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All in a day’s Work.txt: Metatheatre’s extremes

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For £5 (and a 42p booking fee), I found myself in a room full of theatre kids who had finally attained that cherished jewel of our modern world: a job. I first heard about Work.txt when I was asked by a friend (or coworker?) if I was free Saturday night. Being instinctively adverse to clubbing, I was, indeed, free. Unemployed, even. And this was a gilt-edged proposition I just couldn’t turn down. At the mention of the name Ted Fussell, I threw £5 (plus the emphasised 42p booking fee) of my student loan at Ticketsource, completely unaware of what I was getting myself into. All I knew was that I was expected at ‘The Place of Work’ (Lecture Room Six at New College) at 8pm that Saturday. Since punctuality is one of the traits that makes me such a team player, I met Teddy Farrand (or the receptionist?) outside the lodge ten minutes early, presented him with my ticket, and announced that I was clocking in for my shift. 

Upon entry, I followed the instructions on the screen, placing the book that I was asked to bring with me onto the growing pile in the centre of the stage. I struck up a conversation with my fellow audience members, or coworkers, as we began to immerse ourselves into this bit to which we had already committed £5 plus (say it with me) a 42p booking fee. “It feels like we’re talking around a water cooler”, Rebecca Harper remarked before she mimed holding a little paper cone. We speculated about whether this would count as work experience on LinkedIn. The audience was already taking the “play performed entirely by its audience” pitch very seriously. 

The show centred around a script-cum-PowerPoint presentation. Yellow text flashed on a black screen, encouraging either the whole audience to speak or only a specific group who had something in common. The categories ranged in specificity, from “runners” to “people who don’t sleep well”. This technique was rather revealing: you never knew whether your voice was going to be part of a chorus or if you would be reading a line alone. You could learn a lot about how your fellow audience members characterised themselves through their silences and their responses with this technique, and you shared a lot about yourself in return.

Work.txt often works metatheatrically and draws attention to its scripted nature. The stage manager’s digression about Gilmore Girls, for example, then diverged into something along the lines of “I haven’t even watched Gilmore Girls. This is just what the screen is telling me to say”. The screen could also edit your perceptions of a character trait with which you had already aligned, gradually revealing information after you had already committed to reciting the assigned script. For example, I took on the role of “a person who hasn’t said very much yet” and was caught off guard when this character then spiralled into one spouting criticism against the show. I found myself complaining that this wasn’t real theatre, that it wasn’t Mamma Mia the Musical, regardless of the fact that I (the individual, not the character) was having a great time. 

The show emphasised the £5.42 ticket price as a way of pointing out the peculiarity of the fact that we had paid someone else to let us do work for them. This was likened to the structure of university; we get loans to do work that will eventually help us do more work and pay back the loans until we are sixty years old. For now, though, that £9,535 a year is only a number on a webpage, and we can forget that the drudgery of our degrees is not only self-inflicted, but something we pay for. 

These more bleak illuminations were mingled alongside other excellent comedic moments, executed successfully thanks to the energy of the audience. This article would not do the show justice without a nod to the single best moment of student theatre I have ever experienced, as either cast, crew, or audience. The screen flashed up with these words on separate lines: Every. Night. In. My. Dreams.

The melancholic whistling of the opening notes radiated from the screen before us, and the slide changed into a karaoke video of Celine Dion’s ‘My Heart Will Go On’. We sang all 4 minutes and 40 seconds. Arms swayed. I turned to the others in my row and began to dedicate my performance to Maggie Kerson, who likewise responded with a dramatic air grab, as she informed me her heart will, in fact, go on. We turned our phone torches on and waved them in the air. It was a live concert on a small scale, but the energy could have filled Wembley Stadium. I choose to believe that this was an accurate reflection of the corporate world, that each working day is punctuated by the collective belting of 90s pop classics.  

At the end of the play, the humour melded with an unsettling bitterness. It jumped from the subtle commentary on the working world and our place within it, not as human beings, but as employees, and shifted to a more blunt, bleak outlook of the world. Our main character and fellow audience member, Holly, lay on the floor and told us all the reasons she wanted to “stop”. The printer, which had been inconspicuously set on a table in the corner of the room for the duration of the play, then took over as the narrator, providing an epilogue. This speech moves beyond the end of the working day and blends cosmic existentialism with meaningless corporate speak. It tells us about the destruction of the natural world, the death of the human race, yet the persistence of work nonetheless. “God tries lateral thinking”, the audience is told. “Sound gets put on a zero-hour contract.” It was bizarre yet depressing to hear this workplace jargon being applied to the world beyond humanity. The universe became a workplace, striving towards nothing in particular. It was a reminder of how far we have come from where we started as part of the natural world, how we have produced our own prisons in the form of deadlines, networking, and contracts. 
While my heart will go on, so will the corporate cesspools we have built for ourselves, but Celine Dion has only sung a power ballad about one of these things. Still, Work.txt provides something of a solution to the horrors of the modern workplace in its call to inaction in a world of hustle culture and relentless productivity.

The post All in a day’s Work.txt: Metatheatre’s extremes appeared first on Cherwell.



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Student Life

Trade unions and students rally in Oxford to mark General Strike centenary

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Students and the University and College Union (UCU) have joined an ongoing march and rally in Oxford to mark the 100-year anniversary of the 1926 General Strike. 

The march left Manzil Way, Cowley, at around 12.30pm and arrived at Bonn Square in the city centre at around 1.15pm. Those attending include the Oxford District and Trade Unions Council, the UCU, the Teachers Union, the National Union of Journalists (NUJ), the National Pensioner’s Convention and the Renter’s Rights Union. They have been joined by members of Oxford Stand Up to Racism (OUSTR), the Socialist Worker’s Party, the Communist Party, Your Party,  the Green Party and other groups. Several students attended, including a group from the Oxford Labour Club. 

The event commemorated the anniversary of the 1926 General Strike, a sympathy strike which took place across the United Kingdom from 4th to 12th May 1926, in an attempt by the Trade Union Congress (TUC) to pressure the UK Government to improve working conditions and prevent reductions to pay for coal miners. In Oxford, railway, print and building workers marched in solidarity with miners in other regions of the country. The march was largely seen as unsuccessful at achieving its aims, but has been widely depicted in literature and film.

Organisers and attendees gathered at Manzil Way from around 12pm. OUSTR and the Socialist Worker put up stalls on Manzil Way and at Bonn Square, and various groups distributed leaflets and campaign materials at both locations. Marching to the City Centre, those gathered chanted “Here to stay, here to fight, workers of the world unite”, “What do we think of landlords? Shit. What do we think of shit? Landlords” and “Whose streets? Our streets”.

Speakers at the rally included Steve Wright of the Fire Brigades Union. Speaking after his address, Wright told Cherwell he aimed to “bring the message that it’s only workers that can fight back and push back employers….I think it’s about looking forward and building a society and country that’s built in the interest of workers.”

A UCU committee member told Cherwell that it was “important to show solidarity with members of other UCU branches who are experiencing significant attacks on their working rights and working conditions.

“Oxford from the outside has a reputation of ivory towers, but there are lots of problems with poor job security… [and] attacks on higher education. Oxford isn’t immune.”

In a comment to Cherwell before the event, Co-Chairs of the Oxford Labour Club (OLC) described the General Strike as “one of the most prominent points in the history of the British trade union movement…two million people joined together in solidarity to show both their employers, and the ruling political class, that working people in the United Kingdom deserve to be heard, seen, and respected”.

A brass band accompanied the marchers and played throughout the journey down to Bonn Square, with one performer describing the event as “part of the history of music within the trade union movement”.

Today’s event will be followed on 16th May by performances including live music at the Museum of Oxford to tell the story of the 1926 General Strike in Oxford.

Reporting Stanley Arlidge, Ned Remington and Hattie Simpson.



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Oxford Mutual Aid re-opens after month-long closure

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Oxford Mutual Aid (OMA) has reopened after a month-long closure due to “emergency repairs” at the hall they operate out of, which the charity described as “the longest closure period OMA has ever seen”.

The community organisation, founded in 2020 during the COVID-19 pandemic, provides “essential weekly support” to 190 households in Oxford, supporting around 750 people. They have distributed 30,000 food parcels since 2022, including around 250 emergency food parcels per month. The group also distributes toiletries and baby supplies to those in need. They described themselves to Cherwell as “Oxford’s biggest direct food support provider”, supporting over 2000 people, or 1.2% of Oxford’s population, every year. The majority of those supported are children.

OMA re-opened on 27th April after “the repairs and safety issues” to the hall were resolved. In a comment, OMA told Cherwell they were “very grateful” to those who donated to cover the costs of repairs, with donations exceeding a “stretch goal” of £4,000 during the month of closure. All donations not spent on financing repairs have “gone to purchasing more supplies to ensure we can fully provide everything our community needs” during a time of “heightened demand”. 

OMA told Cherwell: “We have had to replace much of our food stocks and replace a substantial amount of shelving amid other equipment…Support from the community to cover these costs has ensured our financial stability has not been put in jeopardy.” 

OMA added that their closure had been “devastating” for the community: “OMA is the only support they can access. We are the only org to deliver across the entire city, meaning we’re able to reach people with disabilities, health issues, stringent childcare or work responsibilities and/or low mobility – people who find it hard to reach more traditional food support.” The charity added that they have referred those in need towards alternative provision where possible during their closure. 

On their website, OMA describe “two Oxfords”, with the University and surrounding “wealthy districts” making the city “one of the most expensive places to live in the UK”, whilst also being home to “some of the most deprived wards in the country”. According to OMA, between 9 and 14% of the city is estimated to be experiencing food poverty.

The organisation has described itself as a “grassroots action network…born out of LGBTQ and trade union organisers, and local community groups”, believing in “solidarity, not charity”. Following their re-opening, OMA told Cherwell they “will continue to support everyone we can in Oxford, across the whole city”.





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Both rags and riches: Social media is heightening Oxford’s class disparities

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According to the University of Oxford’s admissions data, in 2024, 14.5% of students admitted were from the most socio-economically deprived areas in the UK. Many students at the University come from comfortable, more middle-class backgrounds, but sprinkled in are members of the elite: the children of aristocracy and the ultra-wealthy. For many working-class, state-educated students, coming to Oxford allows them to interact with people from this world for the very first time.  

It can be very disorienting to enter this new social sphere. At first, you can feel overwhelmed by its strange traditions and the people you are suddenly interacting with. It is bizarre to have a Scout who automatically cleans up after you. To be wined and dined in black tie, and to have a bursary that allows you to spend without worry, can feel uncomfortable for those who grew up with less. It’s very easy to feel out of place, both academically and socially.  

As time goes on, immersion in this fantasy land can make you out of touch. There is an illusion of student solidarity, that we are somehow all the same. We all know the trauma of essay deadlines, we use the same Oxford lingo, we study in the same libraries, we eat hall meals together, and we attend the same events. But then the vacation rolls around. As people return home, you realise that this Oxford bubble is not real life. The reality of class differences smacks you abruptly in the face.  

For working-class students, the truth is that many university acquaintances do not live the same lifestyle as you do. Most students at Oxford never need to worry about  whether their household will make ends meet this month. They do not have the burden of a maxed-out student loan, a crippling overdraft, and a laborious part-time job awaiting them in the vac. The vacation period is one where the vibrant world of Oxford feels very far away. What can connect you is the friends that you have made there, and social media is the easiest way to catch up on their lives. 

A dopamine-boosting doomscroll is particularly tempting for those of us who have few entertainment options during the vacation. Instagram shows you the lives of your new acquaintances and the alien world they reside in – a montage of huge houses, constant travel, and smiling friends in chalets and pools. It could not be more different from how you and most people live. It is difficult to escape the realisation that not only does this lifestyle exist, but it also exists near to you, and yet remains unattainable. It opens your eyes to the true class difference that exists between you and many of your peers, which amplifies the feeling of not quite belonging to the environment of Oxford. The unequal nature of the lottery of life is made more apparent when social media allows you to take a glimpse into the lifestyles of fellow students.  

In term time, there are always subtle reality checks that remind you of the class differences that exist at university, and they tend to be cliché – what school did you go to? Blank stares at your reply. Where do you typically holiday in the summer? Awkwardly state that you will probably be at home working. These reality checks are far harder to dodge when your scrolling takes place in an uncomfortable home, shattered, after a long shift at work. 

The whiplash that comes with oscillating between a comfortable, social, and cosy time at university and a harsher time at home is an exhausting experience. It can feel like you don’t really belong anywhere. A sense of isolation is inevitable when you are one of the few people in your circle who live in real financial struggle. It can seep into your confidence academically and socially. The thoughts of “I don’t really fit in here” get louder in those moments where class difference is made apparent, which only exacerbates imposter syndrome.  

As petty as it may seem to whine about  social media, which is entirely curated anyway, it doesn’t undermine the fact that this is a symptom of the core experience of working-class students at Oxford. The solution seems simple – just delete social media during the vacation and try accepting that your lifestyle is different from your peers. Whilst that is certainly a way to escape the toxic comparisons, it is not that easy, nor is it the main problem. Social media enables you to witness the unaffordable lifestyles of people around you. Even without that tool to help you sneak a peek, the cutting realities of being working class in Oxford will always find a way to follow you around.  

Like stones in your shoes, it can add pressure to change yourself to fit into this new world, as your own feed transforms in response to this different social circle. Working-class students can attempt to glamorise what little they have by changing their social media habits. Perhaps post some snapshots of the budget holiday you worked the whole summer for? The story behind that picture of a nice meal with friends, or snaps of the Varsityski trip, is that it has plunged you into the (not so) warm embrace of your overdraft. These attempts to blend in are made in vain and can feel depressingly shallow. 

But it’s not all doom and gloom. There is extraordinary pride in knowing that making it to Oxford from a socio-economically deprived background is a sign of true strength and resourcefulness. The pains of adapting to a world where most people will not understand the life experiences that come with this pay off. The ability to live two contrasting lives certainly makes you a well-rounded person. Despite having the burden of financial worries, fewer networks, and feelings of social isolation, working-class students at Oxford still manage to adapt and thrive.  



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