed. I’ll be seeing ghosts after tonight.”

With the chuckles retreating down the corridor, Edward retired to his desk, cackling, “Is this the meaning of Oxmas? Bah, humbug!” as he skulked. Yet it did affect him that in this time of repose and warmth he should be snowed under his work: not even the collective cheer of Broad Street could reach his window.

In a stupor of overwork, he fell asleep.

When next his eyes opened, there was a persistent knocking at his door. He was certain a ‘sloshed’ Matthew was playing a trick, so armed himself with a slipper. Then, suddenly, a ghoulish wraith forced his way under the door. He looked remarkably like Matthew, and borrowed his voice.

“Eddie,” his voice boomed with uncharacteristic urgency. “Let me show you your past.” The room was transformed into a nightclub Edward faintly recognised. The two stood, voyeurs to a more liberated player of Edward downing Jägerbombs to the rhythm of cheering crowds.

“Is that…” Edward started.

“Yes. Look upon but a term’s work, what it has reduced you to. Never will you rekindle that Fresher’s spirit.”

Edward tried to disguise his mourning.

The bedroom materialised as he protested, “We all have to grow up at some point,” but his defiance cracked mid-sentence. This ghost of Oxmas past needed only grin as he vanished into the aether.

Edward inspected his tea to see if it had been in any way spiked, before splaying himself out on the bed. “Hemingway and Earl Grey really do not agree with me,” he muttered drowsily.

Edward’s next visitor was too eccentric for the frippery of the door. This next phantom rapped at the window out of courtesy before phasing in. The fiend was unmistakably in the garb of Edward’s lecturer: shabby shirt, bowtie and all. Rearing his head, Edward feared the ghost might do what its visage implied.

“Edward Bartholomew Stooge,” hollered the ethereal academic. “Let me show you how insignificant insecurities be.”

The pair were lifted into a well-known auditorium, suspended above the stage. Though he stood where generations of superior intellects had inspired and blunted the imagination, Edward was bombarded with the thoughts of the audience, his peers. “What does this guy mean?”, cried one poor youth. “How will I read all my books?”, soliloquised another. “Does he really like me?”, “What am I having for dinner tonight?”

Trifles all! They were heavy burdens which satirised Edward’s own.

As the teacher deposited his pupil in his room, he said, “You are not alone, even in your petty concerns.” He determinedly made for the window, but an impulse stopped him. “One more thing: essay for Monday, no run-on sentences.” He took his leave.

Judging by the rule of three, Edward, alert, in the foetal position, was determined to be ready for the appearance of his final guest. This crafty poltergeist caught him off -guard still, by erupting from the floorboards. From his bright green chinos, Edward could not fail to identify the chaplain in this apparition. Edward refused to sit dumb. “What can you show me, then? Success? Love? Family? Disappointment? It’s hardly very Christian of you to appear in such a fashion.”

“I will pretend I did not hear that,” replied the chaplain. “And I can show you all of the above, if you neglect my words.”

To his surprise, Edward found himself not far afield, but in his very room. Something was amiss. Books began raining from the ceiling, clattering around his ears, sealing him in a hardback igloo. Outside his door, he could make out the laughter of his friends, an uproar which drowned out the simultaneous conflagration of his term’s work. The flames licking his skin, Edward begged forgiveness. And his call was answered.

In a cold sweat, Edward listened closely to the chaplain’s closing words. “We have shown you all we can. Think on your welfare—and come to Evensong on Sunday.”

Edward had what he wanted, to be solitary once more, yet it no longer sufficed, but created a hole: one which craved friendship, a desire work could not imitate.

Imbued with new purpose, Edward flew downstairs. His destination was that chaplain’s abode, the chapel. It was as if he knew the tower door would be open to him. Perched high above the dreaming spires, he sought to stir them with the most heartfelt “Merry Oxmas, Everyone,” a man could muster. In the avenue below, a drunken, home-bound Matthew returned his call jocularly, swaying to the symphony of bells.

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