Mendelsohn's Misanthropy
I hate the May Day celebrations. One of Oxford's most bizarre and least significant little traditions, appropriated, as they all seem to be these days, by the jolly booze brigade. What was probably a quaint but dull event is now yet another excuse for tedious people to get drunk and boorish, for a change.
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Columns: Minions On A Mission
Tourists love students. Students hate tourists. There is nothing more degrading or distracting than being snapped in full feel-like-a-twat costume on the way to one's hardest exam. Nothing more irritating than attempting to barge one's way through a Danteseque mass of open-mouthed sightseers, into the Rad Cam. This week's mission, therefore, is sweet, blissful revenge.
At 1.15pm
Columns: Sexcellent
For most men, the attraction we feel to a girl is based on four principal areas.
Columns: Text And The City
I wonder if anyone has thought to hold a test case on exam nerves. Is the crucial half-hour before a licence to kill? Are there grounds for acquittal owing to exam-provoked stress-slaughter? I'd be very surprised if there had not been at least one violent death on the hallowed polished marble of Exam Schools; indeed in 1467 one Gerald Pontefract murdered a fellow student with a sharpened quill-pen over the ownership of a white carnation. The flower slowly turned pink with seeping blood, then red, and that, ladies and gentleman, is the origin of the ancient University tradition of carnations! OK, so this is a complete fabrication, but it's at least as plausible as half the lies they tell on those tour buses. ...
