Thursday 23rd April 2026
Blog Page 1820

Cherworld: Hilary Week Two

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Share your thoughts on the issue in the comments section below. 

Darts And Respectability

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If the two great British narcotics which unite the masses are drinking, and drinking while watching sport, then the rising popularity of Darts in Britain shouldn’t really be a shock. The PDC World Championship of Darts took place as ever over the New Year, with close to 5,000 fans packing out a big venue in Muswell Hill in north London for two weeks to drink, shout, cheer and watch people throw tungsten at a board.

Darts is now the second-most watched sport on SkySports with over a million people tuning in worldwide for the final back in 2007 – the figure for this year’s final game as closer to 5 million. If the ‘sport’ of the occasion gets particularly bad, people simply forget it altogether. During a particularly low-quality second round match between Kevin Munch and Steve Farmer (I know, they even sound like darts players), the fans started to lose interest. About 300 people did a conga dance line round the venue. A few people started a fight and security was called. It is not surprising – an environment of 30-somethings wishing they were 20-somethings, unlimited amounts of bad lager, and a boisterous festive atmosphere has potential to be very rowdy.

This is British society epitomised – we will get drunk, we will shout nonsense when the camera comes past, and we might watch some sport in between. Englishman Adrian Lewis picked up the title for the second year in a row, and his £200,000 prize money. How is their so much money in Darts? The Players’ Darts Corporation have got the recipe just right. They broke off from the British Darts Organization in the 90s, took the best players, secured deals with big sponsors and for the television rights, and simply dangled the carrot of a ‘Lads weekend” for £25 in front of Essex cliques, sat back, and waited.

What epitomises the event is that after every other set, the television coverage goes to an ad break, and as the players walk off stage to rest, ‘Chase the Sun’ by Planet Funk is played over the loud speakers in the Palace and most people jump up on their chairs and tables to sing along, punching their arms in the air. This is just people getting drunk and not caring to be embarrassed – what we all do at one point or another, except in this case SkySports are televising it.

5 Minute Tute: US-China relations

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How does China view its increasing power in the world?

There are, of course, different perspectives on this in China. Chinese material power has been growing steadily over the last thirty years with particular advances after 2001, when China joined the World Trade Organization, and again after 2008 and the global financial crisis, which damaged China far less than most other countries. Thus, its relative power has grown quite significantly. For some Chinese, this suggests that the country deserves a larger voice in world affairs, and that its economic model has much to teach other countries. Other Chinese, however, realise that the country’s domestic development challenges remain huge and this makes them reluctant to consider taking on greater global responsibilities commensurate with its status as the second largest economy in the world.

How important is the economic relationship between China and the United States?

These two countries are economically very interdependent and the global economic crisis has brought this home to both countries. As of June 2011, China held nearly $3.2 trillion in foreign exchange reserves, largely in US denominated assets. It certainly does not want those assets to decline in value. The US remains a major market for Chinese goods and Chinese leaders worry about the capacity of America to continue as the second major recipient (after the EU) of its exports. For America’s part, China has been the fastest growing major export market over the past 15 years or so. The economic crisis has had less of an impact on the Chinese economy; thus the value of that market to US firms is even more significant. One other pertinent point is the sense that some US officials have of a shift in the global power hierarchy in China’s favour. As US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton is reported to have remarked to the Australian Foreign Minister, Kevin Rudd, in December 2010, “How do you deal toughly with your banker?”

What was China’s reaction to Obama’s announcement that the US defence strategy will now focus on the Pacific region?

Although the US government has tried to reassure the Chinese leadership they are interested in cooperation and engagement with Beijing, this defence move has been viewed negatively in China and is seen mainly as directed at it. Strategic mutual distrust is high in this relationship and this is unlikely to diminish as a result of changes in the US defence strategy. At a minimum the two countries need to think of ways of increasing levels of trust and diminishing the sense of rivalry, for example by strengthening their military-to-military ties.

What is the future of US-China relations?

Factors which help to stabilise this important relationship are the economic factors discussed earlier, the fact that the costs of military conflict between them would be extremely high (both are nuclear-armed states,) and that they do hold interests in common (e.g. stability on the Korean peninsula and in China-Taiwan relations). The relationship has also been institutionalised; there are now about 65 bilateral dialogue mechanisms between them and these are helping to build personal relationships and maybe even to manage tensions. Nevertheless, this relationship is going to be difficult and competitive in the years ahead. The US seems reluctant to accommodate itself entirely to a stronger and more prosperous China. China has a hard task before it in reassuring its neighbours that its rise will remain peaceful and in the absence of that reassurance China’s neighbours will want to see the US stay a major player in the Asia-Pacific region.

A unified Britain is a Great Britain

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Before the United Kingdom is split up into a series of tribal regions based on Somalia’s highly successful socio-political model, I think it first necessary to say that I for one quite like being British. I therefore feel insulted by Alex Salmond’s recent outbursts undermining centuries of peaceful union.

Salmond’s comments in the late 1990’s, describing Westminster as bloated and outdated (he was thinner then) and the British Parliament in terms more befitting of the Kremlin than an institution that has guaranteed her subjects democratic rule for more than three hundred years, are also incredibly hypocritical. The Scottish National Party, a party so ready to embrace the EU and the adoption of the single currency, is quite happy to undermine its own socialist principles in the name of an essentially tribalistic instinct to divide and conquer with its own countrymen a few hundred miles south on the very same island.

In the most recent calls for Scottish Devolution, the debate has been underpinned by dreary economic facts and petty accusations of racism. Like a fallen aristocratic family arguing over daddy’s will, Edinburgh portrays cousin Westminster as the evil stepsister denying the Scottish their right to a share of the inheritance, or conversely England paints Edinburgh as the illegitimate offspring of a sordid affair pillaging the family treasure. All too often the values of unity, equality and pacifism that the Union imbues are overlooked.

Travelling on the Edinburgh Metro recently, I bore witness to just such an example of those values, when I espied an Edwardian sign announcing that Edinburgh was in “North Britain”. Amongst the modern day street junk, the elegant porcelain sign was like a relic from a fallen civilisation. I felt embarrassed, that an empire – irrespective of people’s opinions on British colonialism – could unite such a varied people, to the point where they would forgo their own traditional names in order to embrace a common sense of identity.

Perhaps, like many a great civilisation, we are a victim of our own success. A loss of interest in the Union is symptomatic of modern society. A common sense of purpose and worth appears oppressive and anachronistic in an age where the individualistic drive to express oneself is seen as paramount within our shared system of values and ideals.

And so before the SNP announces a “Cultural Revolution”, when the venom of English literature will be thrown into communal burning pits from Dumfries to the Shetlands, supporters of Scottish independence would do well to remember Macbeth. Driven by paranoia and popularity at the polls, Mr Salmond ignores the economic stagnation and high unemployment Scotland faces and instead wraps himself in a tartan veil of nationalism. If Mr Cameron were to do the same (with a tweed veil, not tartan), it would have many Scottish nationalists marching to Hadrian’s Wall with bows and arrows.

Which brings us to the great enigma: the United States of America. How can a country, infinitely more varied both geographically and socially than Britain, unite itself under a common libertarian ideology almost identical to Britain’s with barely the slightest hint of dissent from its provinces? America, being the birthplace of consumerism, dispels the idea that rugged individualism is the root of resurgent Scottish nationalism. The issue is a particularly British one, and one with which the oh-so-crass Americans have no problem: over-politeness. Traditionally cautious, and ever wary of causing offence, British politics would rather sidestep an issue as volatile as Scotland ceding from the Union, than engage in a debate with ugly words like “racism” and “colonialism”.

Perhaps, as many will argue, we should celebrate a people’s right to succession, as is the case in Sudan or Egypt. But to compare Britain with wartorn countries divided by irreparable ethnic or religious tensions is frankly ridiculous. The three hundred year Union has enjoyed both economic and social success on an island whose people are inextricably linked culturally and genetically. Scientifically, the native populations of the British Isles are almost genetically identical, with mixed ancestries from the Viking, Celtic, Norman and Roman gene pools prevalent throughout the Kingdom.

To plead victimhood at the hands of a particular faction, as parties often do, is therefore unjustified. The very principles of the British parliament, as well as the fact the British peoples are so culturally intertwined, have ensured that the persecution of the Welsh, Scottish or Irish minority has never taken place. It is this unique celebration of our differences, married to a recognition of our common ground, that has galvanised the Kingdom for three centuries.

In a technological age where one can feel so socially isolated, we should celebrate being Scottish or English or Cornish, but at the same time acknowledge our shared Britishness. As Cecil Rhodes’s famous simile declares, being born English is like “winning first prize in the lottery of life”. Had he said British, he would have been just as right.

Press Preview: Latin! Or Tobacco and Boys

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This play, with a cast of two, has three characters. The junior teacher, the senior teacher, and the schoolboys in their charge. The audience, unwittingly taking the part of the latter, is effectively drawn into the action of the piece as a result of skilful direction of Fiamma Mazzocchi Alemanni. Wanting the audience to feel put ‘on the spot’, she asked me to take a seat in what would have been the front row of a classroom. Addressed soon afterwards as ‘Cartwright’, and pointedly asked what I was ‘smirking at’ by the principal actor, I felt suitably uncomfortable and very much put ‘on the spot’.

The press preview of Latin! or Tobacco and Boys, a play written by Stephen Fry in 1979, marked a promising beginning to the life of this production. The setting of a preparatory school provides the perfect location for this witty, yet dark, drama. Here, the stifling atmosphere of scholastic innocence nurtures the illicit sexual practices of Dominic Clarke (Barnabas Iley-Williamson), the younger schoolmaster, for whom ‘pleasure, […], lies between the thighs of a young boy, under 15, blonde, and willing.’ His additional scheme of one day owning the school projects his desire into the future.

The authority which emanates from Clarke’s every word in the first classroom scene continues to define his character throughout the subsequent dialogue, in which Brookshaw, the senior teacher (Louis Fletcher), hints at his knowledge of Clarke’s sexual escapades with the above-mentioned Cartwright, a pupil at the school. This scene reveals Clarke’s complex character, expertly conveyed to the audience by Iley-Williamson. The physical and emotional bullying undergone by Clarke as a youngster himself, fuels his desire: ‘I never forgave them for fracturing my spirit’, he declares.

Fletcher, portraying Brookshaw, and in contrast to a very convincing performance by Iley-Williamson, could have inhabited his role slightly more. Both actors, however, delivered their lines faultlessly. The tempo was a little slow in places (most notably throughout the dialogue), but the whole play was carried along well by the brilliant script.  Mazzochi Alemanni’s direction made certain that there was no lack of attention to detail. Clarke’s most explicit suggestion to his sexual preferences, for example, is pronounced with his back to the audience. Despite his frank lack of shame, he remains essentially uneasy about his behaviour.

At times, the light-hearted script makes this play easily digestible. At others, it points to murkier themes outside the limits of respectability. A preview of the piece was enough to ascertain that this production had truly done justice to Fry’s piece.

4 STARS

Misanthrope: that rejection letter

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A smarmy 19 year old, the darling of the nation, taking the press and the internet by storm? Whatever next! Now yours truly loves sticking two fingers up to the establishment as much as the next misanthropic penpusher, but when that criticism is both silly and self-important it really takes the biscuit.

Little Elly Nowell has those Oxbridge-bashers at the right-wing press rubbing their hands with glee (who, according to Nowell, never ridicule the rahs). Yes, the letter she sent to Magdalen “rejecting” them was mildly amusing for the blink of an eyelid, but the oh-look-how-clever-I-am attitude was not.

Criticising the “grand, formal settings” of her interview? I personally love creaming over Oxford’s architectural awesomeness, but if spires aren’t your thing there is plenty of concrete over at Catz. And it isn’t a huge stretch to picture medics and the like on their way to interviews at UCL, the lucky university that ticks Nowell’s boxes, quaking in their boots when faced with the neoclassical pile.

Nowell told the BBC, “I spent my entire time there laughing at how seriously everything was being taken.’ Well yes, some people care about their future, and it isn’t so surprising that the academics are serious about wanting to teach people who actually care as well.

I’m normally all for poking fun at ourselves, but Nowell has unfortunately hit us right where it hurts – the (not unwarranted) stereotype of exclusivity and elitism that Oxbridge just can’t seem to shake. The access team have enough of a mountain to climb without constantly having to fend off an army of popular opinion. It’s a shame that the tirade of hurrahs from those who agree with Nowell is pretty much drowning out the hard fact that six out of seven students that Magdalen accepted for law, the course Nowell applied for, are actually from state schools.

For once, I admit, the cynical side of me is overwhelmed by a touch of self-righteous pride. Nowell doesn’t deserve our dreaming spires. And there are plenty of state school students out there being put off by her parroted Oxbridge stereotypes that do.

Preview: Celebration

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The works of Harold Pinter, one of a select few playwrights to have his own adjective, have been enjoying a run of success in Oxford recently. In Michaelmas, the Keble O’Reilly played host to a production of The Birthday Party that was rightly lauded, and it is impossible not to notice the ad campaign for Hothouse, opening at the Playhouse in February. If you can’t wait that long until your next Pinter fix, a production of his last play, Celebration is winging its way to the Michael Pinch theatre very soon.

Three couples sit in a restaurant, the most expensive in town. At one table, an anniversary celebration takes place. At another is a banker and his vacuous sycophant of a wife. They talk. They leave. The play ends. The curtain falls. Fin. Nothing happens. This is not a play of plot; rather one of dialogue, of twisted words and grim, violent malice hidden behind barely disguised insults. The two tables’ conversations veer from topic to sordid topic but never really leave the essential discussion of two things: power and sex. Most of the time, both at once. For if it’s the banker, Russell’s (Anirudh Mathur) wife (Ellie Wade) trying to ruffle his self-assured, cocky feathers by describing her sexual conquests “behind the filing cabinet” as a voluptuous young secretary, or the play’s other two wives, Julie and Prue (Juliet Roe and Isobel Ormiston, respectively) cuddling up – literally – to the restaurateur, Pinter’s dialogue depicts a malicious power play hardly hidden behind dialogue that swings, pendulum-like, between passive-aggressive chatter to outright spite.

In a play like this, it is very difficult to talk of actors performing any better or any worse than one another: the intimate nature of Pinter’s dialogue and staging demands that each actor be up to the task, lest the piece fail for want of one voice. And the actors at Jesus are up to the task. Clearly, this is a cast that appreciates its script: Pinter’s acerbic wit is delivered with a louche, deadpan insouciance, with near-perfect timing. Sometimes, however, this deadpan acting goes too far; whilst Celebration is a play concerned with the masking of emotion, it is not a play of studied emotionlessness. However, the cast at Jesus seem reserved, nervous even. This, of course, isn’t an inappropriate response, possibly even a fitting one: a Pinter production is not an easy ride, for the audience or for those performing it. This is not, however, a fault that detracts seriously from the quality of the acting, or of the production overall. For all its reserve, Celebration is a sensitive and well-acted piece of theatre, and a fitting introduction to one of Pinter for anyone who has not yet seen any of his works.

4 stars

Celebration is being performed at the Michael Pinch Studio Theatre from the 24th to the 28th of January.

First Night: Sleeping Beauty

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I will confess at the start of this review that I am not a long time ballet-goer, nor am I an expert on the subject, but I nonetheless found this production able to perplex me and amuse me in equal measure.

The whole experience was rather bizarre. Coming to the slightly shabby-feeling New Theatre to watch a ballet in the first place was strange, since  I have always associated such things with grandeur and, well, “poshness”. Then, while the dancing was done with great precision and focus, everything perfect controlled, in time, graceful, beautiful, all of the sets and costumes looked like something from a village pantomime. The audience was even treating it like a pantomime, enthusiastically booing the evil fairy. It really was a bizarre mixture of the shabby with the extravagant; there was a full orchestra which was wonderful and played the music beautifully, which I was surprised and pleased to see in such a small place, but the budget had perhaps been so stretched by this that the evil chariot that the bad fairy rode in on was just a luggage trolly painted black.

The ballet was full of what can only be described as surreal moments. The bad fairy was attended by what appears to be rat-rhinoceros hybrids as she rode around on her luggage trolly of evil, the fairies looked like aliens wearing 1950s purple shower caps, ‘Fairy Canary’ was brilliantly mental, and the king (who looked exactly like Lord Farquar from Shrek) at one point inexplicably ate a giant egg off what appeared to be a candlestick at the front of the stage.

Ekaterina Bulgutova’s Sleeping Beauty was exquisite, she had a real faunish quality about her and a charm that made her really engaging and sweet to watch. Unfortunately her hair has been sprayed liberally with so much multicoloured glitter that she appeared to be receiving messages from the mothership all night. My favourite part was the dancing between the White Cat (Nadezda Vlasova) and Puss-in-Boots (Denis Pogorely). Here more than anywhere the kooky charm of this kitsch production came into its own. The choreography was witty and sexy, the costumes were cute and wonderful and the dancers were obviously enjoying themselves. It was in these more comic moments – such as the two cats dancing together and the evil fairy- that I felt the production was in its element. 

I had a wonderful night- the whole thing was hilarious. I’m not sure it was supposed to be, but the rest of the audience seemed to be laughing when I was and it really was very entertaining. But did I feel the magic? Sadly, not. And a bit of magic was what I had been hoping for, what I had been expecting. In the end it was a gaudy spectacle, eye-catching, entertaining, but that was it. Perhaps there would be more for the ballet aficionado who could, better than I, appreciate the technical precision of the dancers, but for me it was great fun, and unfortunately nothing more. 

2 and a half stars

Wrap up for Oxford’s Pinter Winter

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Maybe you like theatre, maybe you like Harold Pinter, maybe you just have eyes – however you’ve done it, you’ve probably  realised that Oxford drama is positively Pinterrific this term. But slow down – do you actually know anything about Harold Pinter, the man behind Michaelmas’ five-star smash The Birthday Party, the upcoming Hothouse, and Celebration?  

Hackney-born Harold Pinter won a multitude of awards, one of which was the Nobel Prize, which he is reputed to have won without even trying. However, he is best known for ‘doing the pauses’ and having extramarital sex. Before he died he enjoyed cricket. Mainly we remember him for doing the pauses.
Still, it’s all very well us sitting here in Oxford, smoking cheroots and fondling each other – what do the Great British Public think of this hesitant award-encrusted adulterer? I was keen to find out and conducted some social science by asking the opinions of four elderly people on a train. It was clear that they were impressively familiar with his oeuvre. But old people love the theatre and would still love it if it coughed heavily in their face, so they’re not great indicators of public mood. What could be behind this small-scale Pinter revival? Clearly something in his work has been identified as relevant and timely. Sure, he’s always there, cruising the peripheries of our collective unconscious, but so are Bombay Mix and Lara Croft, and thrusting young creatives aren’t suddenly demanding the rights to those. It is as though all the elements – earth, air, water, pollen – have combined to make us insatiable. Take my hand and let us go deeper into Pintception.
In 2007, Michael Billington identified a wave of national Pintermania as the alignment of ‘political vision’ between playwright and audience, and that’s probably what’s going on here. In a climate of upheaval these plays feel like they were written for the occasion. The three mentioned above are, in one way or another, difficult births under strained circumstances: the literal birth that kickstarts The Hothouse, a product of rape in a hospital of sanitised bureaucratic efficiency; The Birthday Party’s mental wrench of interrogation, collapse and regression that winks at genesis in its title, and Celebration, Pinter’s last play and perhaps most effective in distilling these ideas. Its posh restaurant is hermetically sealed perfection, a womb to the unhinged waiting staff and a temporary respite from consuming, bickering, and screwing. 
Pinter’s friend and collaborator Henry Woolf remarked that rooms in his work were like the mind, places ‘where all the real stuff goes on’ – the spectacle here is essentially two lots of empty-headed materialists pouring wallpaper patterns and booze into their skull cavities to hold off ‘killing everyone in sight.’ It ends uncertainly and fittingly. We’re not sure if we’ll ever ‘get right out of it’, of the bedlam that awaits us when we kick-bollock-scramble out of our uteruses. Only that we should want to.
Seasonal Suicide Notes by Roger Lewis describes an occasion on which a dining Pinter shouted “What a stupid fucking question!” when asked if he’d prefer sparkling water or still water. He comes off as an arsehole. I reckon he was just inducing labour.

Hackney-born Harold Pinter won a multitude of awards, one of which was the Nobel Prize, which he is reputed to have won without even trying. However, he is best known for ‘doing the pauses’ and having extramarital sex. Before he died he enjoyed cricket. Mainly we remember him for doing the pauses.Still, it’s all very well us sitting here in Oxford, smoking cheroots and fondling each other – what do the Great British Public think of this hesitant award-encrusted adulterer? I was keen to find out and conducted some social science by asking the opinions of four elderly people on a train. It was clear that they were impressively familiar with his oeuvre. But old people love the theatre and would still love it if it coughed heavily in their face, so they’re not great indicators of public mood. What could be behind this small-scale Pinter revival? Clearly something in his work has been identified as relevant and timely. Sure, he’s always there, cruising the peripheries of our collective unconscious, but so are Bombay Mix and Lara Croft, and thrusting young creatives aren’t suddenly demanding the rights to those. It is as though all the elements – earth, air, water, pollen – have combined to make us insatiable. Take my hand and let us go deeper into Pintception.

In 2007, Michael Billington identified a wave of national Pintermania as the alignment of ‘political vision’ between playwright and audience, and that’s probably what’s going on here. In a climate of upheaval these plays feel like they were written for the occasion. The three mentioned above are, in one way or another, difficult births under strained circumstances: the literal birth that kickstarts The Hothouse, a product of rape in a hospital of sanitised bureaucratic efficiency; The Birthday Party’s mental wrench of interrogation, collapse and regression that winks at genesis in its title, and Celebration, Pinter’s last play and perhaps most effective in distilling these ideas. Its posh restaurant is hermetically sealed perfection, a womb to the unhinged waiting staff and a temporary respite from consuming, bickering, and screwing.

 Pinter’s friend and collaborator Henry Woolf remarked that rooms in his work were like the mind, places ‘where all the real stuff goes on’ – the spectacle here is essentially two lots of empty-headed materialists pouring wallpaper patterns and booze into their skull cavities to hold off ‘killing everyone in sight.’ It ends uncertainly and fittingly. We’re not sure if we’ll ever ‘get right out of it’, of the bedlam that awaits us when we kick-bollock-scramble out of our uteruses. Only that we should want to.

Seasonal Suicide Notes by Roger Lewis describes an occasion on which a dining Pinter shouted “What a stupid fucking question!” when asked if he’d prefer sparkling water or still water. He comes off as an arsehole. I reckon he was just inducing labour.

Ten Things to Do in 2012

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The recent hailing of ancient Mayan calendars, Iranians building missile-sized domestic nuclear plants and Kim Jong-un settling into his dad’s old Mao suit has lead Cherwell to think that it’s about time we got our lives in order. Throw in the possibilty of universal apocalypse and it’s time to get prepared. With approaching armageddon in mind, here’s our ‘To Do’ list for the year, which could  well be your last: 

1) Buy a bomb shelter
Head on down to      B&Q  and buy as much  DIY equipment as possible, start stockpiling any canned foods you can find and bulk-buy board games or long political novels for those long days underground. Indulge those 40s fantasies by getting the whole family (read, staircase involved). And, you can probably convince your college dean that turning the front quad into a re-enactment of Goodnight Mister Tom is definitely a good idea, vegetable patch and all.
2) Run for US president
“As the hobbits are going up Mount Doom, the Eye of Mordor is being drawn somewhere else. It’s being drawn to Iraq and it’s not being drawn to the U.S. You know what? I want to keep it on Iraq. I don’t want the Eye to come back here to the United States.”
That’s a real quote from a real person running to be the most powerful human in the world. Thought eyeing up the JCR presidency was the kiddie option? Call the sponsors, write a manifesto and book your flight to the Primaries.
3) Not watch sport
This shouldn’t be too tricky, because by summer time not only will you obviously be extremely busy not revising for something, but also you definitely won’t have Olympics tickets. As that’s in London and the European Cup is in (wild guess here)  Europe, there aren’t too many funky time zone discrepancies this year, so fitting in a sporting spot of 2am televisual procrastination looks off the books.
4) ‘Read’ Dickens
2012 is the bicentenary of the birth of Charles Dickens, which may make you want to think about flicking through some of his stuff, such as the famously concise one-afternoon-sitting favourite, Bleak House. How better to spend the short time before your impending death then by watching hours of corseted fancies and bulging breaches. Oh, the dampened sexuality. The book, perhaps, is one for the bomb shelter.
5) Play Pooh Sticks
If your love of water-borne recreation risks evaporation after your failure to get into the college first, or indeed fourth, boat, then there’s always the opportunity to rekindle your prowess on the river at the annual World Pooh Sticks Championships. Taking place in Oxfordshire in March, it’s just the ticket for the type that can’t tear themselves from the Thames between Torpids and Eights. Don’t knock it – nine-year-olds can get very vicious and that moment of suspense as you wait to see those stick emerge attracts some serious adrenaline junkies.
6) Attend the International Potato Processing & Storage Convention in Riga, Latvia
Proudly hosted by Potato Processing International magazine and Potato Storage International magazine, this is a milestone calendar event for all root vegetable enthusiasts. It’s probably a lot more alternative than that ridiculously modish festival you were planning on lavishing your Euros on, which clearly now looks far less cool. Cheap as, well, chips.
7) Learn a new language
French is a cliché; German feels kaputt. Well, here’s an idea for a challenge: try your hand at the Yaghan language of the Tierra del Fuego. You’re sure to learn excessively useful words  such as mamihlapinatapai: ‘a look shared by two people with each wishing that the other will initiate something that they both desire but which neither one wants to start’. There is only one native speaker left, so those beginner practice sessions will probably involve a bit of mamihlapinatapai, but never mind. If you’re lazy like me, there’s always the Rotokas language, which only has twelve alphabet letters. It’s also massively useful for my regular jaunts to Eastern Papua New Guinea.

1) Buy a bomb shelter

Head on down to  B&Q and buy as much  DIY equipment as possible, start stockpiling any canned foods you can find and bulk-buy board games or long political novels for those long days underground. Indulge those 40s fantasies by getting the whole family (read, staircase involved). And, you can probably convince your college dean that turning the front quad into a re-enactment of Goodnight Mister Tom is definitely a good idea, vegetable patch and all.

2) Run for US president

“As the hobbits are going up Mount Doom, the Eye of Mordor is being drawn somewhere else. It’s being drawn to Iraq and it’s not being drawn to the U.S. You know what? I want to keep it on Iraq. I don’t want the Eye to come back here to the United States.”That’s a real quote from a real person running to be the most powerful human in the world. Thought eyeing up the JCR presidency was the kiddie option? Call the sponsors, write a manifesto and book your flight to the Primaries.

3) Not watch sport

This shouldn’t be too tricky, because by summer time not only will you obviously be extremely busy not revising for something, but also you definitely won’t have Olympics tickets. As that’s in London and the European Cup is in (wild guess here) Europe, there aren’t too many funky time zone discrepancies this year, so fitting in a sporting spot of 2am televisual procrastination looks off the books.

4) ‘Read’ Dickens

2012 is the bicentenary of the birth of Charles Dickens, which may make you want to think about flicking through some of his stuff, such as the famously concise one-afternoon-sitting favourite, Bleak House. How better to spend the short time before your impending death then by watching hours of corseted fancies and bulging breaches. Oh, the dampened sexuality. The book, perhaps, is one for the bomb shelter.

5) Play Pooh Sticks

If your love of water-borne recreation risks evaporation after your failure to get into the college first, or indeed fourth, boat, then there’s always the opportunity to rekindle your prowess on the river at the annual World Pooh Sticks Championships. Taking place in Oxfordshire in March, it’s just the ticket for the type that can’t tear themselves from the Thames between Torpids and Eights. Don’t knock it – nine-year-olds can get very vicious and that moment of suspense as you wait to see those stick emerge attracts some serious adrenaline junkies.

6) Attend the International Potato Processing & Storage Convention in Riga, Latvia

Proudly hosted by Potato Processing International magazine and Potato Storage International magazine, this is a milestone calendar event for all root vegetable enthusiasts. It’s probably a lot more alternative than that ridiculously modish festival you were planning on lavishing your Euros on, which clearly now looks far less cool. Cheap as, well, chips.

7) Learn a new language

French is a cliché; German feels kaputt. Well, here’s an idea for a challenge: try your hand at the Yaghan language of the Tierra del Fuego. You’re sure to learn excessively useful words such as mamihlapinatapai: ‘a look shared by two people with each wishing that the other will initiate something that they both desire but which neither one wants to start’. There is only one native speaker left, so those beginner practice sessions will probably involve a bit of mamihlapinatapai, but never mind. If you’re lazy like me, there’s always the Rotokas language, which only has twelve alphabet letters. It’s also massively useful for my regular jaunts to Eastern Papua New Guinea.

8) Install an operating system in your eye

Tired of reading? Tired of turning pages? Tired of pressing a button to turn pages? With iPhones producing more generations than rabbits, now may be the time to start getting ahead of the technology. You thought high-tech contact lenses were just the ones which give you cat’s eyes for Halloween, but  these will leave you feeling as if you’ve just stepped out of Minority Report. It’s a step up from holding a Kindle to your face, but likely to get annoying pretty quickly. (Disclaimer: before you place your order, you should be aware that this technology may not actually exist, yet.)

9) Stop drinking alcohol

The unhappy truth about the misleading proportions of the phrase ‘food and Drink’ is that it is neither a fifty-fifty balance nor inclined the way we would prefer it and the capital D is, grammatically speaking, teetotally wrong. But if you’re still waking up in the mornings and reading ‘lunch’ as ‘lash’, you might like to consider visiting your nearest gastroenterologist/sober medic for advice on how not to be mistaken for Jack Daniel’s home delivery service.

10) Convince others to do the same

Follow the example of Sebastian Terry, an Australian man, and write your own wish fufillment list.  So far he’s chased a Tornado, married a stranger and put  $1000 on black, to name but a few.  If that isn’t inspiring then we don’t know what is.  And even if you’re not inspired, you have to take your hat off to the guy for trying to wangle his way in to party with Hugh Hefner.