Wednesday 13th May 2026
Blog Page 855

Our paradise is lost

Florence Ward
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Our paradise is lost

For hundreds of years our perception of the Garden of Eden has been idyllic – a landscape that is rich in produce, beautiful plants and wildlife that live in harmony. The Biblical portrayal of the Garden describes “trees that were pleasing to the eye and good for food” (Genesis 2:4).

Just a glance at the work of painters who have depicted the Garden shows an abundance of greenery. It seems we never tire of re-telling the Christian story of man’s creation – everyone from Milton to Shakespeare has had a go. Historically, the focus has been on the corruption of man – that age-old tale of the fruit that cast us out of Paradise. Milton viciously blamed all women: William Golding suggested that we’d become barbarous even with an all-male cast of school-boys.

Since the new millennium, however, it appears our attention has shifted. We are living in an age of tenuous ecology, and such anxiety has changed the way we approach the Christian creation story. Concerns about man’s inevitable sinful nature are no longer at the forefront of our cultural exploits. In a nation that is both secular and religiously diverse, worries about our individual damnation have been replaced by a much more pressing issue: the damnation of our environment.

When Adam and Eve are cast out of Paradise their environment changes. In Milton’s postlapsarian landscape, for example, animals hunt each other for food instead of living harmoniously, and the land Adam and Eve once worked on happily is less fruitful. In the mid-seventeenth century, a failed harvest, though potentially fatal for the farmers that relied on their crops for survival, would have been the extent of the environmental damage Milton and his contemporaries were aware of. For British citizens, natural disasters were the stuff of mythical and Biblical stories. Milton could not have imagined the scale of environmental catastrophe that we are now facing.

On Sunday an Iranian oil tanker sank off the coast of Shanghai, dumping about one million barrels of oil into the sea. Last year was the worst fire season in American history, and one of the worst Atlantic hurricane seasons on record. In 2016, the amount of carbon dioxide in earth’s atmosphere reached 403 parts per million – the highest it’s been since at least the last ice age. If Milton had watched the last episode of Blue Planet II, which depicted shocking stories of dolphins exposing their young to contaminants through polluted milk and albatross parents unknowingly feeding plastic to their chicks, his postlapsarian world would have looked very different.

Modern depictions of the Garden of Eden show a world in which the impacts of human actions are more devastating for the environment than anything else. The opening credits of Wall-E (2008) span over a landscape ruined by waste. Wall-E is a robot designed to clean up earth while the planet’s human inhabitants have been housed on a Noah’s Ark-esque spaceship, where they’ve remained for hundreds of years longer than planned. Wall-E’s loneliness as apparently the only functioning robot on a dilapidated, post-apocalyptic planet is remedied by the arrival of Eve, a female robot sent to earth with the purpose of finding life.

Beyond being a charming children’s animation, Wall-E gives us an alternative Eden, stained by the sin of an excessively consumerist and wasteful culture. In the Bible story from which the film is inspired, Eve’s eating from the tree of knowledge causes the downfall of man. The conclusion of Pixar’s animation, however, teaches the opposite; it is only when Captain McCrea learns about agriculture and environmental issues that he steers the Axiom back to earth with the intention of saving the planet.

Z for Zachariah (made into a film in 2015) depicts another new Eden – this time one poisoned by a radioactive leak that has destroyed all of earth except, inexplicably, a valley in the deep south. Unlike Wall-E, which ends with the optimistic notion of humans repairing our environmental mess, Z for Zachariah is hauntingly bleak. There is no option to reverse the radiation that has destroyed the planet and the sole surviving characters are forced to live in tense harmony with each other until they die slow, cancerous deaths.

It may be thousands of years since the Bible was written, yet the Garden of Eden story has remained relevant. We are less concerned, however, with the implication of man’s actions on our individual damnation. Indeed, it is imperative to think about the bigger picture. When Adam and Eve made mistakes in the sixth century BCE, the environment they found themselves in was populated by animals hunting one another and harvests that occasionally failed. But a foot wrong in the twenty-first century will cost us dearly. If we want to reverse the effects of the mass extinction we are the throes of, regrow the 18 million acres of forest that are destroyed each year and clean our oceans of the eight million tonnes of plastic that build up in it yearly, we need to act soon.

Post-apocalyptic depictions of Eden currently only exist on our film screens, but the trend is evidence of a growing anxiety about the future of our planet. Human actions are set to cause the destruction of earth – not through an acquisition of knowledge, but a lack of it.

Roger Stone: How liars take the limelight

Ethan Croft
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Roger Stone: How liars take the limelight

Roger Stone entered the Oxford Union in mournful parade on Tuesday night. His black coat was hung over the shoulders like Darth Vader’s cape, though such an aesthetic was dashed by his pinstripe zoot suit underneath, which was more reminiscent of ‘Fat Tony’ from The Simpsons, than ‘evil ruler of the galaxy’. In his choice of attire, Stone clearly attempts to live up to the moniker ‘Prince of Darkness’, though on the occasion of our meeting it came of looking slightly like a halloween costume, with all the cartoon baddies of pop culture rolled into one.

As the Union hacks around me stood in solemn silence – dazzled by the proximity of political infamy – I stifled giggles as Stone’s entourage appeared, all in the uniform of Burberry rain macs. Were these the Inspector Gadget auditions, or was I in for a strip tease?

The glamour of the Union he adored, and so eager for his avid followers back in the USA to get a glimpse of the famous debating society, Stone instructed one of his team to play paparazzo with his camera-phone alongside the Union’s hired photographer. I suspect these pictures were intended for immediate upload to one of Stone’s  websites in the US, Infowars or Stone Cold Truth – America first, as they say. As Stone and I sat down, I asked why his grandson was prodding a camera in my face. “It’s for the website” I was assured. “We’ll just use some clips.” At that moment I imagined the titles of said video excerpts: ‘Oxford libtard ANNIHILATED by Roger Stone’, etcetera.

Yet despite the anticipated opprobrium of his supporters – those on the nativist right who Stone himself has termed ‘non-sophisticates’ in the past – I could hardly resist an interview with one of Trump’s most prominent supporters. Stone is so intimate with the President that he has received dear Donald’s most esteemed gift – implication in the House of Representatives’ Russia probe (he has attempted to crowdfund half a million dollars for his defence). As I was unable to turn down the chance of an interview, so was he. Referring to himself as “an agent provocateur”, Stone seeks out the attention of any and all media. CNN were in to grill him just before I arrived with my pen, paper, and dictaphone. Despite lambasting the so-called ‘Clinton News Network’ in his address to the Union, Stone was more than happy to sit under their shining lights and boom mic.

Worlds collided in the Union’s dimly lit Gladstone room. The old media and the new. The left and the right. The truth and lies. I wondered what our long dead four time Prime Minister who the room is named after, the arch ‘muscular liberal’ William Gladstone, might have thought if he saw a CNN producer and an employee of the alt-right conspiracy network Infowars standing side by side with their cameras fixed on a man with a track record of racism and misogyny (the words “stupid negro” and “die bitch” spring to mind). Perhaps liberalism should start lifting again. But Stone acts so deftly as intercessor between the two worlds, that those on one side often forget his association with the other. In this he differs in the extreme from his Infowars co-presenter Alex Jones, who humiliated himself with a tirade about ‘the EU Nazi plan’ while appearing on the BBC’s Daily Politics. Stone saves his more noisome diatribe for Twitter (a website from which he is now permanently banned) and

Trump campaign events, where he regularly called for the imprisonment of the opposition candidate during the 2016 election.

When I ask Stone whether his highly composed address to the Union was an example of this duality, Stone admits: “you have to obviously speak to your audience.” Here I was reminded of that old warning about the dangers of a charming zealot. Of Nixon (his political mentor) and the Watergate scandal, he says “I don’t think he knew.” Never have I heard something so doubtful told with such equanimity. Nixon himself resigned from the Presidency, had to be pardoned by his successor, and apologised for wrongdoing. “There’s no evidence” Stone insists. To back up this ‘unorthodox’ claim, he tenders the excuse: “I’ve written an entire book on this subject.” At this moment, a terrible truth dawned on me. Roger Stone knows how to woo an audience. In the Union chamber, he made all the right jokes. Equally, he profits in America from the impression that he is a gentleman. Amongst his base, the simple fact of having written books – regardless of their veracity – is worthy of note, and one expects that President Trump, the least literate holder of the office in history, is similarly enthralled by a ‘literary’ figure. Now, sitting in an armchair at the Oxford Union, with the cameras flashing and the applause of the audience thundering, the impression that this man is somehow respectable only grows. He wants to be seen as more than a conspiracy theorist.

The main lines of Stone’s rhetoric, about “a permanent governing class”, seem at first to have a Jacksonian undertone. But on closer inspection, the sense of any grand ideology falls away. It is so clear that Stone’s driving belief seems not to be patriotism, but rather a kind of paranoia about America. He has never in his career been satisfied that a candidate can stand and fall through the processes of democracy. Instead he has been willing to reach the heights of duplicity to protect his heroes. And whenever they fall, he has the same hysterical excuse. Back in 1960, when Kennedy ran for president, the young Stone ensured that his fellow Catholic would win the school mock election by telling everyone in the cafeteria that his opponent Nixon would bring in a Saturday school day. Stone later called this a political trick, but many would describe it as a lie. He now predictably refers to the assassination of the president in 1963 as “a violent coup against John F Kennedy”. Teenage mendacity did not fall away in later life, and after his conversion to the Republicans, Stone was the youngest person implicated in the aforementioned Watergate scandal, the Nixon administration’s criminal attempt to keep the Democrats out of power. He says of that president’s resignation in 1974: “I think Nixon was taken out in a peaceful coup.”

In 2018, as Robert Mueller’s investigation rolls on, who knows what the outcome will be for Stone’s latest political idol, the serial liar Donald Trump. In regard to Trump’s presidential campaign, he speaks of “the use of the entire government surveillance apparatus to violate the constitution.” The thread between all these major instances in Stone’s career seems not to be any guiding political belief, except that the American political system is always against him. It seems that he can never be satisfied with the political process, instead he paints a sensationalist picture of “a permanent government that is neither Republican or Democrat.”  But that, I suppose, is the problem with conspiracy theorists – their arguments and grievances always endure, because they are never obliged to provide any evidence.

Booze cruise: Cocktails at Catz

Ailin Cheng
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Booze cruise: Cocktails at Catz

Renowned for being the drink of choice at bops, the Catz Tail’s sparkling blue and purple ombre is a joyful sight to behold. The drink is a (rather edgy) combination of port and VK – and there’s the option to add a shot or two of vodka if you’ve had a really rough day. Beware though – a few of these down you and the last thing you’ll remember will be the already-spinning face of your college dad warning you, “Careful. Those are dangerous,” as you laugh and wave him away.

The drink is a play on the traditional cocktail, the Cheeky Vimto. But instead of WKD, we stay true to the £1 legendary blue bottle of that wonderful place, Parkend, and use VK. Come down to a Catz bop for a few of these (discounted) magic potions. It will be worth the trek.

The Catz Juice is the more-chill, irty cousin of the Catz Tail. It’s the colour of an (overpriced) Tequila Sunrise and tastes just as delicious, without the bitter aftertaste of crippling debt. The drink is a dazzling combination of orange juice, lemonade, and a dash of grenadine.There’s the option to go alcohol- free,or to add a shot or two of vodka. It’s the perfect, sweet end to essay-riddled days, and before long, you’ll find yourself dreaming about its divine taste during your impromptu naps in the library. Catz freshers resorted to making these themselves over the vac, to cope with their intense sadness.

Despite not being unique to Catz, the White Russian deserves its own shoutout. A chic number made of kahlua, vodka, and milk, this drink is an adult-take on your childhood glass of milk before bed.

It contains the perfect ingredients for student-life: coffee liqueur provides an always-needed energy boost; vodka remedies your crushing despair; and the milk gives the illusion that you still lead a child’s carefree life.

It’s no wonder that certain broody freshers have bargained with the bartender to let this drink be named after themselves – on the condition that they drink 168 in a term (one for every day of the year). For those who don’t have the means to do the maths, that averages to three every night. Undeniably ambitious. We wish them luck on their endeavours.

Blind Date: Not God squad, just theology fresh

Adam Large and Jeanne Lerasle
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Blind Date: Not God squad, just theology fresh

Adam Large, First Year, Theology, Regent’s Park

Painfully early, after taking a five minute detour to peruse the dis- count aisles of Tesco, I headed to the Kings Arms – little did I know it was the most expensive pub in Oxford. After re-mortgaging the house and settling down to a pint of Kronenburg and a rum-and-coke, the conversation with Jeanne was flowing like bop-juice. We quickly discovered that we both do the somewhat niche subject of Theology, and had actually been in the same Bible class earlier that day (not God squad, just Theology fresh). After a thorough dissection of our course and tutors, we eased into some excellent rowing chat (the staple of any great relationship). Despite some awkward geography mishaps, the conversation was easy-going and enjoyable… hopefully we’ll see each other before our next class on the big JC?

First impressions?

She was two minutes late.

Quality of the chat?

Good, but was mildly distracted by the beaut French accent.

Most awkward moment?

Brexit.

Kiss or miss?

Miss.

Jeanne Lerasle, First Year, Theology, Mansfield.

I spent a lovely evening at the Kings Arms – Adam was already there when I arrived, and was waiting attentively for me as I walked in (ever the gentleman). The conversation flowed really well, and there wasn’t a dull moment or an awkward silence – which is something that cannot be said for a conversation with some Oxford students I’ve met. It was lovely to get to know him, but the highlight was when I found out that I had a better 2K time than him (yes… we both row, and no, his chat wasn’t that bad, and nor was mine). It was a slight shame that he thought that Malta is in Gibraltar and that he lied about his cooking skills. Honesty tends to be the best policy, and basic geography is also definitely a must. Overall, he seems like a really nice guy with great fashion sense!

First impressions?

Very sweet and gentlemanly.

Quality of the chat?

A rower who was not dull, nor boring, nor awkward.

Most awkward moment?

We’re in the same Bible class.

Kiss or miss?

Miss.

 

Swapping halfway hall for a halftime pie: football as a means of escape

Josh Travers
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Swapping halfway hall for a halftime pie: football as a means of escape

The Oxford bubble is not something to which I had ever given a great deal of thought. This lack of awareness was probably symptomatic of my confinement within said bubble, but that only made my eventual realisation all the more disturbing. You’re probably wondering why this has anything to do with sport, but bear with me. I didn’t think it would either.

My first epiphany was that being in the bubble invariably compromised my involvement with football. As a football enthusiast I have always endeavoured to keep up an eye on the scores, something my early struggles to cope with my hectic timetable had not re-ally allowed for. Checking how my team were doing on a Saturday afternoon had become a matter of procrastination rather than purpose, and this was all too often the closest I came to watching the games themselves.

My friends from home chastised me for failing to watch derbies, title deciders and the like, and I had to agree with them. For the first time in years I could no longer recall the results of previous games with consummate ease. Had all my past devotion really been so hollow?

I called this my first epiphany, and the concern that it raised led me to have a second. This occurred last Saturday, when I realised how much football really did mean to me. Situated not far outside the ring road, the Kassam Stadium, home of Oxford United FC, is out-side the Oxford bubble in more ways than one.

With a capacity of 12,500, the Kassam is a humble home for any sports team, but it still dominates the spire-free skyline. In and around the ground, there is not a gown in sight. Start talking about collections, bops or sub-fusc and you might as well be speaking in a foreign language (in the latter case you of course would be).

There to celebrate a friend’s birthday, we disembarked the bus from the city centre and headed through the turnstiles to the concourse, and then to our seats. I had expected to enjoy the day no matter what.

As it turned out, I did very much escape the familiar, but not quite in the way I had expected. Although well over 100 miles away from any ground I had previously called home, there was something fundamentally homely and reassuring about the atmosphere at the Kassam, a familiarity that made me all the more amenable to it.

Some of my less football-orientated friends made fun as I punctuated my frustrated murmurings about Oxford’s midfield with hollers for their right-back to show a little more attacking ambition, but it was better than stressing over an essay. I even begun referring to Oxford United as ‘we’ by the second-half; the emotional pull of supporting a team was stronger than I had thought possible.

My continuing emotional involvement with football had been confirmed beyond doubt, perhaps even despite myself. The 2-1 home loss to the bottom side in the league left a bitter taste, especially after a chance to equalise was missed in the dying moments. Yet I was glad to have felt emotionally invested in something which is in equal parts utterly essential and completely inconsequential: a game of football.

So, football still meant a great deal to me. It has helped me to overcome the Oxford bubble, and this is a testament to the positive power of sport. It provides an outlet, respite from the concerns of everyday life that is vital in a high-intensity environment of Oxford. Come on you Yellows!

From novices to champions: the success of Oxford’s female boxers and OUABC

Josh Travers
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From novices to champions: the success of Oxford’s female boxers and OUABC

I spoke to Lydia Welham, captain of the University’s women’s boxing team on Sunday. Despite her seniority in the boxing set-up, her passion for the sport is a recent development, having only discovered boxing a little more than a year ago. She tagged along with a couple of friends to a training session, and was surprised by just how much she enjoyed it, and has never looked back since.

Countless training sessions later, the Oxford University Amateur Boxing Club (OUABC) is now preparing for their biggest term, with the Bucs championships (for the women), Town vs Gown, and Varsity all on the horizon. Many boxers come to Oxford with little or no experience, and their success is a testament to the ability of their coaching staff to produce such a quick turnaround. As Lydia herself said: “The advancement of women’s boxing is a testament to Head Coach David Mace’s expertise and commitment to training each boxer to achieve their highest potential.”

It is also demonstrates the dedication of the boxers themselves. While I was struggling to shake off a post-bop hangover, Lydia had come straight from a training session. No Sunday morning lie-ins for the boxers. Training is everything. Although it is never possible to fully replicate the intensity of a real match, the combination of technique work, cardio, and sparring certainly comes close.

It’s about more than simply throwing punches, as you have to work out your opponent’s style as you fight, assessing your options while constantly keeping your defences up. You have to be thinking all the time, like in a chess match, but with much more immediacy. There’s nothing quite like it. With the Bucs championships taking place over the first weekend of February, perhaps the tough training schedule is not surprising. The competition is divided into different weight categories, with universities from all over the country represented by one boxer per category.

Despite the relative lack of experience common among Oxford boxers, they have dominated the competition in recent times. This year’s women’s team will be hoping to maintain Oxford’s status as the best in Britain for a fourth consecutive year. Despite this ongoing success, Varsity remains the primary focus, taking place at the end of Hilary. At Varsity level, men’s boxing is more established, with matches across nine weight categories compared to three for the women last year, but women’s boxing is on the rise.

Having only accepted their first female members 14 years ago, OUABC has become one of the most successful in the country, an achievement that Lydia believes has its roots in the club’s inclusive atmosphere. Men and women train together, especially unusual for a club of over 100 members. The male boxers not only welcoming women into the club, but celebrating their success.

Their sense of community is integral – Lydia likens it to a family. Every year, around 20 of the most committed boxers, go away on a training camp together. With little opportunity for chat at regular training sessions, the active social calendar affords them the opportunity to build close relationships.

Moreover, leaving Oxford does not mean leaving boxing behind, as the club enjoys a strong alumnae network that has yielded funding for a new training gym and a new women’s kit in recent times. Oxford’s past boxers remain keen to support the club’s future, and women’s boxing is playing an increasingly prominent role in that future. Lydia is optimistic that this trend is set to continue.

St John’s thrash Exeter in a JCR Prem goal fest

Jack Allsopp
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St John’s thrash Exeter in a JCR Prem goal fest

Goals from Kayinsola Akinwuntan, Sam Morris, Alex Wilson, Eddy Mort and John Findlay consigned Exeter to a 5-1 defeat as St John’s Men moved into first place in the JCR Premier Division.

With Balliol’s tie against St Catherine’s postponed due to player shortages, this Monday game offered John’s the opportunity to move to the top of the league and assert themselves in the title chase. John’s took their opportunity with aplomb, dispatching Exeter in a surprisingly one-sided contest, given that the game was second versus third at kick-off.

On a small pitch, both teams tried to break away fast when the opposition lost the ball, but with the ground sodden after hard rain for most of the morning, the first-half was a scrappy affair, with the teams going in at the break at 1-1.

In fact, Exeter took the lead against the run of play in the 10th minute as John’s keeper Stás Butler dropped a cross, allowing Arthur Wellesley to tap home. Yet almost straight from the restart, John’s were level as Blues strikers Mort and Akinwuntan combined well, the former threading it through to the latter who dispatched the ball into the back of the net.

After the initial frenzy, the pace of the game slowed, as Exeter seemed content to sit back and soak up the pressure applied by John’s. In particular, Akinwuntan was causing the most problems for the Exeter defence, with his close control and direct running creating several chances, the most notable a cross he sent into the box from deep within the John’s half that was struck past the post by Mort.

The advantage, however, swung decisively to John’s after half-time, as substitutes Wilson and Morris combined on 55 minutes to give their team the advantage. After good work by Wilson on the left-hand side, he crossed the ball to Morris who volleyed it low and hard into the back of the net.

Further goals arrived in the latter stages, as John’s maintained their knack for scoring late. Wilson turned scorer in the 75th minute, controlling the ball well on the edge of the box, and looped it over Blues keeper Sean Gleeson, with the ball seemingly taking a deflection. Two minutes later and the contest was as good as over. Paddy Osborne was fouled in the box, and Mort converting the subsequent penalty, despite Gleeson diving the right way.

John’s added gloss to a fine result in the last five minutes, with Findlay scoring the pick of the lot. Phil Thumfart, who had a fine game in central midfield winning the ball and distributing well to set his team out on the attack, put a ball into the box which was slammed into the roof of the net by Findlay.

Speaking after the game, Exeter’s captain Gleeson was disappointed: “It was not good enough,” he said. “We know that we are better than that. We weren’t good enough today, and that’ll do.” In truth, Gleeson was right, as resolute John’s defending meant that Exeter’s exciting attacking players Oluwatobi Olaitan and Henri du Périer were kept quiet throughout.

Sam Shah, John’s left wing-back, was pleased with his side’s performance, saying that John’s had “put Exeter to the sword” in a fine performance. Indeed, John’s could have had several more, with good chances for Mort in the first half, and Morris hitting the bar during his team’s purple patch in the game’s latter stages.

Goals rained across the JCR Premier Division as Wadham thrashed Worcester 8-2.

The Brew that changed the direction of jazz

Lorenzo Edwards-Jones
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The Brew that changed the direction of jazz

As the 60s came to an end, jazz had become music of the past: the trend had moved to rock and Motown, and with the death of John Coltrane in ’67, it seemed the genre was losing momentum.

A jazz musician known for his ’59 hit ‘Kind of Blue’, Miles Davis could easily have stayed to gather dust on Columbia’s classical list. But by the end of the decade, he had released an album that would define the future of jazz to come.

The shift was in part prompted by his relationship with Betty Davis. A trendy 22-year-old model, she introduced him to the funk of James Brown and the sonic forays of Hendrix, with whom it is rumoured he was ready to start a supergroup along with McCartney. Though the rockstar’s death in 1971 made this impossible, their brief relationship did much to push Davis in a new musical direction.

The result, Bitches Brew, was 96 minutes of organised chaos, a giant sonic canvas that constantly evolves as each of the group’s 15 musicians adds his own brushstrokes and Monk-like angular harmonies. Every player is in close communication, despite having barely rehearsed, making do with Davis’ rare trumpet cues as guidance.

At one point on the title track, one can even hear Davis whisper to the guitarist, as he hears the jam reaching its natural conclusion: “John… play something.” This is music born of the moment, an album that wrote itself as it was being recorded.

Purists were understandably horrified. The man who had defined classic jazz was now featuring on the same bills as Hendrix, packing out the same arenas as The Doors and Jefferson Airplane had done. Nevertheless, with the addition of John McLaughlin on quasi-funk guitar and other instruments the likes of which had never been heard on a jazz record before, he gave the genre the impetus it needed to stay relevant.

The modern attention span, with its relentless diet of 3-minute singles and quick-fire Spotify playlists, will no doubt find Bitches Brew and its precursor In A Silent Way hard going at first. But Davis’ late 60s output will reward any amount of close listening, and continues to stand as a true testament of an artist who refused to be content with his former success.

The culinary technique that always leaves a good taste

Anna Lewis
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The culinary technique that always leaves a good taste

Every time a friend announces that they might be coming down with something, I worriedly probe my own body for symptoms. A consummate licker-of-fingers, sampler-of-spoonfuls, cleaner-of-cake-batter, I can never entirely trust that the infection didn’t originate with the food I cheerfully plonked in front of them last week.

This tendency to stick whatever I fancy into my germ-ridden mouth is only exacerbated by the taste as you go mantra of all my cooking idols. All very well until I need to try my stew both before and after adding salt. What am I meant to do, wash two teaspoons? I’ve got essays to write.

Biohazards aside, I can see where they’re coming from. Tasting gives a chance to course-correct, and it’s a way to get more in touch with what’s happening to the food – to see for yourself over time how a tin of tomatoes turns into a sumptuous sauce. On a good day, I’ll take a bite and let it linger in my mouth, probing for anything that I think would make it better. What happens if I add soy sauce? Vinegar? Tabasco? Oh, god, now it’s inedible – how to save it? (Usually, potatoes.)

I’ve now learned the hard way that not everything exists to be shovelled in by the handful. A mouth full of raw pine nuts was an unpleasant way to discover that I’m not keen on the taste, and I can’t count the number of times an incautious spoonful from a hot pan has left the roof of my mouth tender with pain.

After all that effort, it feels criminal to sit down and shovel dinner in while watching Netflix. Some days there’s nothing that can come between me and my Brooklyn Nine Nine fix, but simply taking the first bite with no distractions – TV paused, bum on seat, desk cleared of notes – delineates the space within a hectic day to focus on the highly pleasurable act of getting energy from outside to inside my body.

Flavours make up the backdrop of all our best memories, and learning to speak that language makes every moment more vivid. In a few years’ time, when I want to invite a rush of nostalgia, I’ll order my go-to Hassan’s, heavy on the chilli. The meandering buzz of conversation, the sticky cling of dance floor sweat on my skin, everything glowing streetlamp-yellow: it’s all folded in there with the industrially acidic garlic sauce and too-hot falafel, a constant thread that anchors me to the end of the night. One perfect bite, eyes closed, and I’m there.

A long way home

Verity Bligh
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A long way home

The start of term, for most Oxford students, means being dropped off by their parents at college. The termly ritual often involves a long car-trip, unpacking various boxes, books and cacti, and perhaps lunch out in town, before saying goodbye. But like many other international students, I will never be dropped off, nor picked up. For me, 0th week brings a pang of homesickness as families flood Oxford’s streets.

I live over 10,000 miles away, in Sydney, Australia. The journey to and from Oxford takes me 30 hours door-to-door, but the transition between these two places lasts much longer. It’s a transition I find very difficult, although it’s taken me a long time to speak openly about it. The journey is always coupled with a sense of overwhelming anxiety, one that starts a week before leaving and takes roughly two weeks, once arrived, to settle down. It’s not the flying itself (although international storage, economy-class seats, and jet-lag definitely don’t help). It’s the feeling of constantly being yanked between two different worlds, and not really belonging in either. It’s almost embarrassing to say that I find the vacations the hardest part of my Oxford degree.

I fully recognise that I am privileged to live in, and travel between, these two beautiful cities and that my feelings of dislocation are in no way limited to me as an individual or as an international student. For example, a close college friend of mine lives in Oxford, a ten-minute walk away. They must re-adjust from the independence of student life to the expectations of their conservative family every eight weeks, without the benefit of distance to buffer the transition. One year on, having learned about myself and my friends’ experiences of first year, I now know that the issue is missing Oxford during term-time rather than resenting home in Sydney. Yet there is also a unique set of problems to living so far away.

These problems start before the vacation even begins, with the process of moving out of college. Packing up is intensely stressful because it’s a responsibility that I have to face entirely on my own. I’m reminded that my college room is only a temporary home, particularly by the rather cold-hearted and dysfunctional international storage system. For the past two years, I’ve lived my life from one suitcase and a few boxes. As soon as I feel rooted, it’s time to pack up again. Then, there’s the issue of travelling solo. For 30 hours, I’m left alone with my thoughts and feelings, in the absence of a friendly face or even wifi. I’m also often mistaken for an unaccompanied minor, (being offered a children’s plane toy was just insulting), and going from the intimate college environment to one in which I am an absolute nobody is especially dislocating.

Next comes the crippling jet lag. For those who haven’t experienced it, jet lag is a bit like a week-long hangover. It simply makes everything worse. Not only am I exhausted when it’s least convenient (i.e.: collections), I also feel moody, over-emotional, disoriented. This was how I felt at my lowest point, exactly one year ago, in 0th week of Hilary in my first year. Jet lag became an extra hurdle, on top of the cold dark winter, academic work and changing friendships, that I had to navigate as an international student.

Long-distance relationships are difficult too. It’s impossible to physically meet up with my friends who live in the UK, and the time-difference hinders social media communication, even if today’s transport and technology have made these possibilities easier than ever. It’s even harder to keep up with my friends back home during term-time. This is partly because I struggle to explain what Oxford is like and why it’s such a big part of life without coming off as distant or pretentious. Whilst I recognise that Oxbridge is unique to any other university experience, it’s harder and harder to find common reference points with people my age in Sydney. The norm in Australia is to live at home, study a vocational degree and attend a local university, where the mantra is “Ps get degrees” (where “P” stands for “Pass”, the equivalent of a Third). Most people there don’t quite understand why I’m travelling halfway around the world to study History and Politics at a lesser version of Hogwarts.

There’s also a more existential issue that comes with living so far away, which is that straddling these two worlds challenges my sense of identity. Here, I’m not just talking about growing into my own person at university. The differences between home and college are salient to me as an international student in a way which they simply aren’t for most domestic students. My identity is defined in contradistinction to the place I’m in, but I don’t really belong in either. I am Australian when in Oxford and an Oxford student when in Australia. Even my accent changes depending on where I am, making this disjuncture feel particularly real. I’ve been asked several times in shops and cafés around Bondi where in the UK I’m from and for how long I’m backpacking. I’ve then had to explain that I live five minutes away, and have done so for 14 years. I’m still not sure who’s found these conversations more awkward. It’s often easiest to laugh these encounters away or whip them out as funny anecdotes, to hide how difficult I find them.

I may post Instagram photos of sunny beaches, but I’m secretly wishing that I was in cold and rainy England at my friend’s Christmas dinner party instead. I’m guilty of both idealising Sydney (the heat, the brunches, the relaxed lifestyle) and complaining about it (the heat, the time difference, the “Eastern Suburbs bubble”) as proxies for the deeper experience of feeling torn between two places. Over time, it’s gradually become easier to talk about why I’m struggling and how I’m coping directly. My experience is also relatively easy in comparison to other international students. As a British-Australian dual national, with family in the UK, family friends in town, and a dad who went to Oxford, I haven’t had to deal with culture shock or language difference (even if “chirpsing” confused me for an entire term: the Australian slang is “tuning”). It’s a testament to the drive and resilience of these students that they surmount these extra obstacles, which are invisible to most of us, on an everyday basis and with minimal support.

Nonetheless, the distance between Oxford and Sydney, the full 10,000 miles of it, is a blessing as well as a curse. Travel provides a clear separation between college and my family home. In fact, I like to compare the journey to the flashback effect in bad films, when the screen goes wobbly. Travelling between two very different places has a similar hallucinogenic, dream-like, feeling. It’s difficult to remember what life in sunny Australia is like when I’m shivering in the Rad Cam. This separation means that I can clearly categorise my time and memories in each location, without the confusing overlap experienced by students who live in or around Oxford outside of term.

Moreover, seeing friends or attending events such as Twickenham or the Boat Races is not an option for me. This is sometimes comforting, because there’s really not much I can do about this ‘fear of missing out’. It’s perhaps worse for students who live outside the Home Counties, where such a trip is feasible, but costly and impractical. This distance also means that there’s a network of Australian students in Oxford and Cambridge with which I can share common experiences, talk to when I’m homesick and, most importantly, celebrate Australia Day. I now know that I can rely on this network and other close friends in both Oxford and Sydney when I’m stressed out. To tell the truth, it’s been a steep learning curve. I underestimated the difficulties of living so far away from home. But as I’ve gradually grown more confident in myself and my friendships, expecting a tough transition rather than simply switching over, moves have become easier and easier.

Ultimately, the underlying struggle to readjust is common to most, if not all, Oxford students. First and foremost, there is a radical change in pace. Every dimension of life at Oxford – academic, extracurricular, and social – is intense, and, during the vacation, this routine is pulled out from under our feet. I often experience an inescapable sense of boredom during the vacation as my day devolves into a pattern of “eat-sleep-repeat”, combined with overwhelming exhaustion and guilt surrounding collections. There’s always more to do, even if rest is absolutely necessary to our physical health and mental wellbeing. We are also out of the loop. Returning home after term-time confronts us with the fact that family life goes on without us, and sometimes circumstances change. For me, this has included ups and downs in my family’s health and happiness, as well as the terrifying discovery that my little brother is now two heads taller than me.

As a result, it’s often awkward and dislocating to reintegrate into past routines and relationships – to return to “how things used to be” before flying the nest. This is also the case with friendships based at home. It’s a sad truth that school-age social groups tend to narrow, as they change in importance over time, especially in comparison to the intensity of college relationships. It’s also more difficult to make new friends during the short vacations, meaning that there are fewer and fewer people to come back for at the end of every term. The most challenging experience however is becoming “that Oxford student” – to have my identity reduced to the institution I study at. I have been made fun of, dismissed as pretentious and considered intimidating in this way, both by friends and strangers. Obviously, life must go on. As I change as a person in my opinions and interests, I must accept that I’ll diverge from my life before university. The truth is that I prefer living in Oxford, even if this truth is sometimes difficult for those at home to accept.

This summer was a turning point for me. My family attended the funeral of one of my dad’s best friends from Oxford, and it made me realise just how precious our time here really is. Out of my dad’s year group of 100 students, half a dozen have lost their lives to accident, mental illness or disease in only 30 years. This realisation filled me with a sense of impending doom, as if life is a constant race to stay ahead of mediocrity, anxiety or tragedy. With halfway hall approaching, I described this feeling to a friend as standing on top of a waterfall with my eyes closed (think “Titanic”). I can feel the water rushing around me and am desperately trying to catch hold of it as it slips through my fingers and pushes me closer and closer to the precipice. Ultimately, our time at Oxford will likely be the best three years of our lives. Life beyond Oxford is unknown and there’s a limit to what we can do to change that. Truth be told, it was my dad’s stories about college which made me want to study here at the age of ten. Yeats captured it well when he wrote, “I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember, the place is so beautiful”.

Our time here is finite, it’s imperative that we seize the opportunities these years provide us with. The terms are intense, the work is rigorous and the vacations are long. I cannot wait to get back to college, despite all the essay crises, emotional breakdowns, and chirpsing drama it entails. So as I’m sat writing this on the plane, I now know that “home” can be both Sydney and Oxford simultaneously. And I’ve only six hours and 45 minutes of this long journey home to go.

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