Recently, I found myself marooned in that most demoralising of places, the NHS waiting list. I was soon falling down the rabbit hole of catastrophisation, after succumbing to the inevitable temptation of googling my symptoms (it wasn’t looking good).
Sourdough is a simple pleasure. A perfect loaf should have a chewy, light, tangy, and springy crumb. On cold days it’s a reliable and simple comfort – the kind that makes Hilary term feel a little less bleak.
Barely a month has passed since we made our flustered entry into 2026. But it seems like the verdict is already in: your honour, we’ve had enough. Bring back 2016.
During these cold winter months, in which – thanks to that pinnacle of British construction, breathable walls – I wake up in a freezing room, I find great solace in hiding beneath my blanket.
Two Oxford students headed to Europe for a bit of springtime culture and relaxation on the cheap. One was a Classicist looking for some Roman Ruins; the other was a History student more keen on the 20th century ruins of the Berlin Wall. How did their holidays compare?