Why Oxford’s shitty phone service is more than annoying, it’s dangerous
Oxford’s shitty service is such a boring topic it doesn’t even merit pub chat. And yet we’re all constantly trying to decipher the robotic voices on the end of our phone calls; or waiting, white-knuckled, for the blue line to make it across the screen on Safari. When I first move
Bygone dreams: a review of Carl Sagan’s ‘Cosmos’
‘If inclinations toward slavery and racism, misogyny and violence are connected—as individual character and human history, as well as cross-cultural studies, suggest—then there is room for some optimism. We are surrounded by recent fundamental changes in society […]. Women, patronised for mi
IOTW: Ballroom Emporium
Situated at the Cowley head of Oxford’s most treacherous roundabout—an arena where pedestrians, cyclists, and vehicles alike engage in transitory games of chicken, all to make their way in and out of the City Centre—sits Ballroom Emporium. The gilded, serif lettering displaying the boutique’
Orla Wyatt’s A+E is incredible
You’ve not really been to uni until you’ve sat overnight, squirming and overheated, on the JR’s cold, plastic chairs, anxiously waiting for your (or your flatmate’s, or teammate’s, or partner’s) name to be called out, granting you coveted access to a doctor through those swinging met
Is Marxism over?
Conventional leftist wisdom has it to mock the so-called ‘End of History’. But what if all this is just a massive cope? Sure. Liberal democracy did not continue to triumph in the decades after 1989, but neither did socialism, so it was a lose-lose. Today, Marxism has more rallying
The Resistable Rise of Arturo Ui: a study in unnecessary subversion
Being funny is harder than most people think. Being funny on stage is even harder. And being funny in the way that German playwright Bertolt Brecht’s work often demands of his actors— in a way that uses humour first as a tool of distraction, and then to force the audience to reckon with their ow
Musings from a courtroom
They say that jurors fall into two camps; those who thrive from the start, and those who enjoy themselves eventually. There is, however, a third camp they don’t talk about. Those who don’t—and continue to not—want to be there. I fell into this third camp. A jury summons letter isn’t what m
IOTW: Calliope, Oxford’s eldest daughter
Art historian John Rolfe was walking down an eerily quiet Broad Street in 2020 when he looked up and saw something peculiar: a crumbling Muse, or rather the ghost of one, teetering atop the Clarendon Building at the corner of Broad and Catte Street. The Clarendon is one of those Oxford buildi
