College currently employ Lynn and Danielle, both as Access Officers. One of these posts will be terminated at the end of Trinity and the other will not be renewed in September. The former Admissions Officer has also gone, and College are advertising a new post called ‘Access and Admissions’. This job will amalgamate the work of all three former roles, making the post holder responsible for undergraduate and graduate admissions, administrative work, and open days. What are the implications for Access?

The answer is not yet set in stone, but it is highly likely the amount of time available for Access work will fall dramatically. Between Lynn and Danielle there are currently 3.75 days a week spent on the New College Access Scheme, a level not feasible for one person to maintain whilst also running admissions. The advert for the new post also fails to mention ‘widening participation’ at all, the understood goal of Access, so the applicants will not necessarily focus on, or have a full understanding of, Access. The JCR was not consulted on this issue, a matter of great concern considering how heavily the JCR is involved in the Access scheme.

Even those of you who don’t take part will have seen myself and others showing groups of kids the delights of New College. Our aspiration days - of which there are roughly two a week during Hilary and Trinity - are a massive part of the Access Scheme at New. These are a whole day event in which groups of school children get to see College, talk to current undergraduates, eat in Hall, see the city, and participate in various academic activities. They are a fantastic tool for dispelling the myths surrounding Oxford, the kids have a great time, and the events have multiple benefits.

New College also runs several sixth form visits, interview workshops, and other Access-related events. The direct benefits of Access are hard to measure, but they are there. Take the school that last October had nine people apply to Oxbridge, their highest number ever, all of whom attended aspiration days in year 10. It is an unfortunate scenario that Oxford has a serious image problem, and many talented young people do not believe it is open to them. Events such as ours go a long way towards challenging the perceived barriers. Encouraging applications to Oxford is obviously the main aim, but it is not the only benefit either. An important role of the aspiration days is to encourage students to aim high, and think about attending University, wherever they choose to go. Our access project has now been running for five years, benefitting not only the students involved but their teachers and schools, as well as providing the JCR volunteers with valuable experience and offering the College excellent representation. The reasons Access is of crucial importance are numerous, but they can perhaps best be distilled into the idea that all deserve a fair chance at a good university education, and that social background should not be a barrier to achievement.

So, in light of all the positive contributions our Access scheme makes in so many areas, the wonderful JCR of New College passed a motion mandating me to attend Governing Body this week. I will be asking College to create one part-time post of Access Officer. This would allow the Access scheme to continue, hopefully on a similar scale as at current. If this fails, the future is uncertain. I have my fingers crossed that the successful project that has been built here over the last five years will not fall by the wayside.

In this field we have the most active JCR in Oxford, something we can all be proud of. Lynn, Danielle, and all our volunteers are part of something invaluable that I hope will be a part of New College for a long time to come.

A similarly unfortunate Laura now sports a double-armed sling after slipping on the spew-covered floor at LawSoc. We extend our sincere sympathies to her.

Ryan ended Hilary in spectacular fashion, spending the last night of term with a bevy of ladies. Now in possession of a used tracksuit, please could someone come forward and claim it from him?

Jonny was laying low for most of 1st Week, recovering from suspected Swine Flu that he contracted in India.

The immense Cowley Road house party resulted in a vom trail all the way from Yath’s bedroom back to College. Woods offered to carry the affected Fresher back to her room, but quickly realised that chunder-hair is extremely unattractive.

In the same upchuck vein, McNiv and Rai masterminded the Entz Lash: vomit awards go to Abbot (special commendation for not lasting beyond 10pm) and Snead, whose drunken 5am row was tinged with sick from two hours earlier.

Largely unfounded rumours of a weasel getting into the JCR weren’t enough to put off early-morning boxing watchers. Sriskandan lay unconscious on a sofa, as flotsam and jetsam of College life were stacked upon him. Still, he lasted for more than six minutes after the Sports Dinner, unlike Ricky Hatton himself.

The Sports Dinner itself was largely devoid of gossip, due to College’s sensible but regrettable decision to limit the amount of alcohol available. We can only hope that such a move is halted at future events: dare we need a pre-lash to College events?

Football passion in the JCR was taken to a new level when an angered fan supposedly karate-kicked the TV into two pieces. Maybe it was just frustration at the lack of sheep-shagging in Oxford.

Finally, a New College Fresher demonstrated unequivocally at Teddy Hall Ball that the way to get girls was to serenade them with his violin. The same can’t be said for an endeavouring group of New part-goers who managed to scrap in to the event for free.

[Apparently Caspar did something embarrassing this week, but it seems he and Ben have kept it from me–Ed.]

The night’s program was kick-started by a chamber ensemble with Jacques Ibert’s Divertissement that drew laughter and applause from the audience with its whimsical and comical nature. This was followed by an a cappella performance by the New College Choir, conducted by assistant organist Steven Grahl, who charmed the audience with Ernst Toch’s Geographical Fugue, Michael Tippett’s arrangement of Steal Away and the folk song Shenandoah. Bryony Morrison, a recent graduate of New, then impressed us all with an unaccompanied Bach violin sonata in G minor. Fellow graduates Chris Borrett and Joe Smith then took to the stage with the full orchestra for the jazz-influenced Rhapsody in Blue by George Gerswhin. With Joe on solo piano, Chris as conductor and Bryony leading, this was a nostalgic nod to their performance of the same piece in College two years ago. Their dynamic recital, with amazing improvisation from Joe, brought the first segment of the concert to an electrifying end. After the interval, for the grand finale of the night the orchestra, choir and Wykeham Singers joined for Francis Poulenc’s Gloria, conducted by Higginbottom and featuring the dazzling Anna Sideris as the soprano solo. The interesting contrasts between light and darkness, and humour and solemnity were captured by the orchestra and choir, while Anna’s haunting vocals captivated the audience, leaving everyone mesmerised. It was a rousing finish to a highly successful concert, which was filled with wit and passion and left Mrs Ryan close to tears.

The musicians left in high spirits and our efforts were rewarded with an after-party in the Founder’s Library, where we indulged in canapés, wine and merry-making. All in all, it was an unforgettable night of bidding farewell to old friends, but also of forging new friendships as musicians from within and without College came together for this momentous occasion. Indeed, if music be the food of love, play on!

Always central to success is a harebrained scheme of sorts. Declining in popularity is the ‘Karlin’ plan of stripping down to your naked, oiled, totally shaved body in order to escape those bouncers. The advantage of this particular approach is that a wristband is not needed, although providing the night’s activities are remembered in the morning there are also numerous disadvantages.

Attack plans involving scaling college walls often prove fruitful. A ladder comes in handy here, unless the porters get to it first. Sourcing a ladder can be easier than it sounds, although if it’s the bouncers who are offering it to you then you have probably got stuck on one of the spiky metal devices employed by colleges looking to keep out would-be intruders. Claims of ‘I’m up here looking for my purse’ sound as though they might work but as one nameless individual will explain, in practice this is simply not the case.

If walls aren’t your thing, you’ll need to be a little imaginative. One dedicated individual was rumoured to conceal himself in Worcester lake with the help of a snorkel in order to take part in the Commemoration Ball at a somewhat ‘reduced rate’. Unfortunately this masterpiece of ball crashing was cut short by the bouncers discovering his wetsuit, and then his lack of ticket.

Deception is usefully employed by any serious ball crasher. Joining a group of fire eaters to get into Merton seems to work, but only providing nobody requires a demonstration of your supposed abilities. The similar tactic of becoming a performing band’s groupie at the last minute is said to be particularly productive.

Taking the scenic route can run you up against trouble. Trudging through Christ Church bog might seem like a good idea at the time, but when your position is then fixed by a search light and you realise you’ve ruined your suit below the knees, it’s time to try an alternative course. In that particular case, the alternative idea was to gather the help of somebody whose house backs onto the college in question. Knowing the current occupants is trivial, as people are often highly willing to assist!

Avoiding security once inside is no easy feat, and you might need to run like hell and squeeze through jagged railings, leaving your ripped dinner trousers flapping in the wind. Which ball to target should also merit careful consideration. Your sights should not be set too high, as the severity of abuse coming from the bouncers is proportional to their wage. I mean, is it really worth breaking into the Union ball?

So, next time the ball rolls into town, bear in mind these tales of the experienced - you may just have a few stories yourself to tell in the morning.
N.B. Some names may have been changed in order to redistribute humiliation.

Manon arrives and instantly bewitches characters and audience alike. Her fancy, flirtatious foot and floor work was frankly flawless. An expert at ‘giving pleasure’, Manon continues to capture the attention of the gentlemen on stage. For one lucky student, slaving over his books, the feeling is mutual; unluckily, however, the romance is tragically brought to a halt when Lescaut, Manon’s pimp of a brother–the caped crusader from the opening sequence–sells his sister to an elderly aristocrat, Monsieur GM.

The anxiety felt by all, as Lescaut and Monsieur GM negotiate the deal, is beautifully rendered by the grace and poise of the movements as Manon is wheeled over the back of her brother, revealing her slender feet to the drooling aristocrat; a perfectly choreographed foot-fetish. Payment is received and Manon flees into the night with the aristocrat, abandoning the student after a one-night stand.

The second act continues in the same vein as the handsome and honest student strives to win back his beloved, but the shallow temptress is not willing to sacrifice her new found luxuries for the sake of love alone.

After relentless pursuit of his lover, the tension between Lescaut and Manon reaches new heights and she succumbs to her passion. The lovers flee through scenes of violence and anger. In the ensuing commotion, Lescaut is mortally wounded. The third and final act hurls Manon into poverty and famine, and the brink of death. The student is once again forced to save Manon from corruption and the final scene is fraught with emotion. The despair is heightened by the veil of dry ice that creeps across the stage, drowning even the orchestra in a mist of confusion. The exceptional choreography of the closing sequence portrays Manon’s frailty as she is barely capable of sustaining the energy of the first two acts. Love fails to conquer all as Manon dies in her lover’s embrace.

‘Manon’ is a breakthrough in modern ballet, blending classical style and contemporary movements to convey the intensity of the plot. As the curtain closes, the audience is left with mixed emotions from the beauty of the ballet and the tragedy of the tale.

Formal hall. That anachronistic prandial synecdoche. I know I am in the minority in attacking this great institution which, though we all love it, we hardly ever actually go to. Of course, being at Oxford it’s obviously an absolute necessity that every day we must at least have the option of dressing up in silly clothes and being waited on - even if we rarely exercise it. But there are three main grounds of opposition - economic, social and the “killer” third.

The economic reason is that we have to subsidise it by paying more for informal hall, and I’d much rather pay less for the service I do use than pay more to have the option of a service I hardly ever use. Both cost us the same price although one only needs a few staff standing behind a cafeteria and the other requires a couple of hours from about a dozen additional staff. While I support keeping Liam Howarth off the streets, surely more French Soc events would be a cheaper way of doing it?
Secondly, abolishing formal hall would allow informal to last longer, which would be better for everyone who is forced to put on a gown as a result of missing informal. Turning up late means you probably do interesting things, and life is just too short for three course meals. Currently informal begins at 5:45 and is constrained by formal to end at 6:30, a tiny window of time.

Thirdly (in order to keep this in good Obama rhetorical style) I will invent another reason - class war. Being served while you are a student by Brookes students - or, better, Eastern Europeans, perpetuates your already overdeveloped sense of superiority and general entitlement. Maybe this is a Marxist stretch, but it was one of the factors that induced leftist Balliol to abolish their formal hall.
I am in illustrious company in my objections. Even William of Wykeham himself said–
If Lucifer should ever call
I had rather take the fall
Ye horrors of the devil all
Are not as bad as formal hall.

But Katie Anthony argues for the established custom

Peter Crouch without the robot, Dave Whiffin without rowing, New College without formal hall: some things just don’t bear thinking about. Formal hall has been served at New College for hundreds of years. It is one of Oxford’s many weird and wonderful traditions which help set us apart from other universities, and I am most definitely a fan.

In addition to being useful as a warm-up to a night out or for impressing guests, it’s cheap. Where else can you enjoy a 3 course, waiter service meal in a beautiful setting for just £3.30? It is the perfect way of marking special occasions in these cash-strapped times.

Faced with the accusation that it pushes up the price of informal hall, I felt I had no choice but to consult the oracle of all things FHA, Steve McGlynn. He revealed that a typical formal hall only requires 2 or 3 staff members to stay behind after informal – staff who would be required anyway to tackle the mountain of washing up. He even suggested that informal hall could be the more expensive of the two, with the extra costs of cleaning hundreds of trays and keeping the food warm. All good news on the financial front.

As for those who cry “inequality” at the thought of being served by a fellow student, I urge them to open their eyes. It is just a job, no different to the ones taken by many of us who work in shops and restaurants in the holidays to fund pre-bop Primark habits. For those who are still aggrieved by the prospect of being waited on by others, feel free to join your Balliol counterparts in their search for service-free food, but prepare to go hungry.

Formal hall is as much a part of College life as Nigel’s singing, grumpy porters and Dwivedy’s sharking. I may not have blinded you with linguistic gymnastics, but I hope I have convinced you nevertheless. [Sorry Katie so obviously studied Ali’s article before writing her own–Ed.]

Except in Oxford. Cycling here is, often, an absolute nightmare. Which is ironic for a city that prides itself on having more bikes than people (an odd thing to take pride in; like the Welsh and sheep). I’ve now been cycling around Oxford for four years, and I can honestly say that it is a miracle that I am still in one piece. Accidents are so common as to go unnoticed; those flowers on the steps to the Bod remember a Third Year Engineer who was run over by a rubbish-collecting truck a couple of years back. That junction is a disgrace; in my time here, two people have been killed there, but the council still insists on not putting in proper crossings. Will no-one think of the children?!

And then there is the right-hand turn into Holywell Street from St Cross Road. What a death trap. Cars paying the “WHITE LINE MEANS DO NOT CROSS” part of the Highway Code no heed as they advance into your half of the road, avoiding you by millimetres. Other cyclists speeding out from Holywell Street at high speed, almost knocking you off. Old women walking painfully slowly through the bollards, blocking your exit route. Magdalen’s walls taunting you with their height, greyness and fucking arrogance at even being there.

Then there is the High Street. Not only is it, officially, the most polluted urban street in the entire UK (what do you think those busses run on? Air? Well OK, some of them are now non-polluting. Stop ruining my rant. Piss off.) - there is the constant fun of squeezing through the middle as two busses come, one either way, the gap between them narrowing and narrowing until… you just make it. One of these days my luck is going to run out. (Although preferably after I have sat exams; the idea of my obituary reading “Robin Moss, 1986-2009, we will never know how good he was at philosophy”, compared to “Robin Moss, 1986-2009, a solid 67-average 2.1 philosopher”, is too horrid for words). Overall, cycling = great, cycling in Oxford = gash.

The Newt has a long history of covering all things Hassan-related, and it seemed appropriate to dig through the archives to see what previous writers had thought of the Oxford Hassan Institute (OHI). Interviews previously conducted unearth revelations that impress me even more, his sparkling personality scratched away as we discover what he does when not dishing up post-club fodder (goes to bed—although his assistants profess to love “shagging teenage girls” during the day), how long he’s been here (now more than twenty years) and whether or not he really does have 18 children, all put through private school solely on his income (“No…Who do you think I am, Louis XIV?”).

I am certain that the status of Hassan’s as New’s favourite snackery is confirmed by rumours that the top priority of the new Ball Committee will be to plant Hassan’s in front of the Mound, giving us unrivalled access to the smiley chap for the night. Who needs expensive canapés and chocolate fountains when there’s unlimited cheese, beans and chicken ‘meat’ to go round? I for one am tempted to get it written into the JCR constitution that his presence at all official events is mandatory.

Long may it be the case that Hassan shrugs off his inferior competitors and soars at Oxford. Last night I met up with a school friend who attends Southampton University; our agreed meeting place? Hassan’s. His fame spreads beyond Oxfordshire borders. He could instigate a revolution at the drop of a hat. Any future grease-fuelled campaign certainly has my backing. Make him a Fellow of the College, and we’re sure to have his backing too. Vinegar and salt, anyone?

It seems that pledges to fight for 24 hour library access have been a stock feature of JCR election manifestos in recent years. The fact that we are still turfed out as the clock strikes twelve (lest we turn into academic pumpkins) suggests that it hasn’t been all that easy to arrange. When even the mighty Matt Ranger has been unable to provide the fix for our bibliothec desires there are clearly some serious barriers to getting College to open the library 24/7.
The real question is: why? After all, it’s not just academic hothouses like Balliol whose libraries are open at any hour of the day or night. Many colleges languishing in the Norrington Table’s nether regions also offer anytime library access, and if they can do it, why can’t we?
The most obvious reason is that College is not keen to leave the library open and unattended, fearful of the rampaging hordes of student vandals poised to lay waste to Homer and Hesiod: clearly a valid concern. Otherwise, the out of hours library provision already on offer uses a simple self-service system for checking out books, so there’s certainly no technical barrier. If it’s fears about unruly library behaviour in the dead of night, these are unfounded; that unique, musty aroma that wafts off the shelves would be enough to calm even the most excitable nocturnal visitor. Worries about bibliokleptomania are also insufficient cause for the library’s closure. Formidable as the library staff may be, there’s no way to stop someone taking a book if they really want to, regardless of whether the desk is manned or not. It’s even been suggested that New College’s senior management are averse to an always-open library to avoid putting off prospective candidates with an overly academic reputation. Fancy that, an academic institution with an academic reputation: definitely something to be avoided.
But then, perhaps there’s a more subtle reason for the curtailed opening hours. Perhaps it has something to do with the interesting observation that Balliol is the only college in the Norrington Table’s top five to offer 24 hour library access. Does this lead us to the somewhat counterintuitive conclusion that shorter opening hours lead to better academic results?
Few would argue that trying to read for an essay at 4 in the morning is an ideal situation, but the fact is we’d like the option. The experience of other colleges shows that it can be done, and there’s been no lack of effort on the part of the JCR to implement it at New College, but to no avail. I would appreciate an answer as to why.

Yours, in anticipation,

Rory Smith

As an English student who, due to a catastrophic series of misunderstandings in Freshers’ Week, is friends with a lot of scientists, I’m very familiar with the longstanding tradition that ‘English students do no work’. Instead, apparently, we wander vaguely round College, usually wearing an odd assortment of clothes borrowed from various periods throughout history, or sit on the lawn strumming a mandolin, or crouch in our darkened rooms having vague conversations and sampling hallucinogenic coffee beans.

Bits of this are true. But actually, we do have work to do. Loads of it, in fact, but in such fits and bursts that you might not notice our high levels of productivity. We read lots of books, most of them old, some of them unintelligible, many of them written by someone with a borderline personality disorder; we write lots of essays very fast and haphazardly; we look at manuscripts with the kind of glee Jafar feels in Aladdin when he thinks he’s got hold of the magic lamp; and we sit happily in tutes waiting for our tutor to come up with a perversely sexual spin on Jane Austen. Sometimes you might see us just staring absent-mindedly into space, but this is all part of the creative process.

The ‘creative process’, by the way, is a disordered and – yes – an anarchic one, so that one day I’ll visit one of my fellow English students and find him happily immersed in making his own cheese from buffalo milk, and the next day I’ll visit again and find him at his desk, glassy-eyed and dishevelled, having eaten nothing but raw meat and buffalo-cheese for the last twenty-four hours, greeting me with the words, ‘I’m nearing physical and mental breakdown.’ Soaring highs and crushing lows – all in a week’s work for the English student.

Psychology

Envy. Venom. Loathing. A few adjectives that may describe your feelings towards first and second year psychologists at the moment. Not because we’re particularly odious or enviable people, but because all our exam commitments are safely out the way by the beginning of Trinity Term, and we’re making that fact abundantly clear by ostentatious displays of croquet, lazing around and generally sunny dispositions in this time of others’ pre-exam stress.

Psychologists, when not sitting unseasonal examinations or partaking of the above activities, spend their time trying to quantify the unquantifiable. We cannot, unfortunately, ‘read your minds’ or ‘see inside your heads’. It is the attempts of our tutors and lecturers to do the latter to monkeys, however, which get the animal rights loonies so riled up every Thursday afternoon.

Popular opinion puts psychologists in a difficult position: disowned by essay subjects as too sciencey but scorned by other sciences as wishy-washy, our lot is not so
easy after all. Against this torrent of abuse, my lonely argument is that, while the accusations may be partly true in some isolated cases, most of psychology is based on rigorous scientific principles. The trouble is that our subject matter, the mind, is notoriously difficult to control.

So spare a thought for us psychologists as you make your way through the glorious sunshine to and from lectures and tutorials. Enjoy these brief moments of natural light, as they will soon be forgotten in a haze of preparation for the final hellish revision cramming period… Oh, go on then, feel free to hate us.