She came to Regents forty six years ago and quickly became a fixture of college life. During that time, she won many victories for Regents in the annual Corpus Tortoise Fair and other intercollegiate races from the 1970s-90s. These competitions saw her eat her way through a circle of lettuce faster than her rivals many times. These exploits are recorded in a special extant of the college archive, called the “Emmanuelle Cup”.
Her impact has extended beyond these glory years. She was appointed an honorary member of the JCR and a ‘Tortoise Keeper’ was elected annually to attend to her. Students threw her an ‘eleventy-first’ birthday party in 2014, although it is estimated that she is about twenty-five years younger. Raising 700£ for charity, this event was not only a celebration of a long life, but also of the unique role she had and the affection she inspired. Emmanuelle ‘belonged to everyone in the College, and in turn she created a sense of belonging’, wrote the college, describing her important role in the community. Current students say that the college is genuinely saddened by this loss, Emmanuelle was not merely a college pet, but a beloved member of Regents’ Park, immortalized in the college’s new stained glass windows and lovingly cared for by many students.
Emmanuelle’s birthday charity celebrations continued up until 2020, when she temporarily left her home due to the COVID-19 pandemic. She returned with vigour in 2022, taking part in the Corpus Tortoise Fair, but falling short to Tortilla of Lincoln. Three other real tortoises took part in the race, as well as four human tortoises.
The college cites multiple conditions related to old age as her cause of death and estimate that she was between eighty and one hundred years old. Image Credit: [Regents Park JCR]/via [https://www.rpc.ox.ac.uk/]
Scotland is an unknown for most of the English population. Yes, the population is very aware of the dominance of the SNP in its politics and we include it on all our national maps. But few venture onto its soil. For my solo trip to Oban, a port town in the Scottish Highlands, I took a train from Euston into the great unknown. It shot across the West Coast Mainline and was relentless in its pursuit of the Scottish border. Each stop along its route changed the accent of the packed train carriage progressively northern, albeit with a heavy and distinct Scottish presence. This streamlined train was a bit different to the trundling Metropolitan line I was used to back home, and its unsettling tilting thrust into sight the visible difference between the north and the bubble of Oxford and the home county that I inhabit. New perspectives were what I hoped this trip would give me, and I was getting them before I had even crossed the border. Perhaps this is a reflection on the suburban populace of the South and the unintentional but very present ignorance of the divides that persist in the country we live in. Even the £120 ticket price is evident of that.
After the four hours it took to reach Glasgow Central, I emerged into a city with stylistic buildings that felt similar to Oxford, yet far busier and a lot colder. Leaving the heatwave temperatures of 25C to be confronted with temperatures nearly at single figures was a bit of a shock – especially as I had just returned from the Canaries twelve hours before. And while the street did have a sense of familiarity, I was very aware I was in a different country. Upon entering Queen Street Station the Scottish voice on the tannoy announcement took me by surprise – why should it though? I guess this is a concrete example of my abject expectancy of Southern locale onto the rest of the UK. Even the rail operator – nationalised ScotRail – marked a distinct difference. My train from Glasgow to Oban was a near four-hour trundling affair with spectacular views of the Clyde and plentiful lochs and glaciated valleys as we weaved our way through the single line – which at some points was not for the faint hearted. As the train passed a glassy loch with impressive Georgian mansions, I remarked how it now made sense why the Royals spend so much time at their retreats here – It was lovely. I almost felt foolish for snapping away on my phone when I passed through the Lake District earlier – even under the gloomy light of early dusk it paled in comparison. Dusk was a good few hours later than down South which made the final stages of my journey bearable. After nearly 12 hours since I shut my front door and haphazardly marched to the station under the weight of my backpack – my two-week journey had begun.
I was staying in the centre of Oban at Backpackers Plus – a hostel in a converted church that was started by my great uncle. As I traversed the seafront from the station to the other side of the bay, I was nervous for what lay ahead. I had rarely been further north than Norfolk and only ever as far as Yorkshire. The hostel was homely, and a living area dotted with sofas and lamps occupied the spacious top floor with church eves creating a triangular hub – and glimpses of the yachts moored in the bay could be caught through the skylights. After unpacking into the dorm I was staying in, I strayed out along the promenade stopping to remark at the young bagpipers playing to a sizeable crowd. This was Scotland. The scenery was already spectacular with a broad expanse of bay surrounded by rolling hills. It was only in heading to Tesco where a sense of normalcy remained.
Oban is a small town of 9 thousand that more than doubles during the summer to over 20 thousand. Yet almost immediately I was surprised by how quiet my hostel, and the town in general seemed. Oban is a hub of the government subsidised Cal Mac ferries who service the Outer Hebrides, and inner Isles in this part of Western Scotland, it is therefore a transitory place, and one where dynamism is a key. It is a regional hub but as I settled into hostel life and helped with the running of it, it was clear that two big factors had made an impact on life.
For context this hostel provides free accommodation to volunteers in exchange for a few hours work each day – and before Brexit there were normally a dozen young volunteers who created a sense of community in and amongst the transitory. Since 2019 – the last pre-COVID and pre-Brexit year – volunteer numbers have dropped drastically, mainly due to EU citizens now needing a visa to volunteer here. This has been fully felt across this part of Scotland, which relied heavily on EU tourists and workers to sustain the industry here. There are many unfilled vacancies and the situation for the entire town is uncertain. Even I was one of only three volunteers at the hostel, and the scribbled messages left by previous visitors in the corridors over the past decade suggested the current hostel was only a shell of its past, and something had been lost. Regardless of the cause, it made my plans undergo a radical change. I was expecting to enter full social mode and go with the flow of the rest of the group. What I had to do now, and what I was unprepared for, was to explore this area solo. It was a fact, not a choice; and I seized it with determination.
The first day was spent exploring my immediate surroundings through the pouring rain which turned to hot sun in a matter of minutes and made for a long regret of my outfit choice for the remainder of the day. I walked to Garavan Sands, a large expanse of beach with stunning views, and then hiked over some cliffs along the coastal path to the settlement of Dunstable. It is the site to the Scottish Association for Marine Science and new European Marine Science Park – perhaps planned in a time when European collaboration seemed forthcoming. It was an odd sight, rows of new houses in an estate in the cradle of the peninsular between slopes of grassy expanse. Whether it is still being developed, or if European science has upped and left, the emptiness of the site was eerie and almost movie-like.
Thankfully it was a brief walk through the estate and science buildings to reach something completely different: Dunstaffnage Castle, one of Scotland’s oldest stone castles. While it was not impressive in its physical presence – castles are more plentiful than coffee shops in this part of the country – its prominence on a protruding jagged arrow of rock was. Walking through the ancient woodland that surrounded it, I came across the ruined Chapel – dating back to an equally impressive 13th Century. The small bays of this peninsular seemed almost from an era where Celtic clans battled for control of the land. It seems that history is everywhere in Scotland and history is living and breathing. Oban has its own castle, Dunolie, the historic home of Clan McDougal. And the human presence of 8,000 years is present in the caves that lie in the cliffs set back from the sea and from an era of higher sea levels and differing climate.
Following my first hike I decided to tackle the Isle of Kerrera – a sparsely populated and low-lying island that spreads into the bay of Oban. The ferry was a short five-minute trip, and I walked solo along the path to a tearoom and castle. I was struck by the friendliness of everyone – who all greeted me in return as I passed them. Down South and especially in London this is an unfortunate rarity. The Gylen Castle occupied a dominating position and I was able to enter and explore the ruins where I met a couple who I walked with. The impenetrable fortress withstood months of siege until it ran out of water – of all things – and the irony is not lost even today. As we vied to make it back for the last ferry a family of Germans joined our party, and we made headway. Despite my feet protesting for the following evening, I thoroughly enjoyed my exploration. The dreamy living the islands enjoy is being changed by the construction of a new road that runs around the island and allows e-bikes to be rented. Still, Kerera has embraced progress – an obelisk dominates its tip memorialising the man who brought steam ferries to the area and revolutionised Island life forever.
As I explored Oban more, I came across McCraig’s Tower, a building modelled on the colosseum and built as a memorial to the namesake family. Never finished, it became a public park and now offers spectacular views over the bay of Oban. The weather persisted to be dull, and I realised how depressing even just the weather was. Oban was built in a grand style that reflected its holiday resort heritage in the railway age. The buildings emit an air of grandeur and make the town seem important to the economy and people of the region. They’re typical for the country and similar styles can be found all over.
That night I went to a live music event at a local pub, which finally felt like I had entered the local life as opposed to the tourist one. For one the two young lads playing folk songs with an accordion was a marked difference to anything I had experienced in the UK, bar Burn’s Night which isn’t the best example to prove the point. Alcohol seemingly flowed freely the whole night and by midnight it was a very jovial affair with traditional dancing filling the room and singing echoing through the rafters. One tradition seemingly was to shout in a primitive roar in the faces of the musicians to show appreciation – it did shock me the first time. Everyone seemingly knew everyone and while I felt like an observer to the event, I didn’t mind it as it was an experience I felt privileged to be able to enjoy. The blatant alcohol abuse is emblematic of the epidemic sweeping the country, but the sheer joyous nature of the event was overwhelming. I laughed in disbelief as I walked home with my newly made friends huddled under an umbrella and shivering in two jumpers and a coat, while I knew that England was basking in a heatwave that was steadily turning into a drought. It seems that Scotland’s weather is becoming wetter and more intense and is a contrast to the warming elsewhere in the country.
I was thankful when a week had passed and my uncle arrived with his car – and brought some good weather with him. Public transport is temperamental at best and unusable for anything less than a daytrip, with only a morning and evening service on most routes. We drove to the historic Glen Coe, a deep glaciated valley with towering peaks, and stunning scenery that regularly graced the Harry Potter franchise. On route we stopped at the Castle Stalker, a must-see for Monty Python fans – though I was seemingly too young to understand – but it was an impressive sight nonetheless. Transferred between clans after a drunken bet went wrong in the 17th Century, the history is as fascinating as the view. Completely obscured by fog in the late morning, but basked in brilliant sunshine by the afternoon, even in my short trip I saw it in a variety of scenes. Adjacent to the causeway leading to the castle is an abandoned rail station, scrapped under the sixties reforms and highlighting the reliance on the car that prevails today. The road to Glen Coe is dotted with road signs that have Gaelic translation under every road – perhaps this is the best example of the difference between Scotland and England – it certainly is the most obvious. European number plates nearly outnumber UK ones in this area, and the tourism industry is visible with various nationalities flocking to witness the stunning scenery.
East Dale was a day trip my uncle took the other volunteers on. As we made our way along the funeral route Macbeth’s procession took to Iona history breathed deeply. We passed a pub named Tigh an Truish (House of Trousers) which lay across the Bridge Over the Atlantic (Clachan Bridge) on the Isle of Seil- a bit less impressive than the Golden Gate Bridge but still a notable attraction. The Inn is notable for the role it played during the British oppression of Scottish culture after the battle of Culloden in 1746, when wearing of the kilt was outlawed in Scotland. In defiance, the islanders wore the kilt when they were home but used the Inn to change into the hated trousers or trews when they went to the mainland. A stuffed scarecrow-like figure of a ‘redcoat’ hangs from the window. History is still very much remembered in this area even if England has long forgotten its actions here.
After a short drive across the Isle, East Dale emerged into view – a two minute boat ferry ride across to the only slipway. The island was a slate quarry and about a third of it is missing as it now consists of deep and in ordinarily rectangular quarry pools that have water so still it’s no surprise they are used for the World Skimming Championships. The community on the island lives without cars as it is so small – a barely hour walk let us circle the entire perimeter – and occupies the old quarry workers houses. It seems like a close-knit community, intertwined with some holiday lets, who weren’t very responsive to our welcoming smiles – but who could blame them for their frustration of eager tourists spying on their lives. This was the most beautiful island with panoramic views from its summit of various isles across the sea and on the most beautiful of days: it was breath-taking.
But Scotland never stops surprising, and the next day was a trip to the Isle of Mull. Despite the interrogation of the service in the Tory Press back in England after timetable mishaps the £7 return fare for an hour trip seemed pretty good to me. There are not many places you can buy breakfast in a ship canteen and watch the sea go by for that price. But that wasn’t the purpose of the trip. I was excited to visit somewhere that was on my bucket list. Tobermory. Or as it is better known: Balamory. While I was fast approaching my 20th Birthday, I was still excited to explore somewhere so present in my childhood. The coach ride captured more stunning scenery as we wove our way round to the other side of the island. The flags here were interesting – for every Scottish cross there was a Union Flag in the next garden to compete. We even passed a Confederate flag on one garage – much to my unsettled amazement – from which the two US tourists sitting next to us codified the shock.
However, Tobermory itself was stunning and similar to Oban in building style. While the only shops were all for tourists, spending the day there was a breeze. One notable outlier was a Nepalese community shop in a converted church that had funded the rebuilding of a community centre after the devastating Earthquake. Wandering inside through the air infused with incense, arrays of authentic items could be bought, and it was a fitting way to see how the repurposing of Churches is readily prevalent – Oban has a preschool in one now. The dominance of the church is shrinking in these areas – though with over 10 in Oban alone it is clean to see the imbalance between supply and demand. Back in Tobermory, it was a short walk along the coast to one of Stevenson’s lighthouses – supposedly the one that inspired his son to write his infamous novel. As we sat and had afternoon tea at a hotel overlooking the bay, I felt fulfilled. The one thing I was realising was that when the weather is good, there is nowhere prettier to be in the World. It is quite literally stunning. This was evident on the ferry back, where the sunset bathed the entire scene in an orange glow and was an atmosphere I wanted to bottle up and keep forever. With my uncle having lived in Oban for ten years, I was able to experience and connect with many locals and realise what a kind, caring community they truly are. A pro-independence ‘YES’ marquee and stand was fixed along the promenade with big smiles and photo opportunities – even in craft stores ‘YES’ badges were placed proudly on the counter. For these people Europe seems more important than any previously oppressive neighbour and the EU flag overlaid on the campaign posters shows these people are very aware they have every right to request another vote: the EU changed everything for them.
Before long, my Uncle left and it was only a few days before the weather turned bad again, but for once it was a welcome reprieve as even temperatures of low twenties were unbearable in the humid climate – I took to lying down in the shade with an audio book. And then my final days in Oban passed in a haze of coastal runs, conversations with passing travellers and peaceful reflection. I could never tire of watching the goings-on of the harbour and the various watercraft milling about; and even on dreary days a sunset still managed to punch through and glow vividly. Despite the eventful train journey back home on the eve of industrial action I left feeling thoroughly fulfilled. The Scots are a proud people, proud in ways that the English cannot even imagine. They have a strong sense of place, of history and of the legacy of an oppressive British government led from London. It is easy to understand why nationalism here persists. Upon discovering my own Scottish heritage and Clan Mackenzie roots – albeit distant – I too feel a great deal of pride in this country. England could learn a lot from our northern neighbour and could resolve a lot if it listened instead of ignored.
This is the very official and very empirical ranking of college sport as per the expertise and excellence of the deputy editor for the Cherwell Sports section. Now that I’ve established my credentials, it is time to get to the serious business of weeding out the good from the bad when it comes to sports in Oxford. My meticulous ranking scheme took under consideration many diverse factors that I cannot enclose, but trust me, there was a lot of thought put behind this list. So, without further ado, here is the only ranking that you’d ever need to the different sports offered at Oxford.
Aikido
My fleeting experience of this sport involved an hour-long session where I learned some valuable defense tactics. I can now avoid any and all blows to the head with a flick of the arm. Apart from this skill, I also took away some lovely vibes from the group so I cannot recommend this sport enough. There is still talk around town of my impeccable head-related defense tactics.
2. Ultimate Frisbee
Now do I even need to explain this? Show me one person who does not enjoy being outdoors, catching flying objects, and living out their golden retriever fantasies. Give me a frisbee and a sunny day and my serotonin levels are sorted for the entire year. However, beware: this sport is not for the faint hearted. Frisbee related injuries are more frequent than one might expect…
3. Table Tennis
Ever since watching ‘Forest Gump’ I’ve wanted to become a master at table tennis. Maybe I will fulfil this dream at Oxford.
4. Cheerleading
Dancing in pretty leotards and having the best gymnastic time sounds amazing. The pep and cheer required for those six am training meetings is truly admirable. But the crowning achievement of this sport is all the bow paraphernalia that comes along with it and that iconic rad cam pic.
5. Fencing
Not only have I watched ‘Bridgeton’ where Anthony violently expresses his emotions to his brothers through a sexy round of fencing, but I also truly admire the mesh helmet that comes with the all-white uniform. Need I say more?
6. Clay Pigeon Shooting
Now to truly understand the glory of this sport, you need to know that I am extremely afraid of all birds. With that said, I also hate animal cruelty. Now, clay pigeon shooting falls perfectly in the sweet spot between exerting revenge on pigeons that terrorise me on a regular basis, and protecting animal lives.
7. Real tennis
Who doesn’t like a really obscure sport that 90% of the population does not know exist? Don’t ask me what real tennis is, I cannot tell you. All I can say is that a sport that makes such a strong statement by establishing itself as the purest form of another very popular sport, can only mean power.
8. Squash
I spent two years in secondary school playing squash with my maths teacher (it was not weird, I promise). Now my take away is that I love wacking stuff against walls and I hate getting hit in the eye by said-wacked stuff. But this experience taught me that pain is part of life, and that I should really go out a bit more often rather than play a middle-age sport with my maths teacher.
9. Orienteering
According to the University page, this sport is ‘getting between a series of points marked on a map as quickly as you can, with only the aid of a compass and your own navigational skills’. Now if this description does not resonate with you on a deep level of selfhood, identity, and your place in the world, then I’ll be damned. I too am just a girl trying to navigate this crazy world with only a dream and a kick-ass hairdo to aid me.
10. Octopush
I have indeed saved the best for last. Have you never heard of Octopush? Then you my friend, haven’t lived. Once again, I will quote the University page because once again, this is a serious and legitimate ranking of Oxfordian sports. Octopush is ‘underwater hockey and is a supreme aerobic game’. It has everything: water-related fun, a lot of underwater pushing, and the ultimate dream of mankind to unveil the mysterious world of octopi.
Towards the end of my year abroad, I spent a month interning in and travelling around Tokyo. With the emergence of influential Japanese designers such as Issey Miyake and Yohji Yamamoto in the 1980s, Tokyo became an established fashion capital, home to top fashion schools and countless designer stores. Naturally, I was excited to see the streetwear outfits I was so used to scrolling past on Instagram for myself on the streets of districts like Ginza and Shinjuku.
Globalisation and the impact of social media has meant that (amongst younger generations in particular) people tend to dress in similar styles across the world. In Japan, influences from Korean fashion are apparent in men’s fashion, and Western brands such as Zara and H&M are ubiquitous in shopping centres. Vintage stores boast extensive collections of American apparel from the likes of Carhartt and Levi’s.
At the same time, minimalistic Japanese styles as seen most often abroad with brands like Uniqlo and Muji remain popular.
On one of my days off, I set out on a trip through Shibuya, one of Tokyo’s most bustling wards known for its nightlife, skyscrapers, and confusing train stations. Considered one of Japan’s fashion centres, it’s home to many shopping malls and streets, including the famous Harajuku district.
Coming out of one of the train station’s many exits, I headed towards my first stop, a department store named Shibuya 109. The tubular tower is hard to miss, boasting ten floors of clothing, beauty, and accessory stores. Upon entry, you navigate each floor in a circle as you advance to the very top. Here you can find almost every style of clothing you will see a young person wear in Japan – whilst the different stores are not fully separated, it is easy to distinguish them based on the variation of the products they have on offer. Getting off the escalator on the sixth floor, I was met with a classy-looking store displaying simple designs and plain fabrics, aimed at slightly more mature women. Next to it was an accessory shop filled with polymer clay-charm jewellery shaped into wearable miniature waffles, noodles, and coffee cups. Goth and Lolita-style brands were juxtaposed with athleisure stores, including an Adidas selling exclusively women’s pieces.
After an hour in the dizzying department store, I left for the comfort of some slightly less overwhelming thrift stores. Usually located on basement floors, the average second-hand shop in Tokyo is often the same: concrete walls and open ceilings housing racks of clothes organised by styles and brands, which you could browse while listening to rock music blasting from the speakers. Sifting through racks of college sweaters, band t-shirts, and flowery dresses in one of these stores, I found an oversized white shirt which I ended up buying for £10. Pleased with my purchase, I stopped by a bakery in Ura-Harajuku for a hot latte and donut. Sat around me were groups of friends and couples chatting away with shopping bags beside them – clearly, we were taking a break from some serious shopping. Deciding that my day had been an overall successful one, I made my way back to my hotel through the cobbled streets of Harajuku. In contrast from the indie brands and vintage stores dotting the backstreets of Ura-Harajuku (literally translating to ‘the back of Harajuku’), the Harajuku and Omotesando districts boast big names and designer stores including Chanel, Coach, and Vivienne Westwood – all hugely popular in Japan.
One of Japan’s most iconic fashion magazines was FRUiTS, a monthly publication showcasing fashion subcultures and street style photographed by the editor Shoichi Aoki around Tokyo. Founded in 1997, publication ceased in 2017 as Aoki claimed there were ‘no more cool kids to photograph’. The rise of fast fashion led him to question the future of fashion, but since then Aoki has stated that he has regained faith that young people can still express themselves originally through style, hinting at a possible comeback of FRUiTS magazine. Nowadays, fashion photographers have been sharing images of outfits worn by these “cool kids” on Instagram, including Shoichi Aoki himself, who has recently travelled around Europe, where the influence of Japanese style can also be noticed.
Walking around the streets where so many creative outfits have been snapped, and seeing the inspiration for fashionable young people living in the always-exciting and busy capital city of Japan, I hope that publications like FRUiTS do come back. Tokyo and its style have certainly left a deep impression on me, making me question the authenticity of my own style.
Nursery, school, university – most of us will have travelled down this linear path, jumping through the hoops of education, with autonomy increasing as we progress, like gaining access to new levels of a video game. At each new level we unlock, we gain more power and freedom of choice.
However, for some people there is a bonus level in this video game – a new and unfamiliar interface with new characters and different landscapes. The coveted gap year. The aim of this level in the game is unclear. Are we meant to earn money? To learn a new skill? To…’find’ ourselves?
Though the words ‘gap year’ invoke images of 18 year-olds sipping pina coladas out of pineapples in Bali, it doesn’t have to be littered with island hopping, voluntourism and elephant sanctuaries. In fact, you don’t even have to be 18.
Whilst many people will consider taking gap years between finishing high school and starting university, I never did. I fast-tracked to the next level in my game, bypassing the bonus option. However, little did I realise that I would have an opportunity to complete that level later on, five years down the line.
I unintentionally took a pseudo-gap year in 2021/2022. I graduated my degree, with little intention to carry on in the subject I studied for five years. The path was no longer linear, it began to loop and bend and branch off into hundreds of different directions. Though I loved university and academia, I decided not to go down that route. I didn’t want to lock myself in for another however many years, studying something I wasn’t even sure I liked.
So as many people do, I decided to enter the workforce, roll up my sleeves and get out of my academic bubble. I started in a job so far removed from what I studied that it gave me a fresh start – and a fresh perspective. Though I wasn’t watching orangutans swing from trees, I was detached from my university career. Which only made me realise how much I missed it.
My year became a gap year because I wanted to be part of a university community again. I love learning and I wasn’t quite ready to give it all up just yet. But this time I had something that I didn’t have before: time. I didn’t have to juggle my dissertation, job applications and searching for potential PhD projects. I could focus on what I actually wanted, look for areas and subjects that sounded exciting. Mind, it wasn’t an easy process, I began the whole ordeal by googling: ‘fun science subject that lets you travel’.
I don’t think I would be where I am without my accidental gap year. Though we can poke fun at those who come back from Phuket with tattoos that mean ‘soul’ or ‘love’, I am grateful to have taken some time away from studying to be able to determine that I actually want to keep studying.
I am now so excited to upgrade to the next level in my educational video game, having gained some extra bonus skills that should hopefully help me to keep unlocking levels as I progress. I am not sure I would have passed these levels had I jumped straight into a PhD or Masters straight out of my undergrad. Though my gap year began without that purpose in mind, it reignited my desire to keep learning and soon bridged my two university experiences. I may not have found myself spiritually on my break from academia but I found my next step, the next level – I just hope I can complete it.
Welcome to the first piece in a new series I am writing where we will explore some of the exciting flavours of refined European cooking. From Parisian high cuisine, Sardinian regional delicacies or English home comforts, this continent has plenty to offer the food-loving Oxford student. In this term’s sequence, we will delve into Italian cooking and examine some lesser-known regional treats. Later, we will hear from some of our university’s French community on their memories of authentic home cooking, followed by an exploratory piece on the complex flavours of regional French wines. I intend for this series to be interactive, so if you have any thoughts, enquiries or suggestions feel free to email me. (Note to editor, please leave my name and email at the top/bottom of the piece for readers) But for now, I whet your appetite with some thoughts on making time for good food.
Although there is plenty to engage oneself with here at Oxford University, one thing we find ourselves lacking amongst the throes of a busy university term is time. No one is a stranger to having to consume subpar meals in order to free up time for late night studies or various other activities, but finding time to cook meals one finds a pleasure to eat can be difficult due to our positions as students. I have found the cookbooks my parents handed to me, usually written by TV chefs or healthy eating gurus, trying at times, and demanding far too much of my time only to yield bland and boring results. The question is, how can we as talented but time-poor students produce quick meals which satisfy not only our stomachs, but also our souls? I believe a delve into the past can provide the answer in the form of Edouard de Pomaine’s “French cooking in ten minutes”, and from this short but charming book came the recipe I recently followed for “Rib steak with onions”. De Pomaine, a physician by trade, understands the demands of a hectic lifestyle, which is reflected in his frequent use of the second person and frank and direct remarks. For the Oxford university student, delight is to be found in the fact that his recipes can be made on the hob and without an oven, and enough variation on common themes provides a new eating experience every evening of term. I found it took only twenty minutes to cook the selected recipe to completion, and the results were surprisingly pleasurable. Lightly fried potatoes in olive oil with a pinch of salt perfectly provided a base for the juices from the rare steak and chopped shallots. A handful of premade salad adds to the freshness of the plate with virtually no commitment of time, but still ensuring it does not sit too heavy in the stomach which would dampen the mood of evening activity. A red wine from the Médoc or Graves regions of Bordeaux would complement this dish perfectly, although any lighter-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon would do just as well.
I hope a delve into the works of de Pomaine may provide inspiration for the discerning student and prove that a lack of time does not have to lead to a lack of good food. I will address this piece with some words from the man himself – “Modern life is so hectic that we sometimes feel as if time is going up in smoke. But we don’t want that to happen to our steak or omelette, so let’s hurry. Ten minutes is enough. One minute more and all will be lost.”
The Radcliffe Department of Medicine at the University of Oxford is a large, multi-disciplinary department, which aims to tackle some of the world’s biggest health challenges by integrating innovative basic biology with cutting edge clinical research.
The department has internationally renowned programmes in a broad spectrum of sciences related to medicine, including:
Cancer Biology Cardiovascular Science Cellular and Clinical Imaging Computational Biology Diabetes, Metabolism and Endocrinology Genetics and Genomics Haematology and Pathology Immunology Stem Cells and Developmental Biology
Our research spans the translational research spectrum, from basic biological research through to clinical application. A full list of supervisor profiles can be found on our website.
Our PhD Scholars Programme is open to outstanding candidates of any nationality. It provides fully funded awards for students wishing to undertake a four-year PhD in Medical Sciences.
Before you apply, you should identify an academic member of staff who is willing to supervise you and has the resources to support the proposed research project. Although not part of the final selection process, contact with the prospective supervisor is a key part of the admissions process to ensure there is a good fit between the student and the lab.
The closing date for applications is 12 noon (UK time) on Friday 9 December 2022.
Interviews will take place during the week commencing 16 January 2022.
Offers will be made in February 2023 for an October 2023 start.
The Radcliffe Department of Medicine actively promotes a family friendly working environment.
The Oxford-Cambridge Varsity cricket match will be played at Lord’s again after members of the Marylebone Cricket Club protested against its planned axing.
In February, Cherwell reported on the plans of the MCC, which administers Lord’s, to scrap the Varsity match, as well as the Eton-Harrow fixture, on grounds of “broadening the scope of the fixture list.”
This was met with support by both Oxford and Cambridge’s cricket clubs, with CUCC stating that it “enthusiastically welcomes the MCC decision to make way in following seasons for a wider range of people to realise their ambition of playing at Lord’s.”
However, the plans were less popular with members of the MCC, with a group of 212 members writing in an open letter that the MCC “trampled over the history and traditions of Lord’s” by attempting to scrap the two matches.
“By failing to consult and engage with members beforehand, it was also arbitrary, undemocratic and hence disrespectful to all members,” their letter wrote.
An emergency meeting had been scheduled last Tuesday, but the level of anger prompted MCC officials to cancel it for fear of a toxic row. MCC chief executive Guy Lavender wrote to members: “I write to advise you that the Special General Meeting scheduled for 18.00 tomorrow will not now take place. The MCC Committee has agreed to a request, received from the requisitionists this morning, to withdraw the Resolution and cancel the SGM, in the best interests of the Club.
“Both the committee and the requisitionists continue to believe in their respective points of view, but we will now work together on next steps, to include a consultation process with Members with a view to considering the future of the two fixtures at the 2023 AGM. Noting the time needed for this consultation, it has been agreed by both parties that the Club will invite the four institutions to play their respective matches (Oxford v Cambridge and Eton v Harrow) at Lord’s in 2023.”
The return to Oxford university after the long summer vac provokes mixed emotions. My dog was sad at the sight of my looming suitcase. Packing up my belongings and travelling from Edinburgh to Oxford was a bit of a thought. There is undeniably excitement about the prospect of Michaelmas term, catching up with friends after months of living hundreds of miles apart, pints in the college bar, bops, and essay writing in Oxford’s inspiring libraries.
This time last year I was feeling very nervous about starting university at seventeen and moving over three hundred miles away from everything I’d ever known. This year I’m going into my second year at Lincoln college and the prospect of my new role as a college mother is strangely thrilling. My schoolfriends were baffled when confronted with the concept of the Oxford college parent system. My lovely husband and I have welcomed two daughters. They share the same trivial yet all-consuming concerns we once harboured. What exactly are the washing facilities like? Rest assured, the laundry room became my happy place. Are there bins or hangers?
Accommodation questions aside, the Oxford summer reading lists form a heavy weight on the young shoulders of anxious freshers, stepping into the unknown world of tutorials and collections, the opportunity to collect one’s intellect. I had my own summer reading list to chip away at over the last few months, from medieval French lais to Goethe’s poetry, depicting effectively a ‘sneaky link’ reminiscent of a so-called ‘situationship’ (a non-committal relationship destined to sink without anchors).
While defrosting the strange Titanic iceberg that had grown in my fridge over the vac, I considered the many connections forged at university.
Staying connected during the vac is made easy through technology. Yet talking to friends on the phone is a jarring experience. My phone voice sounds like a silly schoolgirl. Snapchat messages have a best-before date and automatically disappear, but the app does provide Snap maps, cartoon friends scattered across the globe. Instagram only offers the best bits of students’ summer vacations rather than the reality of mundanity. BeReal provides the most realistic portrayal of friends online. It offers exclusive shots of messy bedrooms, family members in fancy kitchens, and kittens resting on laptops. BeReal boasts pictures of computer screens with all the tabs open. Is it normal to zoom in and find out what exactly someone is up to online?
Sometimes there’s too much to keep tabs on. Stories, posts, messages. Personally, I enjoy channeling elderly energy and sending my close friends letters and postcards. However, nothing beats the face-to-face interactions I crave after the vac, from the simplicity of quick study breaks to Pret to attending a formal hall.
I am even looking forward to seeing my tutors again and the slightly surreal buzz of hearing them read a snippet of my essay aloud in a tutorial. Oxford throws you straight in at the deep end as soon as you move back, with the return of a challenging workload. A French translation collection before the official start of term was a typically Oxford surprise. There really is no rest for the wicked. Yet there is something uniquely magical about the student experience here. Everyone is effectively in the same boat trying to stay afloat. I’m now eighteen and have learned plenty about circuit laundry, essay writing, referencing, JCR political landscapes and the very flat Oxford landscape. As I bid farewell to Edinburgh, the city built on seven hills with a beautiful castle and beaches, I am reunited with Oxford’s spectacular architecture. Within the medieval core of the ancient colleges, there’s the hustle and bustle of Cornmarket. So as my train leaves Waverly station, like many students, I prepare to embark on my new journey, to go off the rails whilst also staying on track.
Big Tech has gripped the video games industry, and they’re squeezing it for all it has. Unfortunately, that means the once multi-faceted industry is slowly morphing into a playground of various conglomerates.
Larger companies have capitalised on the recent boom in the video games market, which allows them to integrate more users into their services. Microsoft acquired Activision, hoping to capitalise upon Activision’s mobile user base as the company seeks to become the one-stop shop for all your digital needs. Sony recently bought Bungie, Inc., Haven Studios, and Insomniac Games, Inc.. Their stated aim is trying to expand into multiplatform live-service, online games. Basically, they want to be your one-stop shop for home entertainment. TakeTwo Interactive, makers of Grand Theft Auto, recently acquired Zynga, the creator of FarmVille. That combines one of the biggest PC/console gaming companies with one of the largest mobile gaming franchises. Something, something, one-stop shop. You get the idea.
Larger companies are acquiring their potential competitors and disruptors. And the market is expecting this consolidation. The Financial Times reported that after the Microsoft-Activision announcement, many developers’ prices bounced from the “prospect of a round of other deals”. And when Tencent, one of the world’s biggest gaming companies, increased their stake in Ubisoft, the latter’s share price decreased due to fears that it could not be acquired fully.
I would say that this consolidation is the development of monopolies: a few companies are gaining control over the whole industry. Of course, just because a company controls the market does not guarantee that they will act without scruples. After all, I cannot, for the life of me, think of a single time Microsoft have ever had any issue with antitrust allegations. And Sony would never abuse their market share to control prices!
The purchase of other companies by Sony and Microsoft have very real-world implications for the consumer. When Sony bought Insomniac, they were able to make a Spider-Man franchise exclusive to Sony consoles. Microsoft, if their acquisition of Activision goes through, have the ability to make popular games like Call of Duty exclusive to their consoles.
I can probably get over not being able to swing around as Peter Parker without a PlayStation. But as these large companies consolidate larger portions of the market, it becomes harder for smaller, independent companies to grow and develop. If the market is already full of large companies, a new company will struggle to enter it and compete as they would lack the resources. This lack of competition stifles creativity and innovation, and with fewer potentially disruptive competitors, large companies have less incentive to be as good. Now, Sony have pinkie-promised that Bungie would stay somewhat free from Sony overlordship. But the truth is that companies like Sony possess ultimate control over their subsidiaries.
EA are a case study for what the gaming industry could look like across the board if only large conglomerates are left. EA earned its notorious reputation by buying up smaller gaming studios, forcing changes on their products to fit in with their own business plans, and when those products then failed, shutting down the studios. They also have pretty much exclusive licensing rights to most mainstream sports. Since they are basically the only option, they can get away with publishing pretty much the same game every year. And because they, for a time, held exclusive rights to Star Wars games, they only had to “provide players with a sense of pride and and accomplishment”, rather than an actually good game.
