Sunday 29th June 2025
Blog Page 1660

‘Fuzzy Ducks’ club night to close

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‘Fuzzy Ducks’, the club night held at the O2 Academy and once voted by FHM magazine as the easiest place to pull in the country, will run no longer.

It has come under constant pressure from local residents and has reportedly experienced a recent fall in attendees.

‘Fuzzy Ducks’ was held at the O2 Academy in East Oxford on Wednesday nights for more than a decade. The venue has a capacity of 1,350 and the night attracted a variety of guests, from Out of the Blue to David Hasselhoff.

Behaviour at the O2 Academy and the surrounding residential area led to numerous complaints of anti-social behaviour from local residents. The mid-week night, called “notorious” by the Oxford Times, promised cheap alcohol until the early hours of the morning.

Police patrols were extended to the area in 2010 to cope with students exiting the club, and a recent application to extend opening hours at the venue received more than 60 complaints.

Ed Chipperfield, a member of the East Oxford Residents’ Associations Forum, is glad to see the end of the night. He commented that “Fuzzy Ducks was marketed as an ugly night of excess, and that’s precisely how the customers treated the area before and after they went. You can’t blame the customers for behaving exactly as the promoters wanted them to, really.”

‘Fuzzy Ducks’ is to be replaced by a new night run by the O2 Academy and the Oxford Brookes Student Union. The concern for residents remains a return to previous behaviour under a different name.

Mr Chipperfield is cautiously optimistic about the new night, saying, “I think everyone here – students as well as ‘locals’ – is cautiously optimistic about a higher expectation from a new event promoted by Brookes.”

‘But if it falls below expectations, then people living in the area will have no problems bringing their troubles up with the relevant people – the local police.”

However, residents’ complaints have been a pressure for the decade Fuzzy Ducks ran, but the night has only just ended. Reports are that the popularity of the Brookes night decreased significantly in the final term of this last year. According to one Brookes student, the 1,350 capacity venue failed to get above 300 clubbers on most Wednesdays.

Club management would neither confirm nor deny if the decision to end the night was a response to pressure from residents or the waning popularity of the night among students.

Oxford Brookes Law student Joseph Ware reacted positively to the closure. He said, “I just see it as an excuse for people to get blind drunk with the promise of sex.”

“But in reality it’s a sweaty pit of hormonal sports teams embracing a social fad. And besides the special guests, it has nothing to put it above another night elsewhere.”

Poor coverage ruining our Olympics?

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‘Pauca sed bona’, only a few but of good quality. Perhaps someone should have scribbled this on a post-it note to the BBC as they prepared for this year’s Olympic Games. Why? Their coverage has, thus far, been the antithesis of that epigram.

One cannot fault them for trying. Their 27 TV channels and innumerable other forms of online coverage and analysis are a testament to Lord Coe’s plea to embrace the Games.

However, the quality of that coverage, and more so the commentary that accompanies it, does an injustice to the athletes who have sacrificed so much to compete here in London.

Jonathan Liew’s frank confession in a recent Telegraph article puts into words the problem: ‘The writing business is forgiving enough to allow entire careers to be sustained on an ability to produce five synonyms for the word “win”. On television, there is no such hiding place.’

Although the BBC have turned to a number of previous Olympians to add credibility to the otherwise lacklustre commentary, the blunders of their colleagues overshadows any gems of athletic insight that they may produce. 

Mark Foster, the former Swimming World Champion and Team GB’s flag-bearer in Beijing 2008 often struggles to get a word in edgeways next to the bullish Clare Balding who, for all the hand gestures and decibels in the world, still struggles to outline a single race without repeating herself or mentioning the pressure that the athletes are under.

The awkward conversations in the BBC main pod are almost as painful as the dissonance of the commentary teams.

Amir Khan’s discussion of his Olympic experience, 8 years ago in Athens, sounded forced and resembled little more than an exercise in self-aggrandisement for a man who many were saying should retire after the beatings he took from Lamont Peterson and Danny Garcia.

Meanwhile, Ian Thorpe’s frustration was tangible as Gary Lineker descended into cheap quips, after the multiple Olympic champion had seen his country’s ‘Weapons of Mass Destruction’ self-destruct with a disappointing 4th place in the 4x100m freestyle relay.

Even the usually tolerable Sue Barker and Jake Humphrey made me wish the BBC did ad-breaks, with their cringe-worthy ‘I hope you’ve got a bike and helmet’ – ‘I don’t go up hills’ exchange.

BBC top-brass clearly thought that the mystery of less well-known sports could be solved by familiar voices from other sports, with Golf’s Andrew Cotter covering Canoeing and Rugby’s Eddie Butler assigned to Archery.

As Jonathan Liew put it, ‘these men are risking accusations of dilettantism at best, and outright ridicule at worst, by gamely pitching their flags on foreign ground … but without an instinctive feel for the rhythms and patter of a sport, it is impossible to avoid sounding like an outsider.’

With Bradley Wiggins’ recent success in the Tour de France, Cycling has had an ‘hors catégorie’ rise to prominence, but the coverage of the two Olympic Cycling Road Races has undoubtedly been the stand-out failure for the BBC so far.

The men’s race, if Team GB’s disappointment was not enough, was soured further by the lack of information about time gaps between the groups and a number of mistakes by the commentary team, at one point claiming that those who finished outside the top 30 were in fact battling for the bronze medal.

The inadequacy of the post-race analysis only added salt to the wound as John McEnroe and Kelly Holmes blathered on without any real understanding of what they were meant to be talking about. Ignorance, in this case, was far from bliss.

Furthermore, Lizzie Armitstead’s tremendous silver medal was dampened by journalists’ inability to spell her surname and the references to her ‘feeding’ which made her sound more like a prize budgie than the closest Team GB had hitherto got to a gold medal.

Matt Baker’s painful pronunciation of Fabian Cancellara, one of the most famous cyclists in the Olympic peloton, as I write, evinces the over-reaching of BBC commentary teams across the channels as they try to come to grips with the challenge of covering what is likely to be the most watched Olympic Games in history.

With the Athletics beginning on Friday, I can only hope that John Inverdale justifies his Olympic selection with a personal best after disappointing performances at the Crystal Palace Grand Prix and the Aviva UK Trials, and that the BBC learn from their mistakes.

You know what they say about ‘Jacks-of-all-trades’…

Subfusc gender restrictions removed

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Oxford University has recently altered subfusc regulations in order to respect the needs of transgender students.

The decision, which will come into force on 4th August, will see subfusc becoming gender-neutral and will allow transgender students to wear what they wish without needing to obtain permission from University Proctors before sitting exams. All students will be able to make their own decisions about what they wear to exams and formal university occasions and will be free to choose whether to wear a bow-tie or ribbon, or a skirt or a suit.

The campaign, led by OUSU’s LGBTQ Officer Jess Pumphrey, was initially passed by OUSU in February and was then taken to the University Proctors for further information. Pumphrey told Cherwell, “This is an important and very welcome change, which will greatly improve the experience of transgender students, particularly during the exam period.”

They added, “This change allows transgeander students to fully, comfortably and safely participate in the tradition of subfusc, without worrying about whether their gender will be scrutinised by examiners.”

Simone Webb, President of LGBTQ Soc, also told Cherwell about how the changes would benefit transgender students, saying, “I think this is a brilliant change which, while small, will lessen the stress which transgender students face around exams.”

Former Trans rep for LGBTQ Soc, Gail Bartlett, also welcomed the changes, adding, “The real motive of this change is that students who may be transitioning gender will no longer have to have the added stress of worrying that they will be challenged on their clothing”.

They both expressed disappointment over how the news had been covered in the national press. Webb commented, “I am saddened by much of the national reporting on the changes, which has misleadingly claimed that the new rules are aimed at facilitating cross-dressing”, whilst Bartlett told Cherwell, “much of the popular press has missed the point, with provocative and inaccurate headlines such as ‘men in dresses’ and ‘gay dress code’”.

Although the University was unable to offer an opinion on the changes, a spokesperson said, ‘The regulations have been amended to remove any reference to gender, in response to concerns raised by Oxford University Student Union that the existing regulations did not serve the interests of transgender students.’

The changes have met with positive reactions from students. 1st year Keble Biology student, Jessica Norris, said that the changes would “bring subfusc up-to-date’ and that ‘people in today’s age should be able to express themselves how they wish and not be constrained”. She added, “I don’t think the new rules should be abused though but I don’t see how that could be policed”.

One first year at Magdalen, who did not wish to be named, continued, “The rules just allow people to wear a different set of clothes so I don’t see why they would cause anyone to get upset. One concern might be misuse, which could undermine the integrity of subfusc, but is that really a bad thing?”

Sportsmanship kicked from the beautiful game

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Sometimes in sport, a touch can make all the difference. The history-books are gilded with examples of sprawling saves, desperate tap-tackles and faint edges that swung the outcome of a match, even a tournament.

Boxing is one sport that seldom deals in such subtleties. Technical nuance is not unimportant, but quick hands and pretty feints will always be trumped by a sledgehammer left, as Amir Khan discovered on Saturday. And brute force is never less preeminent than when the mouth guards are out.

“This is about two guys who dislike each other beating it out of each other,” declared David Haye in the build-up to his bout with Dereck Chisora. Chisora vowed to “burn” and “destroy” his rival.

No soft touches there then.

This fight was the legacy of an extraordinary brawl in a Munich press conference where Chisora descended from his dais to confront Haye. Haye hit Chisora with a bottle, Haye’s trainer Adam Booth was gashed on the forehead, and Chisora threatened to shoot Haye.

Both fighters had their licences revoked by the British Boxing Board of Control and had to turn to the Luxembourg authorities to sanction the tawdry circus of their mutual enmity.

These are tough times for boxing. No longer can the image of a sport in the doldrums be dismissed as the jaded grumble of stuffy ringside veterans.

The sport’s great 21st century icon, Floyd Mayweather, is currently in prison for domestic abuse. Inept judging is a growing blight, with Manny Pacquiao, boxing’s other marquee name, its latest victim. Tarver, Berto and Peterson, world champions all, recently failed drugs tests. And then there are the antics of Haye, Chisora and their ilk.

But what boxing has not lost is its capacity to confound. After Haye knocked out Chisora in the fifth, the bitter antagonists shared a warm embrace. This was an extraordinarily redemptive moment of human contact for two men who had had to be separated by a steel fence at their weigh-in.

Their sins were not forgotten, but perhaps absolved, especially when Chisora revealed he would donate £20,000 to Haye’s chosen charity. Sometimes, a touch can make all the difference.

This week, another sporting touch, football’s pre-match handshake, came under scrutiny. In the wake of the deterioration of civilities between John Terry, Anton Ferdinand, Rio Ferdinand and Ashley Cole, it seems we will have to steel ourselves for more tedious ‘will-they-won’t-they’ sagas in the mould of last season’s Suarez-Evra handbaggery.

There will be, provisionally at least, 45,980 pre-match handshakes between Premier League opponents next season. And yet not one will touch us like that single moment of genuinely felt communion between Haye and Chisora, however imperfect the circumstances.

Not one will raise a smile like Bradley Wiggins and Vincenzo Nibali’s finish-line hug at the Tour de France.

Why? Because pre-match handshakes are not true sportsmanship. They are a meaningless mechanical ritualistic faff, fair-play for the fauxmance era. Like the mascot walk and the exchange of pennants, they belong to an elaborate choreography of sportsmanship devised by the game’s governing bodies.

Handshakes should be left to the end of the match as a free and sincere gesture of respect. They would not be as numerous, but at least they would mean something, and maybe, like Haye and Chisora, football’s opprobrious oiks might just surprise us.

‘Life is short. Have an affair’

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I’d never heard of ‘Ashley Madison’ before, though apparently with 3.5 million members a lot of people have. The website, which in structure seems no different to Match.com or any other online dating service, hooks up men and women who would otherwise not meet. The difference? Ashley Madison is expressly targeted at those who are already married or in a relationship, its slogan – ‘Life is short. Have an Affair’.

I came across the site tangentially – via this hilarious billboard in California.   Indeed the firm markets itself in true American style. Far from abiding by the culture of discretion and grace that characterises, say, French infidelity, the CEO Noel Biderman has attempted to sell adultery like Ronald McDonald sells French fries (here for instance). American politics buffs will appreciate the company’s endorsement earlier this year of Newt Gingrich, Republican Presidential hopeful and serial philanderer, in the now-elapsed G.O.P. primary contest.

I’m not sure what I make of Ashley Madison. Adultery is a function of (a) personal greed and (b) unhappy relationships. Those familiar with the MTV hit Geordie Shore, whose orange inhabitants possess the looks and libidos of gorillas, will be familiar with (a). Though as the Madison Superbowl commercial indicates prisoners of (b) are the target market.

To be fair, whilst Madison might have an interest in the cultivation of personal vice and inter-personal misfortune, it is in no position to influence either. As Biderman is oft to point out, Madison doesn’t make people want to cheat, it merely increases choice and efficiency in the adultery market.

Fair, but he forgets that we aren’t wholly autonomous; the choices available to you and I condition our preferences.  The availability and social acceptability of another vice, cigarettes say, will encourage us to smoke them. Similarly a ready market for extra-marital sex will lead to more cheating.

I confess to possessing Alain de Botton’s How to Think More about Sex. Like all my Amazon purchases made after 2am the book belongs to that commendable class of drunken acquisitions known as ‘1-Click Buying’.

His chapter on adultery is worth quoting. His observation that, until the eighteenth century phenomenon of the bourgeois, ‘the three very distinct needs – for love, sex and family – were wisely differentiated and separated out from one another’ is insightful. The oddness, and perhaps futility, of modern marriage rests in the retrograde idea that all these desires should be satisfied by the ‘selfsame person’. This is what Biderman is getting at.

Still, de Botton’s reflections don’t answer the question at hand. We may sympathise with the adulterer entrapped in a loveless, sexless marriage, but we’re still offended by Ashley Madison’s involvement. We reason that if a person is driven to cheat, then the complex emotions involved shouldn’t be exploited by a commercial interests. If you were repulsed in the first paragraph, that’s probably why.  

Oxonian’s Olympic Ode a success

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An Olympic ode in ancient Greek written by Jesus classics professor Dr Armand D’Angour was read out loud by London Mayor Boris Johnson at the Opening Gala for the International Olympic Committee last Monday.

Performed to the Olympic committee, which included royal members such as Prince Albert of Monaco and Princess Anne, Johnson’s reading recieved enthusiastic applause and cheering.

The ode, inspired by the Olympics, was commissioned by the London mayor and has been engraved in Greek and in English on a Bronze plaque placed within the Olympic Park.

Dr D’Angour explains that “Writing an Ode for the Games revives a musical and poetic tradition from ancient Greece, where Odes were commissioned to celebrate athletic winners at the Games.”

Written in the style of Pindar, a 5th Century BC poet from Ancient Greece, Dr D’Angour’s ode remains faithful to ancient style and form whilst reaching out to a modern audience.

The English version of the ode, written in six stanzas of rhyming couplets contains references to Usain Bolt (“the lightning bolt around the track”), the chairman of the London Organising Committee of the Olympic Games Lord Coe (‘Join London’s Mayor and co within’), as well as diver Tom Daley (‘as medallists are daily crowned’).

Dr D’Angour also makes a playful pun on Boris Johnson’s name in Greek “Barus,” which means ‘weighty’ both in the physical sense and in the sense of a man of authority.

“Of course the puns may make people groan, but Pindar’s audiences may have done so too,” commented the Dr D’Angour.

“Boris certainly did it justice [when reading it to Olympic dignitaries], he brought it off with typical brio and panache, and even a bit of dramatic action when the Greek says ‘(watch) the archer draw his bowstring tight’!” added the doctor.

About the writing process Dr D’Angour said “It was terrific fun writing the ode, getting the Greek and the metre right, and working out how to make it effective as a performance vehicle for the Mayor.”

Dr D’Angour was previously commissioned to write a Pindaric Ode to Athens which was recited at the Athens Olympic Games in 2004.

First year classicist, Lydia Stephens enjoyed the puns, commetnting, “It’s very clever, Dr D’Angour did a great job.”

Ronan Magee a second year classicist added, “I think it’s brilliant, Dr D’Angour cooked up a fabulous Ode with lots of great jests. Let’s just hope that Adidas and LOCOG don’t object too much to the penultimate line’s reference to νίκη (Nike)!”

A lesson from Geordie Shore

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When I first watched Geordie Shore I decided it represented the worst of human culture, the last excesses of Rome before it was burned by the barbarians, and this (combined with the fact that I don’t have sky at home) meant that I swore off Geordie Shore and MTV for life. Having now become both more familiar with corners of the internet, of which MTV aren’t particularly big fans and living the intern dream, I’ve turned to Geordie Shore: Cancun Chaos as a source of escapism. And you know what? I may have been too quick to condemn. In fact, I think there’s a lot we could learn from them.

1. Drink Responsibly

If there’s one thing that LawSoc/balls/any open bar event has taught me, it’s that sometimes we need a lesson in restraint. Just because the alcohol is behind the bar doesn’t mean that it has to be drunk, although a feeling of wanting to ‘get your money’s worth’ (even if it was free) means that it normally is. In Geordie Shore, however, the drinks on the table don’t disappear as they’re put down. Gary, on the other hand, can happily dance next to a bottle of vodka for the entire night without feeling the need to down it. Admittedly it’s because he’s too busy shining his laser pen at girls in a manner that makes him look a little bit like a bouncer looking for drugs, but it’s obviously a tactic that’s working for him. In fact, maybe I’m not so much advocating reduced drinking but rather the use of laser pens to act as a, albeit slightly creepy, distraction.

2. There’s no substitute for good game.

If there’s one thing you can’t deny when watching the program, it’s that these Geordies have a lot of luck with the opposite sex. Whether you consider it luck when you see which particular specimens of the opposite sex they’ve gone for is another matter, but they seem to be enjoying it anyway. Not for them the forced intimacy of a crew date: eating curry with 15 others on a table that seats eight while subtly trying to encourage your friends to shout your most embarrassing/flattering/’laddish’ sconces. In the last episode Rebecca had been ditched by her girls, who’d all settled into relationships (or onto the toilet in Charlotte’s case), but there was no stopping her and she went off to meet a man at a foam party while ‘feeling like a soapy goddess’. Equally Gary, ever the charmer, goes for the line ‘three way kiss’, which I think is a technique that perhaps wouldn’t work as well in Camera, but then there’s only one way to find out.

3. Reject authority

One of the main sources of tension in Geordie Shore comes from Cancun Chris, a man who has no function in life other than to set arbitrary rules that will obviously be broken and tasks that involve random members of the group either doing nothing or travelling in order to do nothing. Nothing exemplifies this than his leaving of a special bottle of tequilia in the middle of the house he was letting them rent while telling them not to touch it, in a manner similar to the set up of the Garden of Eden and the Tree of Knowledge. When Gary, our band’s proverbial Eve, took the tequilia he was sent to get some more on a trip that seemed to rival the Fellowship of the Ring’s for length/discomfort. However the Geordies stand up to him, refusing to listen to his demands to ‘stay in the house’ and fleeing on the back of motorbikes when it all gets too much. Think of this example when next set a piece of work by a tutor who knows it’s completely irrelevant and you know will never mark it but just wants to make sure you’re productive during the vacation, or ‘extended study time’ as they seem to know it.

4. Never give up on love

Charlotte and Gary are rapidly becoming the “real life” Ross and Rachel, except without any semblance of adult responsibilities and with added threesomes and one night stands. Perhaps a more exciting Ross and Rachel when you put it like that. The little glances they give each other, the fact that Gary pies Charlotte and then Charlotte pies Gary and who can forget their trip to buy more Tequilia and the game of ‘gearstick’ that they played on the way home. It truly is the stuff of modern romance; you can really feel for Gary when he says how hard it’s going to be not to shag her and for Charlotte when she explains just how hard she’s tried to get over him and how much she still wants that cock. As Madeline Sava, a third year archaeology and anthropology student puts it, “It really does teach you that, while the path of true love may twist and turn, it is worth fighting for”. So what if he pies you and goes for the girl on the blues hockey team on a crew date, or she falls for that third year’s charms? Just pick yourself up and go for a grind on the RnB floor of Park End or a grope on the back of a punt, it’s always worth a go, this might just be the time they fall for it.

5. Make the most of what you’ve got/exercise

Regardless of what you think of the Geordie Shore gang, their morals and general outlook on life, you can’t say that they haven’t nailed it. They’re basically doing what they (and don’t lie, a lot of us as well) would do in an ideal world in a house paid for MTV and clubs that give them drinks (they don’t even have to sell tickets for them!). I’m not sure how it works but it doesn’t look like they cook or clean, just go clubbing, talk about going and try to navigate group politics. If that doesn’t sound like Oxford without the essays or bills I don’t know what does. Who’s having the last laugh now?

Internship Blog: Home Office

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Being blessed with the incredible talent of not technically being from this country, I managed to get myself on the civil service diversity internship scheme this summer. I’ve been placed at the Home Office, which occupies really a rather snazzy building, complete with cylindrical glass portals at the entrance that one has to awkwardly pause in before you can pass into the enormous atrium within.

I assume they’re there either for security or emergency teleportation.

I live with a group of total strangers (three really-rather-attractive-looking young men of about my age, two of whom are on investment banking internships and so clearly are going to be filthy rich) in an awesome flat directly above a Tesco Express and a cash machine, and about half a minute from a direct tube journey to Westminster. So all in all, it might seem like I have it quite good. Not so.

Firstly, it turns out that living in London is really rather expensive. Obviously, I knew that. And obviously, I planned for it. Unfortunately, an inexplicable dresses craving that required urgent attention towards the end of term left me in a bit of a pickle this last month. But being on a one-woman quest to prove that despite dropping Economics, I can handle the concept of money without too much undue effort, I must say I developed some innovative solutions. For example, I insisted on meeting a friend the other week on the tube side of the Baker Street underground station. Thus, socialising could take place within the confines of a single use of my newly acquired oyster card. It was very cunning.

Oh well. At least I still graduate in PPE. No one in the real world seems to have worked out that the degree is a sham.

There is one key advantage to living in London, in that I’ve been able to quickly develop that innate sense of superiority that all Londoners (especially the ones in Oxford) seem to have. I regularly strut around Westminster looking disdainfully at tourists, and allow myself to feel incredibly important and definitely never at all confused. This is occasionally undermined by stressful London-related experiences, such as the incident the other morning, when I absent-mindedly sprinted, Olympic-style, into the wrong train and then had to awkwardly run right back out again, desperately avoiding eye contact and trying to pretend like I’d meant to do it all along.

That was the day I had accidentally left my phone in the offices overnight. My very lovely colleagues locked it in a drawer for safekeeping, which was kind of them. They definitely regretted it though, because the owner of the locked drawer arrived late that morning. Imagine the dawning embarrassment as I slowly headed towards my desk, fresh from tube-related travails, through the vast, open-plan offices and with each step heard the dulcet tones of my blackberry alarm growing ever louder. In shock I confirmed the news that they had been listening to it for the last 45 minutes. It was with a wicked smile one colleague pronounced that now, I could sit down and listen too. My humiliation knew no bounds.

And the tales of mortification don’t end there. My internship began marked by the ‘keys’ issue. The friend from whom I’m slightly illegally subletting a room lost her key to the downstairs entrance of the block of flats, which meant that I spent my first two weeks here unhappily buzzing random inhabitants to get in. My pleas that I wasn’t a burglar weren’t entirely successful, and I now live in constant fear of the very angry man in flat 7.

But you know, other than Mr Flat 7, my neighbours are absolutely fabulous. There’s this elderly Indian couple in flat 4 who I think have more or less adopted me as a daughter. Thankfully, they were on holiday when I invited a bunch of St John’s friends to celebrate my birthday last week. When one friend ends the evening throwing up in a stolen hat, you know it’s been a good night.

And you know, it actually really is exciting being in London for the Olympics. Boris’ voice serenades me at every other tube station, and I read media cuttings about immigration queue scares every Monday morning. Yet when I walk out of Westminster station, past Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament on my left, through throngs of excited sports-mad tourists, and head into the depths of government, I can’t help but forget my woes and fraudulent diversity background. I feel quite gloriously British.

Olympic Oxford

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The changeover begins at Sir Roger Bannister Running Track at Iffley Road

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Sir Roger Bannister carries the torch over the same track where he set the record breaking time for the mile in 1954

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Lighting the torch for Nicola Byrom; Oxford DPhil student and founder of volunteer group Student Run Self Help

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Nicola Byrom runs the course

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Some of the Out of the Blue boys supporting London 2012

Review: Shades of Dark and Light

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When trying to describe Shades of Dark and Light to those who asked, the best analogy I could conjure was that of the petits-fours you find in Starbucks: they look enticing, but the portions are far too small. Shades of Dark and Light, a production of the local group Almost Random Theatre, comprises ten short plays. Some, like Letter to an MP (no points for guessing the content) and Where Fairies Haunt were monologues, but most were small cast affairs, and the genres were pretty mixed – many, to the writers’ credit, deftly spinning comedy into thrillers.

Unfortunately, this melange betrayed the lack of direction and focus the plays sorely needed. Take, for instance, Le Type DeBrouillard. This was drawn out, and it rested far too heavily on its ending. The best remedy for this would be to cut about five minutes from the middl -. I never expected to have to say that a character was overdeveloped, but that’s a symptom of the problem here. The ending, though, was clever. Like many of these plays the germ of inspiration was readily apparent, there was a cunning and wit evidently driving the creation of the art, but the execution was imperfect. Consider also Would That it Were – this was an entertaining satire of some upper-class nitwits at Oxford, in a fictional yet not unattractive future where Stephen Fry has served the office of Prime Minister with aplomb, and (to try not to ruin the ending) Oxford University isn’t quite what it is today. That central idea was fantastic and humorous, but getting there wasn’t easy. Not quite enough was made of it. The Intricate Workings of a Sherbet Lemon likewise suffers from an implementation failure, though as probably the best play of the compilation does not have the problem as acutely.

The common thread here is that Shades of Dark and Light felt like sifting through a literary agent’s submissions, or attending an early preview of plays in development. In each there was a kernel of genius, and I do not doubt that most of them (especially the ones I have mentioned above, precisely because they were so promising and therein lay the tragedy) could be expanded into excellent plays. But two hours of drafts? A better approach might be to make this a regular, shorter affair, inviting feedback from the audience and a pleasant drink afterwards with the cast. And speaking of which, here is where my hope lies – they were simply fabulous. This praise is not idle compensation. I would like to single out Lixi Chivas for leaving a lasting impression: every one of her performances was compelling and striking, even in Letter to an MP where the source material left me asking whether I had missed the point of the piece (maybe I don’t hate MPs very much). In sum, Shades of Dark and Light isn’t great. But it definitely could be.

TWO STARS