Olly Chadwick

Olly has written 6 articles for Nouse

Freshers are our future

A warm hello to all the freshers out there picking up Nouse for the very first time and breathing in the heady vapours of student journalism. Strange isn’t it? Like a real newspaper only shoddier. Well it’s free, what did you expect? Clearly this is an exciting time for you chaps, new people to meet and so forth. Personally I dislike new people, so don’t envy you one bit, but none of you have any real work to do for the next year, so I suppose it all works out in the end

The student campaigners

I don’t like student politics. Not the politics of students you understand, I delight in the lefty-liberal consensus. No, it’s politics about students that offends me. This is not Paris ’68, the vice-chancellor is not ‘The Man’. Get. Some. Perspective

You win club, you lose club

Shocking news reaches me that local slag-pit Toffs is to start staying open until 4am every night. 4am? Good grief, that’s very nearly tomorrow. With the University failing to respond by moving its schedule forward two hours, we have reached something of a impasse. This can only have a detrimental effect on lecture attendance; I fear for all our degrees

SU President Destitute

The history books are packed with occurrences of great leaders being poorly treated by ungrateful subjects. Churchill only managed a couple of months in Downing Street after winning the war before he was kicked out by the labour-loving British electorate. And what thanks did Saddam Hussein get for his years of public service?

Melinda Melinda

In a softly lit bistro, somewhere tres chic in Manhattan, two writers are making their case for the fundamental nature of the universe by each telling the same story but with a different slant: one presenting it as a tragedy, the other as comedy. Why yes! Woody Allen is involved, how on earth did you guess?

That Oscars business

Ah, The Oscars. That special time of year when, for just one night, the men and women of Hollywood cease their fussing and a-fighting, come down from the hills, and say to one another: “We like ourselves.” True, it’s an overblown, overlong celebration of the mediocre drivel the film industry callously pumps into the multiplexes; and, true, the teary ramblings of the winners should rightly cause any decent human being to hurl their guts out in front of the telly; but we still love it, don’t we?