Lifestyle

Beatrix Arnold discusses the golden harp, the ritualistic three-part pour, and the bravado of splitting the G

What if our concentration spans aren't doomed by the rise of short form content? Juliette McGrath reveals that there might be hope for us yet.

The concept of being a fringe friend sounds pretty terrifying – but the alternative sounds even worse.

The Coffee Guild: 4/5 stars

At home, things are quite simple: clearly labelled bins for various types of recycling, a reassuring food waste bin at hand in the kitchen,...

"Ultimately, getting better is not about erasing the past in the promise of the future; it is learning to say your name with a smile, knowing it has always been yours to say and will continue to be."

Exclusive secrets finally revealed by an April Fools mastermind

Just over three years ago, I received my Oxford offer.  Like most sixth formers, my Oxford acceptance email came in the middle of my mock...

here is a lot to be said for blind positivity. On a good day, I’m a manifester, a big believer in my ability to speak things into existence. During my English A-Level, I had complete confidence that the crystals hidden in my bra would provide enough luck to snag me an A*. Today, I put great faith in words, relying on the same ‘I can do it’ that gets Olympic athletes across the finish line, to help me through difficult situations.

I’m now in my fourth year, and as such, must grapple with the reality of my Oxford days drawing to a close. Granted, this is something that every student must contend with, and I watched on as most of my friends bade a fond farewell to this city where our friendships began when they graduated last summer. Yet there is something about the fourth year that I’m certain makes the final year even more strange: a sense of something already lost, of living in a moment that has already passed.

Pierre Victoire has been here on Little Clarendon Street for decades – one of our porters even worked there before coming to college. So...

Now, having exhausted myself with these relentless pursuits, the job has been passed on to a new bright-eyed Cupid, and in my retirement I’ve become fondly reflective, and decided to curate my insights into this list: 

Today is Shrove Tuesday, the last day before Lent, and coincidentally, pancake day! Oxford does a lot to celebrate, and Cherwell is excited to...

Better late than never, right? It’s the sentiment which lies at the heart of every tutorial essay, every near-sprint to a looming lecture or class (maybe even this article). Oxford time is a tin of treacle which seems to weigh down every step taken or word written, until you’re gasping for breath at the knife-edge of the essay deadline. It's the 5th week of term and you don’t want to run out of steam, but there isn’t much left in the tank. 

Memories aren't just windows into the past - they're about preserving pieces of who we are now.

Since I arrived at Oxford, alcohol has been woven into the fabric of my university experience. Drinking isn’t just expected – it’s encouraged, celebrated, and deeply embedded in student culture. Nights out, pub trips, drinking societies, formals: Oxford demands drinking, and I’ve obliged, over and over again.

The University of Oxford, with its ancient colleges and lofty spires, has a reputation of intellectual prestige on the one hand and eccentricity on the other. Across the river Cherwell, its newer neighbour is a modern, dynamic, and sprightly alternative full of industrious opportunities. Yet, it is inevitably still a place where “I go to Oxford,” if left unspecified, tends to be followed by ‘no, not that one’. 

Something I miss about home is the sea. There’s a comfort in the fact it’s always there and never seems to change. When you...

Swapping Valentines for platonic love: Anita Okunde on the revolutionary nature of Galentine's.

Sophie Lyne re-examines our attitudes towards self-care: is an overhaul necessary?