SJC JCR Newspaper: Issue 1

 

Syrian Unrest
President Erect
Buying into Fairtrade
A History of St John's
Daddy, Daddy Kühl
Ben Lewy, E&E Rep
I Drink, Therefore I Was
A Right Royal Wedding, Despite the Collections
It's a funny old game
How to Eat Cheaply and Regularly Without Spending Money or Time or Washing Up Much
Sweet Cardboard
Suspect stir-fry's and slimy salads
St John's Agony Aunt: Part 1
Dear Agony Aunt: Part 2
SJC Horoscope
College Drama Round-up
Rowing
Running
SJC do quite well at Ultimate Frisbee Cuppers

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Syrian Unrest
Will Todman

The so called ‘Arab Spring' of popular uprisings against authoritarian governments has touched almost every Arab country. The dictators of Tunisia and Egypt fell; NATO intervened in Libya against Gaddafi and the president of Yemen is negotiating his exit. In Syria, protests have spread across the country and are being brutally repressed by the Assad regime, with the death toll estimated to have surpassed 500. Will Todman visited Damascus during the Easter vacation and writes about his attempts to talk to Syrians about the situation.

"It's an interesting time to be here," I venture, in depressingly laboured Arabic.

"Really?" The taxi driver glances over at me, a look of genuine confusion on his face. Damascus' streets are an assault on the senses. Drivers are keen to prove their grit, ducking and diving, squeezing through impossibly small gaps in the traffic, street markings having apparently been driven into irrelevance years ago. Patriotic music throbs out of the tape recorder with a captivating pounding, the delicately spiced air mingling with the aroma of coffee and car fumes.

"It's interesting because of the situation," I explain, furtively looking to see if I had provoked any reaction.

"What situation?" I didn't know the word for ‘protests'. I accept defeat and turn back to the window. Trying to ask Syrians about the political situation is a very difficult task without a great degree of personal trust. And not without reason, the Mukhabarat, the infamous secret police, have a record of brutality known to all, and speaking out against the regime, even in the privacy of a taxi, would be reckless.
I try a new tactic. "My friend's Dad trained in London with Bashar al-Assad." The driver beams at me and asks what Bashar was like, and if they had met recently. Trained as an ophthalmologist in London, Bashar was never meant to be leader of Syria. It was when his elder brother was killed in a car crash that he was thrust into the political sphere. "Very serious but nice apparently. They haven't seen each other since London," I reply. The taxi driver then suggests that my friend's Dad comes back to visit Assad in Damascus. My suggestion that the president is probably a little busy is shrugged off. The conversation is over.

Many in the West viewed Assad as some kind of exception until his brutal repression of recent protests. He is younger than other Middle Eastern rulers, with a British-Syrian wife lauded by Vogue as ‘the freshest and most magnetic of first ladies'. During his decade in power, he has brought about a certain degree of economic liberalisation, some social freedoms, and has tried to encourage secularism. He has certainly been seen as more moderate than his father, who ordered the bombing of Hama to stop the rise of the Muslim Brotherhood, resulting in an estimated 20,000 deaths.
Syria is also praised as a country of incredible religious tolerance. Amira, a Christian lady from the old city of Damascus, spoke passionately about Syria's religions. "Where else do you see Sunnis living by Christians and Jews, and all the other Muslim sects in peace like we have here? Why do you think that is? We have a strong government and that holds everything together. No-one who wants a peaceful Syria could want to overthrow the regime."
It is a line hammered through by state media. A fear that sectarian violence may ensue is carefully instilled. The official line is that armed gangs of foreigners (mainly comprised of rapists, drug dealers and murderers) are rampaging around Syria trying to stir up trouble. There is no mention of the pro-democracy demonstrators the BBC and al-Jazeera show. Instead, ‘unarmed' policemen are murdered ‘in cold blood', and ‘discoveries' of foreign weapons smuggled into the country are paraded on TV. The propaganda is powerful, and I myself began to wonder if some of it may be true while I was there.

"It's a joke!" declared Amira. "All the protests were filmed in Iraq when America invaded! Every Syrian can see that the videos al-Jazeera show are not from here. You mustn't believe what you see, William, those people are actors. The ‘blood' you see is obviously jam! Look at it!"

The state media is clearly very influential. Perhaps it won't be until normal people have some kind of personal connection with the violence - the death of someone known not to be an extremist or a foreigner for example - that the regime's story will unravel and its power will start to crumble.

I left Syria very unsure of what its future would bring. How can a democratic movement prevail over such strong government messages? But since my leaving, the violence has escalated and there seems to be a sense that Assad's support is being shaken.
Staying in the capital, I was far from the infamous centres of protest such as Der'aa and Baniyas, and on the surface, the revolution seemed a long way from the road to Damascus. But deep down, the seeds of change may just have been sown that will topple yet another of the Middle East's authoritarian regimes.

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President Erect
Philip Coales

The St John's College Newspaper meets Paul F. Little, a.k.a. Max Hardcore, a.k.a. Max Steiner, head of Max World Entertainment Inc., and the incoming President of St John's College Oxford.

SJC: Sir Michael Scholar has been a long-serving and popular President of the College. Part of his success is seen in the most recent painting to be hung in hall - the only Presidential portrait featuring a woman, apart from those that are of female Presidents. Mrs Sir Michael Scholar has been present at President's Drinks, to guide people around the artwork on display in the President's lodgings, and at social events like the opening of Kendrew Quad - yet the painting also portrays a woman there when the college is not; a woman who will leave, and live, with Sir Michael Scholar; a woman who has supported him in all his endeavours at this College and who will support him in his retirement. You've never been married - do you think a lack of such support will hinder you in managing such a large staff, and such a large college? How do you intend on settling in?

Max Hardcore: A picture tells a thousand words as they say, and if that don't convey the concept, then it's a handful of hair and the proper amount of pressure to get the job done. The last thing you want on a set is an interpreter, which is just distracting. Fortunately, the girls over there seem to know what is required, or at least are easily led.

SJC: Your career has taken you all over the world and you've courted controversy for the uncompromising nature of your work. Yet obviously working in academia will bring with it a whole new set of challenges which you're going to have to process and overcome. Do you feel what you've come through so far has equipped you to face new challenges here, or do you feel that you might be wading in a bit out of your depth here?

Max Hardcore: Well, that's what many of the more conservative members of the adult entertainment community said about me early in my career. And of course there's always the spectre of getting busted for some nonsense hanging over my head. In fact they did charge me with obscenity here in Los Angeles a while back. The first trial ended in a hung jury, and they then determined that since they showed all their cards in the first trial, and since I put up such a vigorous defence, that it wouldn't be worthwhile to try me again. So we settled the case as a ‘public nuisance' charge, with is a low grade misdemeanour, and I paid a fine.

Sometimes, when I see on video how young and innocent looking some of my girls appear, and how hard the action is, I think to myself, wow, this is going to fool some people into thinking they are underage, even though any reasonable person would know that all the girls in my productions are at least 18. I can't help it if they look and act younger.

SJC: Sir Michael Scholar is retiring to pursue other interests dear to him, and I suppose, especially given your former line of work, there must be things you'll be looking to incorporate into your time here aside from the work aspect of it.
Max Hardcore: Not my style. That's the hard way, and there's only two ways of doing things around here: the wrong way, and the Max way.

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Buying into Fairtrade
Shaahin Pishbin


The rumours are true: St John's is becoming a Fairtrade college. The chocolate in the bar, the fruit juices at breakfast, the tea and coffee served in every meeting - it's all going Fairtrade, and much more besides. That's the plan at least, and with the JCR and MCR behind the idea, we see no reason why it shouldn't become a reality.

Fairtrade has some history in Oxford; the city became Fairtrade in 2004 and Oxford Brookes was named the first Fairtrade university in the world in October 2003. Linacre, Wadham and Hertford are the only colleges to hold the status currently, with more looking to follow suit. These join over 500 Fairtrade towns and 120 Fairtrade universities already established in Britain. Fairtrade is booming, and has defied the recession with a 12% increase in sales during the last financial year, totalling sales of £799 million in 2009. So what exactly is the point of Fairtrade, and why should we care anyway?

As the name suggests, the Fairtrade movement aims to serve as an antidote to what many consider ‘unfair' practices in the global trading system. Typically, poor and small scale farmers from the developing world struggle to compete in both international and local markets, being priced out by heavily subsidized mega-farms in the West, which can ship their goods to all parts of the world for less than what it costs poor farmers to produce their own. These huge subsidies Western governments, through schemes such as the European Union's Common Agricultural Policy, provide for their own farmers have helped create an unfair market, grossly stacked in their favour, and serve to perpetuate cycles of poverty and aid-dependency in developing countries. As it stands, every cow in Europe gets more money in EU subsidies per day than 20% of the world's population earns in daily income.

(Fair)Trade not Aid

Fairtrade's mission is to combat this problem, shifting power to the consumers and away from the corporations. This is done by providing farmers in LEDCs who have signed up to the scheme, often in the form of collectives, with a decent wage and a minimum price for their produce, safeguarding them against often low market prices which cannot sustain their business. As part of the arrangement, the farmers commit themselves to invest an added Fairtrade premium in social, environmental and economic development projects, decided upon democratically by a committee of producers within the organisation or of workers on a plantation. Producers must also meet certain standards and demonstrate progress made in said projects. This approach engenders sustainable development in an otherwise marginalised community - our investment in Fairtrade ensures commitment to this sustainability.

This bottom-up strategy is not the whole solution, but a partial response to a world trade system that has failed to protect the most vulnerable from exploitation, exclusion and poverty. Creating awareness of these injustices and urging systemic reform remain central to the goals of the Fairtrade Foundation, and now, central to the goals of St. John's too.

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A History of St John's College, Part 1
By the Historian in Residence, Dorian Cummerbund
(Edited by Alex Harvey)

Hello, I'm Dorian Cummerbund, and welcome to History Corner. This week we'll be going through the history of our fair college. This is written from memory, but should be broadly accurate. Enjoy! (Editor's note: I didn't have time to read this, I just sent it off. Hope it's fine.)

St John's College (founded 631 AD by the Prophet Mohammed, refounded in 999 by King Kylie the Unremembered, refounded again in 1715 by Earl Pumblechook, First Baron Pumblechook, refounded for the last time in 1978 by Lance ‘He's a Diamond' Diamond) had a relatively uneventful first few centuries. From 631 to circa 940 AD the intake was around 17 people drawn from the richest poor families, and as Oxford's only Islamic college the curriculum was mainly science, astronomy, and, like, actual medicine. This all changed when all the other colleges worked out that the name ‘St John's' was a cunning ploy to hide the college's Islamic nature, which occurred shortly after the completion of the John Selwyn Gummer Memorial Minaret in 942 AD, a byproduct of the eventful incident in 941 AD where St John's was hit by a car and briefly sent forward in time to 1991 where it became a desk ornament in the office of the as then Agriculture, Fisheries and Food Minister. St John's was left abandoned, tended to only by a clan of hyper-intelligent circus mice, until Alan, Emperor of All Mice, suggested to King Kylie the Unremembered that the college be brought back into the University in time for the Millennium in 1000 AD. King Kylie so liked this idea that he cancelled the massive wooden dome he had planned for London and lavished 120,000,000 Past Dollars on the refurbishment of John's, bankrupting England in the process and finishing the thing a year early. All of the buildings seen today in St John's are the product of this refurbishment, except for Kendrew Quad, which was sent back in time from the 22nd century as an alumni gift, and the Beehive, which predates the Iron Age.

Next time: St John's through the Middle Ages, in which the college invents fire, only to be tragically disappointed when it realises someone else has got there first and copyrighted it and everything. Also, the first Bop is held in 1337, sparking the Hundred Years War.

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Daddy, Daddy Kühl
Nupur Takwale

Amidst the quiet elegance of a Basel pub, your correspondents in Switzerland begin the deep, considered, and well thought-out interview with the man all of John's has been talking about. Daddy Kühl reclines in his chair, right foot casually resting on left knee, cradling a halb-litre of Ueli bier. He simply radiates ease. Why are we here? To meet the beautiful Elisabeth Maria, of course. A rather stunning baby, if we do say so ourselves. Certainly, judging from the reactions of the ‘men' (Samuel Ward and Dave Wray) - never have such looks of tenderness been seen - it was not merely the girls (Rhiannon Sheridan and myself) who had fallen in love.

We direct our first question to Alex's girlfriend, Sarah, who will be studying at Oxford Brookes next year. What was the first reaction upon learning of the pregnancy? The answer comes quickly and immediately. "Shock!" Nervous laughs abound.
"Next question, guys!" demands Alex, totally in control of the situation, as we can only expect from the smooth-talking, well-dressed Swiss gentlemen he clearly is... Having said that, his cool must surely have been shaken upon hearing the news. We're right. "I was driving ... and it was dangerous". The impression of the following manic swerve as he read that text, complete with wide eyes, a panicked expression, and something resembling a squeal, is pure gold. So yes, it seems "Shock" is pretty apt.

We move on. The next question is a difficult one. Sam poses it carefully. In Alex's opinion, which is harder? Dealing with the baby? Or... erm, ergs ... and rowing? You know, Dungate and all of that? The new father bursts out laughing and leans back - there's a definite undercurrent of anticipation for his answer. We know it's going to be a good one.
"Dungate ... Dungate's pretty tough ... and he's much bigger than Elisabeth ... but I'd definitely say yeah, erging's harder, erging's tough". He nods, clearly memories of significant physical pain are resurfacing. "No, I mean, the baby is fun, a lot of work, it wakes you up at night ... well, both of them wake you up in the morning". He raises a finger here to make the point. "But changing nappies only takes 10 minutes [that long, Alex, really?], whereas an hour of UT2 [his head falls in his hand] ... it's just the most boring thing ever". Hmm. Controversial.
Have you ever been tempted to dress your baby up in a costume yet?
...
"That is such a British question!"
Ah, okay, oops. But we do get out of him a sly reference to the first bop of Michaelmas next year. Readers, there is a chance that Elisabeth Maria will make a "brief" appearance. If you know Alex, make sure you push this. I'm sure he'll love it. In fact, we could make it the theme for the bop. Entz reps, I hope you're listening.
Oh and is Elisabeth going to be sent to St John's? "Definitely".
We do have some worries about Alex's fatherhood credentials, however. It seems that he hasn't watched The Lion King. So when we ask about re-enacting the Lion King ‘moment' he is nonplussed. The outrage in the pub is palpable. Everyone falls over themselves to explain in great detail the moment of which we speak. That scene where Simba is raised in the air, the sun breaks through the clouds, the animals of the Pride Lands bow down in awe... No? Nothing? Huh...
Are there any unexpected benefits from having a baby? The response is immediate. "Child benefits!" And of course, it's a good excuse not to get work done. Not to mention the "loads of presents", of which the most exciting are the "amazing teddy bears", as Alex carefully stresses.
Who puts in more effort with the baby? Alex and Sarah look at each other. A slightly awkward silence is in the air. Sarah breaks it. Alex does the nappy changing and she does the breast-feeding, and well, what else is there to do? So pretty equal then. A good save, in our opinion. And indeed, when we later ask Alex about any effects on his sex life, he replies: "sex life ... what sex life?" Of course, after the interview is over, he does, rather nervously, make an effort to clarify. "You know that was a joke right?"
Unfortunately, the beer has been drunk and wine has run out. We are at the final question. Describe your experience as a father, in one word.
"Bliss".
Oh, Alex...

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Ben Lewy, E&E Rep
Philip Coales

 

Friday, 29^th April 2011 will be remembered in St John’s as the day upon which no one had collections because even though there were meant to be collections despite there being a Royal Wedding, Shaahin and Ed Love both died in circumstances no one has been bothered to look into yet. Luckily, Ben Lewy is stepping in.

Friday 29^th April Ben Lewy sends Shaahin a bitingly sarcastic commemorative text, then realises Shaahin won’t be able to read it, and feels sad. Ben Lewy moves into Shaahin’s room and clears out all of Ed Love’s possessions using a vacuum cleaner and a pair of curling tongs so that he can use it as an office.

Saturday 30^th April Ben Lewy considers writing plan of action for his term as St John’s Environment and Ethics Officer. Ben Lewy is distracted by the fact that a homeless person has moved into Ed Love’s room (he left it unlocked as a mark of respect). Ben Lewy texts previous E&E reps to ask for advice on how to deal with this issue ethically, but they either won’t reply or are dead. Ben Lewy decides to dictate plan of action to homeless person.

Monday 2^nd May Ben Lewy finds a homeless person asleep in Shaahin’s bed and decides to kick him out. Homeless person leaves wearing Shaahin’s clothes. Homeless person leaves Ben Lewy a piece of paper with ‘Plan of Action’ written on it. Piece of paper informs Ben Lewy that “The first rule of Environment and Ethics Representatives is not to talk about the environment or ethics.” Ben Lewy begins sleeping in Ed Love’s room.

Wednesday 4^th May Ben Lewy remembers he is E&E rep. Ben Lewy is seen feeding ducks in Tommy White.

Thursday 5^th May Ben Lewy attends first OUSU meeting as St John’s E&E Officer. Ben Lewy remains silent for the section of the meeting discussing the intentional poisoning of ducks in St John’s College with psychoactive chemicals.

Friday 6^th May Ben Lewy wonders whether or not he is cut out to be E&E rep. Ben Lewy is reassured by a Skype conversation with his mum (Mama Lewy). Ben Lewy sets up the Shaahin Pishbin Memorial Fund as an indirect result of this conversation, deciding that Ed Love had a less memorable name. Ben Lewy feels confident in his role as E&E rep after helping a first year girl whose bedroom light had failed. Ben Lewy gave her one of Shaahin’s candles.

Saturday 7^th May Ben Lewy holds E&E Committee meeting in the Randolph Hotel using money from the Shaahin Pishbin Memorial Fund. Ben Lewy is amused that no one else attends. Ben Lewy decides that he likes working on his own best. Ben Lewy spites other members of OUSU E&E Committee by sending them an email later that evening apologising for forgetting to invite them.

Sunday 8^th May Animal rights activists dig a small pond and leave 50kg of duck food on Tommy White lawn in symbolic protest.

Monday 9^th May Approximately 30 ducks are on Tommy White Lawn. Ben Lewy tells a Cherwell reporter visiting the scene that “Animal rights protestors are clearly stupid.”

Tuesday 10^th May Pond is polluted. Ducks are gone.

Wednesday 11^th May Cats often seen wandering around St John’s are gone. Photograph of Ben Lewy shaking a farmer’s hand in the ‘Business’ section of The Daily Telegraph pass unnoticed by all at St John’s.

Thursday 12^th May St John’s College receives an email from Shaahin’s family expressing concern at a large withdrawal from the Shaahin Pishbin Memorial Fund.

Friday 13^th May St John’s College checks its emails. St John’s JCR President is angered by photograph of Ben Lewy pointing a gun at a mallard appearing in the Cherwell.

Saturday 14^th May Ben Lewy is asked to step down from his role as Environment and Ethics Officer by the St John’s JCR President. Ben Lewy refuses, citing his handling of “the duck problem”, and seeks refuge in Ed Love’s room. Ben Lewy holds homeless person hostage. Ben Lewy is forced to release homeless person after two hours due to hunger, giving him instructions to return via Najar’s. Homeless person does not return. Ben Lewy spends the rest of the Shaahin Pishbin Memorial Fund on an order from Domino’s Pizza. Ben Lewy reflects upon how this is a step down from last week. Ben Lewy realises that he cannot leave his room to collect the pizza from the Lamb and Flag Passage. Ben Lewy calls his mum (Mama Lewy) to ask for guidance. Ben Lewy is out of credit. Ben Lewy watches Downfall videos on Ed Love’s laptop for a bit. Ben Lewy needs the toilet and escapes when he realises there is no one waiting outside Ed Love’s room. Ben Lewy heads to bed.

Sunday 15^th May JCR meeting selects new Environment and Ethics Officer.

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I Drink, Therefore I Was
Hannah Jane Parkinson

My friends refer to me as "a total wine fiend"; I prefer the term sommelier. At least I think they're my friends. Sometimes it's a little hazy. Forget 2.1s and Tutus, most students will be graduating from Oxford with an almighty hangover and memories of the past three years strewn across Park End street, along with the personal effects of handbags after many a heavy night out. The most important part of being at university (degree blah blah etc), is starting a new life, forging new friendships and socialising in a different environment. You are settling into a new town and having fun, which - for most people - will include drinking. So you find out what type of person you are, and by extension; what type of drinker.

By the time you arrive at uni and your parents have wept and slobbered all over you to the point of incest, you should be au fait with your drinking abilities. This is the general drinking chronology: you progress from Panda Pops to alcopops. Then you are fourteen and your mate is eyeing a vile blue bottle at a house party; you later find them crafting condoms from a sandwich bag and swinging from an IKEA brasa lamp. Soon, however, you are leaving WKD behind (which, frankly, should be rebranded DCKHD). You are now on your gap yah and working vineyards in the South of France, you're travelling Mexico wrestling with tequila, the killer. You rave about the perfect sangria you tried in a quaint little restaurant off the beaten track in Madrid. You don't know shit.

I lived in Russia for two years before I moved to Oxford. I drank vodka daily and grown men begged for my mercy during Ring of Fire (slight exaggeration). I thought moving to Oxford - that laid back, chilled out, bicycle-ridden town would represent a period of gentle sobriety and stability. I didn't know shit.

My drinking patterns changed. A long time red wine fan, I gradually became tired of looking like an overzealous Twilight fan at the end of every night, and switched to white. My dentist thanked me; my liver did not. After Russia, I had also developed a taste for vodka, in the way that Charlie Sheen has a taste for craziness. (Re: vodka, beware: any potential suitor can blossom from an ugly ducking into a swan after one too many Grey Gooses. I should know).

Oxford fed my habit. I spent most of last year sitting on the balcony of the Duke's Cut, swapping a pen for the stem of a glass. Mark McIntyre, general manager and drinking enabler, ain't lying when he bigs up their vino choice; "we have a range of whites, reds, rose and sparkling. I find most of the guests do appreciate our selection. Hannah always returns for her favourite Conchay Toro Sauvignon Blanc". Yeah, cheers, Mark, don't make out like I'm in there all the time. I am totally in there all the time.

Indeed, there are plenty of great places to drink in Oxford. True, the Bear you can't fit into unless you're a descendant of the borrowers; the Turf and Eagle and Child are always full of tourists; but there are a number of pubs with nice décor, friendly staff and a good drinks selection. Webster at The Oxford Retreat knows that, for me, Pinot Grigio is to Sauvignon Blanc what Pepsi is to Coca-Cola. Kieron at the Jericho Tavern is aware that when I ask for a "small" wine, I'll be pretty goddamn pissed off if he doesn't hand me a large. Oxford has basically no clubs - I think there was one, at some point, but Davey C and Boris' trashed it during jolly Bully outings - so it relies on its decent pubs, both in the city and the sticks. (If you've had one too many; stick to the city. A trip to the Perch in a drunken state, I can tell you from experience, is DIFFICULT - your Duke of Edinburgh Gold award will pale into insignificance).

I enjoyed this lifestyle for a long time; lectures, then afternoon pub jaunts, then perhaps hitting town later on. Pretty soon however, you're losing your balance, your balance is losing you and you find yourself quoting whitegirlprblms: "just because you're a policeman, doesn't mean I'm drunk". You start singing along to The Kinks' Have Another Drink a little too readily, and this is bad because a) you can't sing, and b) you have very little grasp on the correct lyrics. It becomes worrying when your friend tells you he took you up the Cowley Road the night before, and you have to ask him to be more specific. People begin to extol the virtue of "everything in moderation"; you wished this, too, applied to their propensity to dispense advice.

Then one day I was hit with the sober realisation that I hadn't been, well, sober, in a long while. I had become one of those people moaning about my wining and making really bad puns about it. So I decided upon a period of wine-abstention. From now on, I said, I am teetotal. The total of my drinking will be tea. (See...the pun thing). For the next few months I made a concerted effort not to drink. I ordered soft drinks, and it was excruciating, but not as excruciating as numerous past hangovers. Everyone has been there: your guts are being ripped from your throat, your stomach is kicked through the mouth; your tongue shrunken to a starved, mossy pebble and you had collections two hours ago. Inevitably, there has been a moment since, when I tumbled ungraciously from the wagon, and then was nearly run over by it, but generally the leaf is turned.

There are no more instances on Cornmarket Street at 3am when I desperately want to shout: "me throwing up on your shoes has nothing to do with me being drunk. Your shoes are just really hideous!" Cos for alcoholics the glass is never half-full, and I find I have a lot more energy and creativity without it, and actually go to tutorials and get some work done. I still drink occasionally and take advantage of all that Oxford has to offer, it's just that, to borrow a line from my friend and poet, Humphrey Astley: "Let me put it this way: / in the flavour of it now / was the essence of it then".

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A Right Royal Wedding, Despite the Collections
Fergus

The most watched televisual event in history (2 billion people worldwide by most accounts), true, young love and one of the most important days in the recent history of this country and its Crown. Not, however, for St John's. It seems sad that such a former hotbed of Royalist fervour (and one that actually owes almost all its wealth to a martyr for the cause of the Crown) decided to climb to the top of the ivory tower and desperately pretend this important event wasn't happening. Well whether you were revising for those oh-so reeeelevant collections or furiously cracking one out over the comment page of the Guardian: have no fear, some of us did celebrate in style, even if we then had to sit an interminably dire collection in the afternoon- some things are more important than Belgian imperial history....

Luckily your correspondent was there to report to all of you who missed it for whatever reason. The Rose & Crown on North Parade was my pub of choice to watch the thing. Champagne in hand at 10am I arrived to see a minibus of minor royals (think the Duke of Gloucester-yeah that exciting) pootling down the Mall to the Abbey. Soon things hotted up, literally, as Pippa Middleton's glorious ass hoved into view. She was accompanying her sister Kate, Duchess of Cambridge. Both truly looked stunning, assembled females (including those commenting on the Beeb) let slip cries of ecstasy as Kate's dress appeared- I hear the lacey arms were particularly good. Then we saw the Duke of Cambridge himself (incidentally one hopes they'll replace the fat weirdo on the front of the cocktail bar with an image of the future King). Despite the fact that his hair didn't appear to have been invited to the wedding- pattern baldness is the new haemophilia- he was looking sharp in his Colonel's uniform. After he'd arrived at the abbey and exchanged some chat with Prince Harry (a man who exhibits simply stellar banter) Kate arrived (apparently accompanied by her father but I remain convinced that he was in fact John Bercow). The service was FIT- Row-dawg Williams, Archbishop of Banterbury was on top form- lucid and giving appropriate decorum to the event, whilst clearly trying to comfort the understandably nervous happy couple. Richard Chartres, the Bishop of London, gave the sermon- also on good form. What was best though was hearing the monumental cheer from outside (and from homes around the world) that shook the Abbey. The country, the world was erupting in joy at the sight of our future monarch on the happiest day of his life- one could almost sense the sanctimonious republican arseholes cacking themselves, as if the country was bellowing ‘F**k you Peter Tatchell'.

I'd had quite a lot to drink by this point but remember joining in those assembled at the pub in celebration- good humour, cheers, alcohol etc. followed as the happy couple drove down the Mall. And the kisses. Well, again the champers mist was considerable but the rapture emanating from all over was tangible, a truly great moment. But what of the future? Has this secured the monarchy for another millennium? Well we can't quite see that far but, given the world wide adulation of the couple, the popularity of the event, the much needed lift it provided given the somewhat gloomy climate at the moment, there can be little reason not to think it will secure it for the actually foreseeable future. It's put republican fervour firmly on the back burner in countries where it is relevant (i.e. Australia), made France and the USA regret 1792 and 1776 respectively and reminded many republican types here that they are, in fact, for the most part, deluded killjoys. If you did miss out- bad luck- it was a great occasion and will be a defining event of our generation. Prince Philip kept his risqué chat to a minimum, Pippa's ass looked fiiine and the UK showed that we're still pretty damn good at this sort of thing... All in all fantastic, just a shame that we may have to wait a while for the next one...or perhaps not- one suspects Harry isn't the most 'careful' bloke in the world and frankly Pippa would have been hard for many of us to resist...in 9 months time the shotgun wedding sequel may well occur- bring it on say I!

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It's a funny old game
Matt

It's 3pm on a lovely Saturday afternoon in May and i'm sat on the sofa in the dark with only a bag of crisps and a beer for company. This can only mean one thing. It's cup final day. I absolutely love the FA Cup. You can keep the mega bucks of the Champions League as far as i'm concerned. The ceremony and traditionally quaint British-ness of the famous old cup final is just something else, from the three hour buildup to the rousing chorus of Abide With Me just before kickoff. As moneybags Manchester City kick off against the bundling hardmen of Stoke City, i'm genuinely excited, as much as I was when I was six. What's there not to love?

Unfortunately, it's become recent fashion to have a go at it. Ever since Manchester United jetted off to Brazil in 2000 to play in the mickey-mouse World Club Cup (whoever thought that would be a good idea?), it's been seen as secondary to both the League and Europe's starstudded competitions. But that's not the point of the FA Cup. In what other competition do over 700 teams take part, starting ten months before the final? In what other competition can minnows Crawley Town go to Old Trafford and come so close to earning a draw? What other prominent football competition has Oxford University won? The great thing about the cup is that it proves that old saying that paper has never won a football match. However good you are, you can be beaten, with each glorious "Cupset" being ingrained into footballing history.

Granted, some of the recent finals have been turgid affairs. Even this one has started slowly, neither side really threatening to score. But just think back at some of the wonderful cup final moments. Gerrard's dramatic equaliser in 2006, Di Matteo's lightning bolt after 40 seconds in 1997, Dave Beasant's penalty save for classic underdogs Wimbledon against the mighty Liverpool in 1988, the list is endless. The history of the cup writes itself. And it's not even that which makes the occasion. The whole atmosphere around a special day out at Wembley simply can't be beaten. Even despite the hollow, prison-like atmosphere of the new ground, exorbitant food and drink prices and the soul-sucking middle tier inhabited purely by the Prawn Sandwich Brigade (copyright Roy Keane, 2001), the fans love it, especially those of the so-called lesser teams . The new Wembley doesn't have anywhere near the reputation of the legendary old ground, but with time, its arch may even become as much a symbol of English football as the towers once were.

The only way this is spoilt is the FA's insistence to hold a footballing event at Wembley every other week. It's nice to give teams like Whitley Bay and Wroxham a day in the sun at a 90,000 seater stadium, but the cup semi-finals really shouldn't be hosted there, for the simple reason that it takes a certain something away from the big day. Villa Park, Old Trafford, even Anfield could do the job, but the FA are very reluctant to keep things unfathomably as they are. Obviously they have to get back some of the 900 million from a White Elephant of a stadium built on the very weak assumption that England would host the 2006 World Cup finals, and as a result Wembley has very much become the FA's cash cow. This, added to the terribly crass Eon sponsorship deal (plastered everywhere and over everything) and their decision to put the final on the same day as numerous Premier League fixtures- a trend which looks likely to continue- is just ever more proof of the chaos that is the English Football Association.

If we really want to bring the cup back to the levels it was before the dominance of the European game, then why not give more than a Europa League spot to the victor? A second chance for Champions League rejects and filled to the brim with average teams from places you would never dream of going otherwise (i.e. Metalist Kharkov of Ukraine), the rebranded version of the equally distracting UEFA Cup is seen as a hindrance to those looking to challenge the top four. Considering the competitiveness of the modern English game, and the fact that five English teams have been in the competition before (Liverpool entering via the backdoor in 2005/06), one more English Champions League spot is definitely possible and most probably deserved. It will undoubtedly never happen as the ‘Big Clubs' would be far too afraid about losing their personal Champions League kitty, but it's worth a thought, if only to breathe an extra dose of life into the old competition. This would be a far more enticing prospect than seeding the cup, as has been proposed recently. If anything, that would make things more like the much-maligned League Cup. The dream of every plucky non-league outfit is a big-money tie against one of the big sides. Such a system would make this ever more unlikely, and would make the likelihood of a dull, all Top Four snorefest of a final much more of a possibility.

As the final whistle goes, and City lift the cup after Yaya Toure spanks the ball in from the edge of the six yard box, it's obvious how much this means for the fans and players. Looking at the emotion on the display today is conclusive proof that the famous old cup is far from dead. The FA Cup will probably never be able to match the riches of the Champions League or the aura that surrounded it in times bygone, but the romance of the cup simply can't beaten and we should savour it and protect it in case it disappears forever.

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How to Eat Cheaply and Regularly Without Spending Money or Time or Washing Up Much: Convenient College
Philip Coales

1. Don't ever buy tissues. Tissues are disgusting and you have free tissues in your toilet. They are rolled up in case you have flu and you want to pop the whole thing in your bag. They are also free. They are called ‘the constituent parts of toilet roll'. Get to know them: there are two of them.

2. Don't ever buy glasses. Glasses don't last long but are always available for free, often already full of alcohol so you don't have to buy that, either. Pay a visit between 12 and 1 to the King's Arms, and stock up on what's being deserted outside.

3. Make friends with the staff who work in hall. Learn their names. Add them on facebook. Flirt heavily with them. Get free food.

4. Thinking of going on holiday abroad? Really? Have you seen how nice St John's College gardens are in the summer?

5. Thinking of buying a duck? Think less, because your thoughts are moronic. Tommy White Lawn is now adorned with two ducks. They hang around together but look different enough that it's safe to assume they are the same species, and that one is male and the other is female. Don't take the actual ducks, because some people like feeding them - actually, maybe do take the ducks, if just so they have a bit of privacy in which to get it together. Then take care of the eggs, and put the originals back. Thanks.

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Recipes: Sweet Cardboard
Philip Coales

Serves 1-4
You will need:
19 x 15 cardboard
30g sugar

This is a really simple recipe that has stood the test of time. Firstly, it is important to be equipped with a microwave. These can be found in the Beehive kitchen, where the scout once left a notice telling people from other bits of college to never go there because she doesn't like them because she is prejudiced, but ignore that because at least three Tommy White staircases have microwaves, and besides, everyone has to use the Beehive kitchen to cook anything that requires an oven. In this recipe, you don't need an oven, but you do need that microwave. Turn it on, make sure it's plugged in, then put the cardboard inside, with the sugar spread out evenly on top. If it's in the range 500-900W, put the cardboard on for 3½ minutes, then let it absorb normal air again for an extra thirty-five seconds. Eat on its own.

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Suspect stir-fry's and slimy salads

We continually look at our lunches with utter contempt, confused as to why we have (once again) made what appears to be a HUGE MISTAKE. For if we had stuck to the basic rules of hall: no blips when you chose chips and want some rice, think twice; we'd be fine. But alas, we get distracted by the curious looking cheese on the GIANT mushroom or the roasted vegetable tower (undoubtedly the greatest hall mistake EVER). But when we scratch beneath the disdain we're left with the question of where would we be without hall lunch? I mean there is only so much that Najar can offer, granted he boasts that his falafel is superior to Taylor's, but does he sell custard? Hall is the very sticky and sometimes unpleasant glue that holds us all together; a lifetime of essays and tute sheets would go by without any of us being able to bitch about it to one another over disappointing lunches. EVERY girl in college would only be able to dribble over Clayton at guest dinners, there'd be no free lunches, so there'd be no Nathan; life as we know it would become meaningless and dystopian. For whether we'd like to admit it or not, every aspect of college life revolves around lunch. Many a time I wake up thinking about it, and when I'm shamefully tucking into my Hassan's at night I'm again reminded of how fortunate I am to have it. No one will deny that there would be a significant decrease in many of the worlds problems if we got rid of the faecal coloured stir-fry or if it didn't feel like we were eating a block of stilton every time we had a forkful of the chicken and stilton pie, but lets not fool around: lunch is THE SHIT!

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St John's Agony Aunt: Part 1


Q. Hi, I'm a 19 year old Oxford student, and I have a bit of a problem at the moment. All of my friends really like this guy called Chris Hayes, but I'm struggling as they talk about him quite a lot, and I think I hate him. How can I get around this problem?

A. Hi there, thank you for writing in. It means a lot.

The Chris Hayes situation is a phase I think everyone at St John's goes through. Can you imagine being related to him by blood? It is just a phase though. Treat it as a phase. Alternatively, you could be onto something no one else is - a really major reason why we should all hate Chris Hayes. I would've thought you might've done us the courtesy of highlighting why exactly it us that you dislike him so vehemently, especially if you really have made a breakthrough in Chris Hayes Semiotics, but seeing as you mentioned nothing, even though this is clearly very anonymous, I'm inclined to think that it might be more you than him.

Chris Hayes will improve for you. Consider his voice. It's a good voice. It's actorly. He could own things - for example, many plays. Consider his hair. Someone once told me that hair is detritus, like stool, so having excess hair is really disgusting, and that's probably a fairly correct assessment - Chris really doesn't have a lot of crap going on up there. His forehead is faeces free. His smile is no BS either - it's winning, and it's winning 24/7. He probably sleeps smiling. He smells quite nice too. Even if you're adamant you're going to hate Chris Hayes forever and ever, there's nothing quite like fresh and well-slept Chris Hayes smell.

Good luck,
AA.

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Dear Agony Aunt: Part 2

Dear Agony Aunt,
I am currently finding it impossible to get my essays done on time. No matter how hard I try, I always rush something out at the last minute, and rarely impress my tutor. I've tried out every motivation technique on the planet: I've rewarded myself, I've beaten myself up, and I've read every single study guide I could find in Blackwell's. I've seen a doctor, a nutritionist, and a psychologist. I've even started yoga to cope with the stress. But nothing is working! Help me, please! What should I do?

From: A Kanye West fan

Agony Aunt says:
Start earlier.

Dear Agony Aunt,
My boyfriend left me two months ago. I've moved on, but can't help thinking that I'm only half the person I used to be. How can I be whole again?

From: A depressed singleton

Agony Aunt says:
Here's a newsflash for you - ATOMIC KITTEN WERE WRONG! You do not need a second person to complete you. If you're finding this a hard pill to swallow, then I suggest you adopt the ‘mind over matter' approach and lose yourself in some time-consuming activities. Run for JCR president, take up croquet and sell your soul to the Boat Club. Combine this with nights of guilt-free iPlayer trawling, and you will find that you have become one distracted female. Sorted.

Dear Agony Aunt,
I'm a third year English finalist. Revision is going well, and I'm pretty sure I will do well in the exams, but after I leave Oxford, I will be at a complete loose end. I've lost count of the number of job applications I've sent out, but not a single one has been successful. I feel like all of the hard work over the years has been for nothing. It's really getting me down; it seems like my whole world is just one big mess. People keep telling me that something will turn up, but I find this hard to believe. Am I a lost cause?

From: A disaster

Agony Aunt says:
I suspect that you are suffering from a case of what is known as ‘Failure'. Rarely seen amongst populations of Oxbridge students, it is not easily recognisable when it does strike. Rest assured, though - treatment is available. Remind yourself of the 52 A*s you got at GCSE; resurrect the UCAS form and reread your killer personal statement; frame your college acceptance letter; polish those National Swimming Team gold medals; get out your certificates in Grade 8 piano, clarinet, oboe, flute and African singing; and remind yourself that Facebook was actually your idea. You are not a failure. You will find a job. It might be a dangerous jungle out there, but you have the brains and the talent to make it. So go out into the real world with confidence and show them what you are made of. You will survive.

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St John's Horoscope: Will you find your fortune in the stars?*

Aries (21 Mar - 20 Apr)
Optimistic Saturn moves into your ambitions chart, increasing or decreasing your positivity. That thing which you are hoping for will happen within time or, if it doesn't, not at all.

Taurus (21 Apr - 20 May)
Mysterious Pluto wanders in your chart of the unknown. Be aware of a tall, short or medium-height man. He may or may not have intentions that should alarm or excite you.

Gemini (21 May - 20 Jun)
Active Mercury makes you go places. A room full of letters is a place you visit regularly. Don't allow the fact you never get anything but junk mail and exam timetables to get you down.

Cancer (21 Jun - 22 Jul)
Venus patrols your friendship chart, making now the right time to meet new people. A name beginning with "J", "F", or "P" is significant. I know it would be helpful if I could more specific, but the planets are very coy about this sort of thing. Especially Venus. Venus is really secretive.

Leo (23 Jul - 22 Aug)
Jupiter stirs up your curiosity, making essays feature prominently in your life. Or, if not essays, tutorial sheets. Or some other form of regular academic assessment. In any case, you should probably do the work because of, you know, Mars and that.

Virgo (23 Aug - 22 Sept)
Neptune and Pluto align in your sociability chart, but don't try cooking a meal for many people in a Tommy White kitchen. Not because of the stars or anything, it's just a bit impractical.

Libra (23 Sept - 23 Oct)
War-like Mars is high in your emotions chart, making you more jingoistic than usual. Stay focused on your goals, and resist the urge to do anything which might provoke international condemnation.

Scorpio (24 Oct - 21 Nov)
Gentle Mars makes you particularly sensitive. Friends you once held dear seem more distant, even nasty. The Capricorns that you know are holding you back: it's time to stop talking to them, and to get on with your life.

Sagittarius (22 Nov - 21 Dec)
The alignment of Neptune and Jupiter make romance likely. A telephone number beginning with "07" is significant to you. If that number calls, make sure you answer. Who knows where it might lead?

Capricorn (22 Dec - 19 Jan)
The movements of Uranus mean that you find the Scorpios you know don't seem interested in your friendship any more. Don't blame yourself for their illogical behaviour. Consider spreading malicious rumours about them.

Aquarius (20 Jan - 19 Feb)
Impatient Saturn makes your fob stop working on certain gates after 11pm. Try using a different door. You will find unexpected or predictable opportunities will appear.

Pisces (20 Feb - 20 Mar)
You left the iron on.

*No

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College Drama Round-up
Philip Coales

The Last Days of Judas Iscariot
Hilary 2011, St John's Chapel

*

I can't believe they didn't pick me for the garden play.

 

Cuppers 2010:
Closer
How to Disappear Completely and Never Be Found
Michaelmas 2010, Burton Taylor

***
***
Cuppers is the competition which launched a thousand ships. Unfortunately, Cuppers is also the competition which inspired Hegel to write that, "The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of the dusk." By which I mean that there were probably a lot of good actors and actresses flexing their acting muscles in this year's Cuppers, but I hope they weren't that good, because I didn't manage to get a ticket.

 

The White Rose
Michaelmas 2010, St John's Auditorium

*****

Sophie Scholl got killed by Nazis for refusing to talk to Nazis because she was more interested in talking to their innocent victims which, whilst it's morally laudable, is dramatically reprehensible. Do you remember that episode of The Simpsons where Hans Moleman defeats Mr Burns' epic biopic at Springfield Film Festival with ‘Man Getting Hit By Football'? Luckily new playwright Alex Harvey wrote this entirely in German, so even though there's probably a lot of whining and angst, I got to spend 90 minutes ogling a babe who was basically German, understanding nothing, thinking about The Simpsons.

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SJC Rowing
Sam

Women's 2nds
Our Women's 2nd Torpid bumped Balliol II very quickly after the start on Wednesday. On Thursday they started off the day with a bump on Wolfson II, again very quickly into the race. This moved them up to the top of Division 4 and earned them a race as the sandwich boat for Division 3. Unfortunately in this race, the boat in front, Worcester II, bumped out leaving our girls to row over. On Friday our Women's 2nds successfully rowed over at the top of Division 4. At the bottom of Division 3 they continued their run of bumping with a bump on Brasenose who had gone into the bank. On Saturday they were chasing down Hertford II for the 4th bump. Unluckily for us, a very poor St Antony's were dropping fast from higher up in the Division. We got to 1/4 length off of Hertford II before Hertford II overbumped out on St Antony's. We managed to close St Antony's down to 1/2 length for the double overbump, but not enough. So the Women's 2nds finished on +3.

Men's 2nds
Our Men's 2nds held their nerve on Wednesday to achieve a gutsy row over. After being closed on hard by Univ II, who got overlap on us in the Gut, we managed to row away and get a row over for the day. The Men's 2nds also had a tough time again on Thursday. Although they rowed a lot better than the day before, they were unable to gain on LMH II and succumbed to a bump from Lincoln II in the Gut. The Men's 2nds also rowed over on Friday. Their rowing had been improving all week. They stayed clear of Univ II and made gains on LMH II for the overbump after Lincoln II bumped out. On Saturday M2 had LMH II in their sights. They closed to within a canvas off the bump but then the division was klaxonned. This left our M2 on -1 for the week.

Women's 1sts
Our Women's 1sts were involved in an exciting race on Wednesday. After Mansfield in front bumped out on Sommerville, we were chasing Sommerville for the overbump whilst holding off Wolfson from behind. We successfully held off Wolfson and got the overbump on Sommerville at the end of the Green Bank. This meant our Women's 1sts were again chasing Mansfield on Thursday. Higher up in the Division, a collision resulted in St Hilda's rowing into the bank and becoming wedged there. Our girls, who were three places behind Hilda's, overtook to gain a bump. On Friday, our Women's 1sts managed to finally get the bump on Mansfield, in full view of the college boathouse. On Saturday they were on for blades and chasing Keble college for that 4th bump. After an excellent start they bumped Keble around Donnington Bridge to win blades.

Men's 1sts
Our Men's 1sts were chasing Hertford on Wednesday. After a good start we managed to bump them between Donnington Bridge and the Gut. On Thursday M1 were chasing Oriel, considered one of the 'Big Four' of college rowing, who proved a much tougher oposition. Oriel pulled away at the start, but tired later on in the course and we closed down to a length off. On Friday M1 were hit with a sudden illness to the crew, and had to get in a substitute and subsequently reshuffle the crew order. However they were unphased by this and went out and rowed very well. Again Oriel had the stronger start but faded significantly towards the end. We gained enough to force them to run across the river at the end, but were about a foot off of getting the bump. On Saturday M1 stepped up a gear again. After an excellent start we closed hard on Oriel and bumped them half the way up the Green Bank. This took M1 up to 6th on the river. This is their highest finishing position for around 40 years. We ended the week on +2 which was also the highest upward movement of any boat starting in the Top Division. Our M1 are now truly a significant force in college rowing.

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Running

The struggle of carting my overfilled boxes of personal frippery up from one of the storage rooms, or the porn dungeon, at the beginning of each term always marks my resolution to return to ‘jogging'. The bliss of the returning home to a stocked fridge (even if the contents are marred by an excessive number of chicken carcasses) quickly turns to a fat ass, and thus I begin to run.

The first two runs of the term are always hideous- they usually begin with a single lap of uni parks during which you always encounter the swinging ponytailed, sports bra sporting, smug bitch specimen running much, much faster than you. This hurts whether you're male or female and only compounds the pain emanating from your underused knees, shoulders, broken heart and lungs. The mental battle means that the pain isn't limited to the physical either, whilst running for the first time in a while you can't help but to chastise yourself for all of the things that past you shouldn't have done: holding a heavy person on your shoulders whilst drunk and singing the national anthem, late night falls, nicking a ciggy though you don't smoke, sleeping with a munter and not exercising earlier.

A description of the self-loathing triggered by an unprecedented jog could ensue, but that's not really the point, because I think running's really rather wonderful. Running really isn't like Sonic, the big boss is nastily at the beginning, and after that it's (relatively) plain sailing. As soon as you've beaten the gremlins and ogres of initially painful legs you get to indulge in something which is guaranteed to nullify the effects of drinking. It also gives you a chance to have a long chat with busy friends and will eventually make you look sexier, and boys we need some more Spartans about. Running allows you to feel validated in eating more than 4 slices of toast at hall breakfast and stay out dancing ‘til dawn, and thus should be seen as an integral part of any unhealthy lifestyle.

About 3 weeks into term you should have progressed to a speed and comfort level which allows you to explore the further reaches of Oxford:

A loop round Marsden reminds us that just minutes away live real people in homogenous semis that believe adverts and complain about traffic, a mundane reality which contrasts hugely with the turreted, converted, convoluted, random and downright gorgeous Victorian houses largely inhabited by tutors that greet your return to the town center.

The ‘Three Bridges' route proves that even Oxford runners can't count.

A lap around Port Meadows will exhaust and amaze, particularly approaching winter when despite the fact that it's half submerged and bloody foggy you will realise that you're not the only person on the meadow. Lone figures stalk across the moor bent double against the wind, and cows look like dogs at a distance, which means that it can feel like a scene from the Hound of the Baskervilles.

Running along the canal makes you go faster, because the shadows cast by the trees on the water do wonderful things for increasing adrenaline levels to a level only warranted by a face-to-face encounter with Jack the Ripper.

So go ahead and pull on a pair of leggings with ventilation in the crotch or a pair of shortest-short-shorts with airtex holes in case they're not short enough. Add a t-shirt of some event you've been to, or society that you're involved in, buy a pair of trainers from Sports World (and