First week of Michaelmas stands out as an eventful seven days for all Oxford students. The essays haven’t started and Filth is still cool because you have nothing to compare it to. It’s a week of meeting new people, making the friends who see you through your degree and, for many, tolerating the inevitable references about where you come from. For me, hailing from the coastal town of Llanelli in South Wales, this meant slowing down my speech, asking the occasional individual not to call me Glyn, and tolerantly explaining why I wasn’t at Jesus. Such comments have never escalated into what anyone could call prejudice, but there have certainly been moments where being away from a country that is essentially not particularly distant have been difficult. So can the same be said for other non-English Brits? What difficulties face Scottish and Irish students, as well as Welsh ones other than myself, on arriving in Oxford, a quintessentially English town full of English people?

The first few days at Oxford, as well as bringing light-hearted stereotyping, also means signing up for more clubs than you have time to attend at the Fresher’s Fair. The first stall I came across as I walked into the exam school that day was the Arabic society, and I was asked if I wanted to be a member. Apparently, it didn’t matter that I had no connection whatsoever to this group, so I quickly put my e-mail address on the contact sheet and looked around for the next potential association. Something caught my eye; the Welsh society, a club which I surely had every right to be a member of. I practically ran across the crowded room, pen ready, and began to write my name. And yet, I was stopped by a questioning glance from the girl who mans the stall. “Don’t worry” I say, “I’m Welsh”.
But my hopes are dashed. I may be Welsh, but that doesn’t mean I’m wanted. My inability to speak the tongue of my native land means that, to the society, I am unnecessary, and unless I have lessons, I will forever remain in purgatory, linked with Wales through my heritage, but to England through my language.
So why such a rule? Surely the Welsh society, full name Cymdeithas Dafydd ap Gwilym, has an obligation to cater for all countrymen. I ask the current president, Delyth Jewell, about the motives behind such a strict policy, and she is understandably quick to jump to its defence. ‘The point is that the very purpose of the society is for first language Welsh speakers to have the opportunity to use the language when they’re away from home.’ This seems fair enough, but would it not be possible to embrace non-Welsh speakers in different events? Apparently there was indeed a separate society which performed such a function, but it has, as Jewell says, ‘filtered out’. The shelf-life of what could be described as an overly nationalistic club seems short, but Cymdeithas Dafydd ap Gwilym is the second oldest society in the University (after the Union), so they must be doing something right. Evidently then the national identity which people like Jewell work hard to maintain is not always present in the Welsh students at Oxford. Is this simply apathy, or rather a conscious decision on their part to become absorbed into English life?
This isn’t always the case though, as I discover from Fiona Mulvenna, a second year from Northern Ireland, who feels that her sense of national identity has actually increased since being in England; ‘At home, national identity is a bit of a no-no as it’s so closely linked to sectarianism – ie you have to have a “British” identity or an “Irish” one. Now  I’m here however, I do feel quite proud of my Northern Irish-ness. It makes me cross when people think I’m Scottish, which is surprisingly frequently.’

Such a seemingly strange comparison brings me to the Scots, who congregate at the Scottish society. This lacks the restrictions of its Welsh counterpart, but it seems strange that it has only recently found its legs. I meet Mark Hamid, who has been active in the formation of this society, and ask him about what he considers the problems facing the Scottish students who decide to come to Oxford. He instantly agrees that the minor jibes experienced have never been anything more than playful banter, but nevertheless raises several occasions when where he comes from has caused difficulty. Certain issues seem to be caused by crossed wires and friction between contrasting authorities. For example, the fact that some individuals do not understand Scotland’s exam system can create difficulties. Finance is even more of a problem; Mark recalls the cost of his battells in Michaelmas as amounting to more than four thousand pounds, which, not surprisingly, ‘came as quite a shock’. This problem occurred after delays on the part of his L.E.A in paying his fees, a problem which was solved eventually, but was nevertheless an avoidable error.

Mark also comments on the difficulties posed by the sheer distance students from Scotland, Wales and Ireland (and to many extents parts of England itself) must travel to get to Oxford. Journeys are of course kept to a minimum, as one only needs to make their way here three times a year, but when you’re getting a train to Edinburgh with a few cases and a couple of boxes, it seems a whole lot harder. Colleges hardly make this easier. Whilst a French student from Calais (277 miles away) is entitled to vacation storage to enable an easier journey, Mark, whose home lies 359 miles away, has no such benefits. I am reminded of my return to Oxford in Hilary to find the contents of a box I left in storage (being unable to carry it with everything else) had been donated to a nearby charity shop who, as I discovered after much investigation, had deemed my photographs and general items unsuitable for sale and promptly put them out for the rubbish trucks. I ask Fiona if this has ever been an issue for her; ‘I always spend Saturday of 8th looking wistfully at people from Reading filling up their parents’ cars with stuff’, she says. ‘Meanwhile I totter off to the bus station with an enormous suitcase and several other bags. It doesn’t help that I have far too many shoes.’ The Scottish society hopes to be able to find a way of helping students with this problem in the future, but it seems slightly unfair that colleges themselves are not already providing assistance. In Ms. Mulvenna’s view though, there is little they can do, ‘even if college let me leave everything it wouldn’t make that much difference as I’d still have to take home more than I can carry’. Presumably, she means her shoes.

The Scottish society have a lot of thoughts on how they can be of assistance to the many students who choose to come to Oxford. Mark comments on his intention to improve access, hoping that the association will soon be in a position to help future Scots make the decision to apply. The society though, as Mark is quick to point out, is in no way overtly nationalistic in a political manner, saying ‘I should hope that the society never opts to take a particular stance’. Mix these serious aspects of the society with events celebrating St. Andrew’s Day, Burns’ Night etc. and surely you have a winner. After all, the Scottish dancing society (which amusingly precedes this new one) have expressed support for future functions. Mark seems eager to encourage any celebration of Scottish identity, even if, as he tells me, such a club is made up mostly of the English.

There can be little doubt then that coming to Oxford from Wales, Scotland or Ireland is going to raise difficulties. There are inevitably going to be less of us, but there are still plenty of countrymen about if you just look and, as Fiona tells me, ‘you usually know them or their sister or their best friend or their auntie’s dog’. Whether you are simply derided light-heartedly by new friends, or experience hardships involving finance or distance, there is going to be minor inconvenience. However, such issues can in no way be found only in Oxford; in fact, the University seems to be more accepting of the influx of non-English students than certain Welsh institutions are when welcoming individuals from just across the Severn Bridge. And, indeed, the accents and traits which may bring comical comments are found in equal measure in students from places such as Liverpool or Yorkshire. In my experience, there does not seem to be any difference between a Geordie and a Welsh boy in terms of the level of such comments. Overall then, we non-English Brits have got a lot to be thankful for, even if, every now and again, we get asked to speak just that little slower.

 Ben Lafferty

 This new play by David Cochrane is an attempt to take us into the dissociative psychosis that seized the Nazi cabinet in the final convulsions of the Third Reich. Set in the clammy claustrophobia of Hitler's bunker, Cochrane's aim is to illustrate the seeping paranoia of Hitler's inner circle and to remake figures who have become synonyms for abhorrence into comprehensible humans.

Cochrane's writing is at its best when knuckling down to these issues, as his repeated stabs at black comedy follow a formula that turns stale midway through the first implementation. A pair of doctors embark upon a vaudeville exchange of increasing pomposity before, in a manner sure to shock any audience, one calls the other a 'cunt'. The device is repeated later with 'fucking idiot' and 'bitch', with similarly side-splitting consequences. When not indulging in such ornamentation, however, he poses some excellent, not to mention disturbing, questions. Beyond what point does depravity become irredeemable? Where does moral relativism come to an end?

The character that best embodies these intractables is Albert Speer. Cochrane's Speer is a decent man brought low by events. Rhys Jones' portrayal will be familiar to all who've seen his previous roles. He is the world-weary Everyman striving for dignity in, you guessed it, a world gone mad. Jones is characteristically solid, but his portrayal exacerbates the piece's patchy approach to naturalism. Alongside the fixedly deranged grin of Sheridan Edward's Goebbels (think Chris Barrie, think 'The Brittas Empire'), Speer remains a man of identity. One does not suppose that Cochrane feels compassion for Speer, he is not made a hero. When Cochrane protests he's not writing a 'historical' play, the characterisation of his Speer is troubling. His portrayal is not a-historical but anti-historical; not alluded to for instance (at least at press-preview) is Speer's complicity in the employment of slave labour. Should we truly be feeling empathy, even admiration, for a Nazi leader on the grounds that he was somewhat less evil than those around him?

I've pored over the Thesaurus for whole minutes, but there really is no elegant way to say this: Tom Garner is just awful, portraying Heinrich Himmler so maladroitly as to stagger description. Unfortunately, as the drama of the piece rests on his ability to wrestle with the implications of his succeeding Hitler, climactic momentum conspicuously fails to build. Kit Dorey features as his aide, Walter Schellenberg, who naturally benefits from the direct comparison. It falls on Dorey to serve as playwright's mouthpiece, acting as moral commentator, but the result is hampered by having the script's clumsiest lines.

This is my first encounter with Cochrane's work, and I rather hope it shan't be the last. As a writer he has conviction and the willingness to take chances, as well as an ambitious approach to monolithic subject matter. Sadly, that ambition betrays him here. Even for a author of maturity, re-imagining a situation so central the popular historical imagination is an awesome task. Cochrane's style possesses too much studied mannerism, too great an eagerness to flash its literary credentials, to immerse us in the Führerbunker, though once he sheds such tics his qualities make him a writer of promise.

16-20th October

Joe MacDonald talks to the British Ambassador to Afghanistan about his career as an envoy Six years after the US and Britain began the aerial bombing campaign against the Taliban, Afghanistan remains unstable, violent, and desperately poor. Its people have a life expectancy of 46 and its basket case economy depends on the heroin trade, with over half of its GDP coming from drugs. The government of President Hamid Karzai, who won presidential elections three years ago, has little control beyond the capital Kabul. In the badlands bordering Pakistan, the resurgent Taliban are establishing control and launching attacks on Nato forces – 82 British soldiers have died since operations began in 2001, all but four of them within the last two years.
So all things considered, British Ambassador to Afghanistan would seem to be a job demanding in equal parts optimism and realism. Sir Sherard Cowper-Coles, speaking to Cherwell soon after his arrival in Kabul on the 15th of May, does not mince his words: “The lack of development is really quite shocking. It’s one of the poorest countries in the world – we need to do all we can to help Afghanistan.”
His posting comes as part of the upgrade of the British diplomatic effort: soon the embassy will be one of the largest in the world. Day to day, the job of staff is to understand Afghanistan and to integrate British government efforts. Also on the in-tray are daily engagements with the Afghan government and coordination with the rest of the international community, be it foreign embassies, the UN, NATO, or the EU.
With security the foremost concern in Afghanistan, working closely with the military is also a big part of Sir Sherard’s role (“it brings out the sad tank-spotter in me”, he jokes on his blog). Security is just one part of the state-building effort. “The British military understand better than anyone what we call the comprehensive approach to building stability,” he says. Military force can only be one element in “a much wider approach” to economic development and establishing the rule of law.
Yet reconstruction efforts remain seriously hampered by the government’s lack of authority and the widespread violence ensuing. Sir Sherard insists that the insurgency is being pushed back, but points to the complexity of the situation. Afghanistan’s recent history makes bleak reading. After three decades of war and suffering under the communists, the warlords and the Taliban, the country was hardly ripe for democratisation. It was only with the rise to prominence of the hardline Islamist movement that any stability was achieved in the country.
Few other nations recognised the Taliban regime as the legitimate rulers of Afghanistan, oppressive policies ensuring their pariah status. Minority ethnic groups such as the Hazara were persecuted and massacred. Islamic punishments such as stoning and amputation were introduced and religious minorities were forced to wear identification tags. Women were banned from work and education – one edict demanded that windows in Kabul be blacked out so that housebound women would not be visible to passers by. Even shaving was banned.

This legacy explains why state-building and democratisation are such huge challenges. “As a diplomat, it’s essential to learn the language and engage in the culture. My great regret in coming here is that although I’ve been studying Pushtun in London I haven’t had the time to master it.” The lessons will continue in Afghanistan, he says, although since his new teacher speaks no English he will be learning Pushtun through the medium of French.

A fluent Arabic speaker, Sir Sherard has specialised in the Middle East for much of his diplomatic career. After a First in Greats at Hertford in the mid-70s, he took the Foreign Office entrance exam and to his “amazement” was offered a job. His first year saw him based in London as desk officer for Ireland. Coincidentally a friend from Balliol had just entered the much smaller Irish diplomatic service – his first position was desk officer for Africa and Asia.

This was followed by language training in Lebanon, although he had to finish his studies in London: along with other British nationals he was evacuated as the tail-end of the civil war saw Syrian forces firing Katoosha rockets over the Foreign Office school where he studied. He was one of the last graduates of the famous Middle East Centre for Arab Studies, which Egypt’s President Nasser called the “British spy school”.
Later he became private secretary to the late Robin Cook. The notoriously prickly foreign secretary hated to be bothered by trivia before important meetings, Sir Sherard recalls. At one European conference news of Cherie Blair’s pregnancy had just come through, but he decided it would be best not to mention it in his morning briefing to a grumpy-looking Cook. Unfortunately, as soon as Cook entered the conference chamber, Irish Taoiseach Bertie Ahern asked him to give the prime minister his congratulations on the “wonderful news”. A baffled Cook assumed that Ahern must have been talking about some sudden breakthrough in the Northern Ireland peace process. Unimpressed by Ahern’s frivolous tone, he replied, “I will pass on your congratulations, but you do realise this has taken Tony three years of hard work.”
One of the privileges to come with being the minister’s private secretary was being able to indicate, within reason, what job he wanted next. Having learnt Arabic and served in Cairo, Sir Sherard wanted to see the other side of the Middle East conflict. After immersion training in Hebrew, which he picked up by living with an Israeli family in Hendon, he became Britain’s ambassador to Israel, at the centre of diplomatic efforts to resolve the Israel-Palestine conflict.
“Neither side is gaining from the situation. Israel’s true friends should help bring about a settlement, which means engagement with both sides.” The answer – a two state solution – has been known since 1937, Sir Sherard says. First the Arabs rejected it, and now in recent years Israeli worries mean that it has been delayed again. His time as ambassador taught him much about the “sense of insecurity” amongst Israelis. “The general worry that Israel will be pushed back into the sea – whether or not one thinks this is justified, considering Israel’s military power and its support from America – is a reality of Israeli politics that needs to be recognised.”
Relations between Arabs and Jews have not always been so bleak. “Before the creation of Israel there were huge Jewish communities across the Middle East in Baghdad, Cairo, Beirut, and elsewhere. A sad consequence is that these communities have disappeared. The connection between the Jewish people and the wider Middle East has been lost.”
His stint in Israel was followed in 2003 by a posting as ambassador to Saudi Arabia. Moving an ambassador from Tel Aviv to Riyadh proved a controversial decision. “It was never done before, and may never be done again,” he explains, admitting that he was initially treated with “some suspicion” in the Saudi capital. There were also awkward moments where, due to the similarity of Hebrew and Arabic, he accidentally used Hebrew words instead of Arabic ones. However, he soon struck up a close relationship with his Saudi colleagues, who affectionately nicknamed him ‘Abu Henry’ after his eldest son.
Because of the big British commercial and security interest in Saudi Arabia, the embassy has to deal with “a huge range of activity” – much of it based on meeting the needs of British expats. Fear of al-Qaida led to the number of British nationals in the country falling from 30,000 to 20,000 during one year of Sir Sherard’s tenure. Yet he remains cautiously upbeat about its future: “A key point to remember is that it’s the only country in the Arab world that was never properly colonised, which is a source of pride, but also a burden in the sense that the interior population is very religious, devout, and conservative. The reality for a ruler who wants to bring reform, like King Abdullah, is that he must take the population with him. He can’t just impose his will without risking serious disorder.”
For the scores of Oxford students mulling a career in foreign affairs, he advises that the most important qualities are adaptability and an open mind, “coupled with a strong sense of judgement… and a sense of humour”. He insists that the Foreign Office is not the preserve of white males with double firsts from Oxbridge, pointing out that almost half of the staff in the Saudi Arabia embassy are female. “You have to be prepared for tough conditions. Our job is to understand what makes foreign countries tick. It’s not just understanding for its own sake. The role of the diplomat is more important than ever. Countries have more to do with each other than ever before, and a country like Britain – which engages in the world – needs to understand to influence in Britain’s interest and the international interest.” Again, optimism and realism.

After a day of torrential downpours it was, somewhat miraculously, glorious sunshine that greeted Lincoln and Worcester for this opening premier clash. Unfortunately for Lincoln however, only one team could do the conditions justice.

Even before kick-off Worcester were clearly the more professional outfit with sharp, snappy passing and a strong emphasise on communication. Lincoln meanwhile, had a more relaxed approach and it was no surprise that Worcester dominated the play right from the off.

After only 30 seconds a smart flick from Worcester forward Rich Adams forced Lincoln to concede a corner. A beautiful ball was swung in deep to the far post where Charles Sheldon towered above the Lincoln defence to nod home Worcester’s first.

Worcester forced a third corner on 5 minutes and it was another back post finish, this time from Matt Sinett and with his right foot, that secured Worcester’s second. Worcester continued to have the better of it for the rest of the half, the physicality of midfielder Tim Grady winning the aerial battle while Lucian Weston neatly picked up the pieces. Pacy striker Adams linked up well with fellow forward Desai, but for all their pressure Worcester could not find a third before half time, despite hitting the woodwork on no fewer than three occasions.

Lincoln were lucky to go in only two behind, their best opportunities coming through striker Nick Long who was a constant menace to the Worcester defence.

In the opening period of the second half Lincoln did begin to find their feet, midfielder Jeff French matching the physical presence of Grady and forward Martin Toolberry finding his passing range. This upturn in fortune did not last long though and the comeback goal eluded them.

Worcester reasserted their authority with a sublime through ball from Grady, which was coolly tucked away by Adams.

Lincoln then proceeded to practice their one-twos with the Worcester woodwork. An audacious overhead attempt by Long fell to winger Ploughman, whose shot cannoned off the crossbar only for the now upstanding Long to hit the post. Worcester broke and punished these missed opportunities with Desai drilling a shot straight into the top corner from a tight angle.

Lincoln did ruin the complete performance by Worcester by scoring a consolation on 75 minutes, John Webb tapping in after a fumble by the Worcester keeper. But Worcester had the last word when Weston fired in a cracker from the edge of the area and sealed the 5-1 victory.

Worcester’s captain Danny Plaxton was thrilled with the result, “This is certainly the best football we’ve played for a while and it was great to see the team come together despite several new faces. I can see no reason why we can’t win a third successive league title.”

Confident words from the Worcester captain and a performance to match, suggest Worcester are the side to beat in this year’s premier.

By Matthew Hackett
Oxford is to launch the biggest fundraising campaign in its history with a predicted target of £1bn, Vice Chancellor John Hood told dons last week.
Funds will be used to improve teaching provision across the University by providing resources for academic positions, centres, scholarships and bursaries.
In his annual Oration Speech at Convocation House, Vice Chancellor John Hood said that in the past the University’s potential had been “too often frustrated” because of “inadequate funding”.
In a speech designed to appease rebellious dons, Hood emphasised the importance of Oxford as a university, rather than a business. “We cannot allow funding to dictate the terms of what we do, or how we do it,” he said. “An academic agenda shaped by dollar, pound or euro signs would be an appalling betrayal of all we hold so precious.
“It will be firmly and securely founded on the academic properties of the collegiate University: its history, its values and its academic priorities as determined by its members and their various constituencies,” he added.
With the University now under government pressure to widen access to state school applicants, a large proportion of the money is to help assist prospective students from non-wealthy backgrounds.
A report by the Sutton Trust charity, published in September, found that a third of places to Oxford and Cambridge are dominated by 100 elite schools.
“This is a campaign of campaigns that will work as an umbrella for individual fundraising efforts,” said one college’s development officer. “This is an attempt to show that all the colleges are one big, happy family, although there are no set fundraising targets at this point.”
She added that it was significantly more likely that donations would come from select wealthy individuals rather than multiple smaller bequests.
The campaign will be officially launched in May 2008 by Lord Patten, the University Chancellor, and aims to generate more than the £225m raised for the ‘Campaign for Oxford’ in the late 1980s.
Individual campaigns from wealthier colleges such as Christ Church, Magdalen and Merton could raise over £2bn, although there will no redistribution of funds to poorer colleges.
OUSU President Martin McCluskey said that he welcomes “any campaign that will directly benefit our members” but also spoke of the need to monitor the involvement of businesses in higher education.
“This is one area where there is a need for real debate,” he said. “We think it’s important to discuss how much business investment there will be. Oxford is now taking significant amounts of money from corporations that sponsor chairs and professorships.”
In 2005, Cambridge University launched its own fundraising campaign, also designed to raise £1bn. Cambridge announced this week that they are already over half way to reaching this total. “This is crucial to Cambridge’s future as one of the world’s greatest centres of education,” a spokesman said. “We’re well on the way to safeguarding its future.”
The National Association of College and University and Business Officers (NACUBO), a group representing leading US universities, estimated that Cambridge would now rank third or fourth in terms of wealth when listed alongside the eight Ivy League universities.
University College London also launched an appeal in 2004, with a total target of £300m, claiming that it was “important to compete with top universities in the US”.
Students at top American universities like Harvard and Yale can expect to pay around £22,400 in tuition fees and living costs. Donations from rich ex-students help to provide grants and scholarships for students from poorer backgrounds.
Oxford has previously accepted donations from controversial benefactors, including in May 2007 when the University accepted £2.5m from Hong Kong gambling mogul Stanley Ho, found by a 1992 US Senate Committee to have connections to organised crime.
In February, Tony Blair announced plans to boost the funding of higher education. He pledged that the government would give £1 for every £2 that universities raise from alumni and philanthropists.

Max Seddon 

The problem with experimental theatre is that it’s, well, experimental. You add and take away at random, and you see how it works out. And unfortunately, groundbreaking genius is not always the result. Also, the total lack of characters in Martin Crimp’s play, even at the hands of one of Oxford’s best character actresses, ultimately does Alice Lacey’s production more harm than good here. All we get are some pretty lights and four voices, creating an argumentative, shifting narrative by making grandiloquent pronouncements about the mundane and tugging the "story" back and forth in and out of each others’ control.

Of these four, two are done with aplomb by Charlotte Bayley and Nadira Wallace, members of the burgeoning Oxford ginger actress mafia. Bayley is, for my money, the best of these and one of the best in the university. She is excellent here, sauntering wickedly through the first piece as a woman in a loveless marriage, and an almost teacher-pupil dynamic develops between between her and the other two voices. In a play so static in which the performers are limited to a bare minimum of expression, her turn-of-face, as it were, is exemplary.

Would that the same could be said for Jonny Totman. He pops up in every other play I see these days with varying results, but here I was positively decided. Every word comes out of his mouth in the same shouty, declamatory tone accompanied by a caveman-discovering-fire gaze. Bayley displays better range in seconds than he does through most of the play.

Yet I can’t hold him solely responsible here; Alice Lacey’s casting must take some blame. Bayley seems wasted sitting onstage for long periods doing nothing. Ultimately the biggest problem is Crimp. The play’s forays into Sarah Kane territory are horribly cringe. Gratuitous swearing and kicking chairs over was great fun when I was 9 but having reached the heights of this lofty educational establishment I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect something more profound in our petulant outbursts.

More importantly, even the best moments never create much tension. Neither the tales of bourgeois ennui nor wafts of reference to the Dunblane massacre ever really grabbed me, whichever voice was talking about them. The mood is limp and linear throughout, a tone run home by the extremely annoying Radio Clash murder ballad at the end of the second piece. Minimalism of form is no excuse for a sacrifice of feeling. Ultimately both production and play are more pretentious than portentous and I couldn’t help thinking a bit more meat and potatoes would have been nice. Fewer Emergencies is worth a try, not least on Bayley’s strengths, but it’s really no substitute for characters, plot, and all that jazz. But hey, call me old-fashioned.Dir. Alice Lacey

16-20th October

The recent annual inundation of fresh-faced new students has led to the inevitable freshers’ week fatigue, as party follows party and every drink has a one penny piece settled threateningly on the glass’s bottom. Freshers’ week brought the obligatory nightly excursion out clubbing, with a house party or two thrown in for good measure. We all did it once, but there’s something truly obnoxious about these naïve and ever so over-excited people who think that everything is just the most exciting thing in the world.
I spent several evenings last week stepping over such newcomers as they cowered in the street, holding back their hair and shivering in their mini-skirts. Admittedly, one year ago this was me carrying my paralytic new friends back to college, but now that the shoe is on the other foot it’s all a little unnerving. Were we ever this young? Were we ever that excited about a house party in Cowley? Sadly the answer is yes. So here’s to the freshers who truly don’t know what they’ve let themselves in for. Enjoy it while it lasts, before you have your first essay crisis and slip secretly into your overdraft. Before you know it there’ll be a new crowd emerging from the woodwork, and you’ll begin to wonder when you got so old.
Of course, while throngs of unknowing newcomers went off into the night for a casual pull in the shadowy corners of the Bridge, some of us were already in the library, doing the summer reading that we never quite got round to doing and writing the essays that were due two days before. So which was worse? First years over-doing their first week of unadulterated, independent university life, or those who should know better squeezing too much work into too little time?  Freshers’ week was our last chance to have seven days of packing in as many random celebrations into such little time for at least a term, so hopefully everyone managed to tear themselves away from their studies for at least one night. If you missed it though, try to let your inner fresher out once in a while, even for one night of carefree clubbing. Perhaps I’ll see you in the gutter.

The Oxford University men’s badminton team got off to strong start in the league against old rivals Cambridge. The rivalry between the varsity universities can often be quite heated but the badminton fixture is notable as much for the mutual respect that each side gives to one another as the fierce competitiveness it brings out in the players.

Oxford’s new captain Ryan Manual had put together a strong team which made use of some handy new recruits. Ryan set off strongly by beating his Cambridge counterpart 21-12 and 21-11. In the second singles, Melvin Chen got off to flying start against Cambridge star-man Lars Boyde, racing to a 15-7 lead. Unfortunately, the class of his opponent meant that Melvin went down to 23-21, 21-18 loss.

In the doubles Oxford fielded two freshers and at this stage of the season it was always going to be an experiment. Kelvin Kwok partnered Simon Maine and, after a less than impressive start, began to show some class. Kwok lived up to his new nickname ‘Kid Dynamite’ and played some sublime shots, eventually helping the Oxford pair to win 18-21, 21-13, 21-15. In the other doubles, veteran Gareth Alexander teamed up with David Williams. Despite looking the better pair at times, Gareth and David eventually succumbed and lost 21-12, 21-13.

With honours even Oxford very much fancied themselves to pull through with a slim victory. Unfortunately, disaster struck as Oxford’s captain fell awkwardly whilst playing Lars Boyde and had to retire early. Simon Maine and Kwok began to look much more coherent as a partnership and managed to beat the much more fancied Cambridge pairing. Gareth and David made their match look harder than it needed to be but eventually won. Oxford were denied an overall victory when Melvin Chen failed to beat his opponent despite working hard.

The final score at four games apiece fails to do justice to the quality of the Blues play in this match and prospects for this year’s varsity and league competition look bright.

There seem to be two specific ways to be the tute partner from hell. Simply put, you can be very, very good or very, very bad, and I would imagine most people have had their fair share of both.
Take the good kind to start with. This is the sort of person who gets out next week’s books this week, frets if they haven’t read every single thing on the reading list, including supplementary material, the stuff tutors have a tendency to label as “for background”. What’s more, they’ve usually done next week’s reading this week, and if there is, as there so often is, only one copy of a given book floating around Oxford, they’ll have it. And they’re not letting it go, so don’t even think about it. Go and hide in a corner of Blackwell’s like the other plebs.
So, after a week of aggravation, you present yourself at your tutorial having quite possibly had no sleep for two days, with your hastily-researched handful of paper that barely qualifies as an essay, but is nevertheless, you are pleased to note, in continuous prose and maybe even almost, if you squint, two thousand words long. You run in all of a tizzy, sit down, run a hand through your hair, blink hard a couple of times and try to look intelligent. So far, so good.
Now here comes your tute partner. Bright, breezy, immaculately attired, folder held carefully in perfectly manicured hands, they sit and read out their perfect, publishable essay, addressing every relevant point and argument in liquid-smooth lexis. And when they’ve finished, they sit back, smile beatifically and say, “Oh, I’m sorry it’s not quite up to scratch, I had a lot on this week.”
The tutor effuses. You lean back in the squashy armchair, have a serious think about your intellectual credentials and hope for the cushions to swallow you whole.
Whether or not this is preferable to the other sort of hellish tute partner is a matter up for debate. This is the type who rings up six hours before the tute, whether or not it’s four am, to demand books, because “I just haven’t had time.” They get extra points for thinking this explanation is somehow hilarious, or for smelling – yes, even down the phone – noticeably of alcohol. Whereas you have, at least, tried to make a start more than a day before the deadline, and so arrive in the tutorial equipped with some sketchy things to say and a contingency bullshit plan if the tutor is less than impressed, your partner flumps into a chair, twenty minutes later, and proceeds to sleep for the next three quarters of an hour. You’re left to hold up the discussion by yourself, subtly nudging your partner with your foot to no avail; he or she snores happily on while you rapidly run out of things to say. For that truly hellish touch, though, it’s best if your partner then wakes up all at once five minutes before the end, delivers a grin all round, and says brightly, “That was good, wasn’t it?” before disappearing in the direction of the pub.
This isn’t, of course, an exhaustive assessment. Honourable mentions remain for several other breeds. Take the tute partner who writes essays that are variations on good, bad, or mediocre, but never less than four thousand words long, so by the time they’ve finished reading you’ve long since forgotten the topic, anything you were going to say about it and indeed, most of the twenty-first century.
Then there’s the ones who, for whatever reason, don’t believe in checking their email, or worse, in talking at all. On the other side of that coin, there’s the tute partner who’s so breathlessly enthusiastic, and so very keen to talk about everything that they’ve ever read, that you don’t get a word in edgeways, and are reduced to hoping they’ll eventually stop through lack of oxygen and you can say what you wanted to say while they’re gasping like a codfish on the floor. Anecdotally, this problem seems to arise for women in male-dominated subjects
In conclusion, there are as many levels of hell as would keep Dante happy, and each has its own exquisite tortures. Which is not to say this is not all very melodramatic and Oxford is not stuffed full of nice, considerate, intellectually sane people who are a pleasure to be in tutorials with. If you have such a partner, go and buy them a drink. And if not, well. Get one for yourself. You deserve it.