Today, September 24, 2020, marks six years since my brother John passed away.
Tinker Tailor Student Spy
All across the globe, statues commemorating the inglorious dead are toppling, writes Jean Balchin.
For this week’s column, Jean Balchin decided to ‘‘pass the mic’’ to dear friend and fellow Rhodes Scholar, Mimi Alyce Borders, who has penned this article in response to the murder of Oluwatoyin Salau, a young black woman from Tallahassee, Florida.
By the time this article is printed, New Zealand will be in lockdown just as we are in the United Kingdom.
This past Sunday, the University of Otago’s Richardson building hosted a brilliant light show, exploring how the Victorians grappled with a world in transition.
Earlier this week, seemingly momentous news broke — disgraced film producer Harvey Weinstein was finally found guilty of sexual assault.
‘‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’’
It had started to rain when I heard about Kobe Bryant’s death.
I was in the pub the other night with a few friends after a particularly strenuous rock climbing session when my friend Sebastian told me to close my eyes.
On February 29, 2020, I will be shaving my head.
Winter is gathering here in Oxford, the streets are icy, and it seems that all hell has broken loose in the Oxford Union.
On Saturday, I completed my 25th revolution around the sun. In other words, I turned 25 years old; a full quarter of a century.
Among his other talents, my father is a talented storyteller. So talented, in fact, that after countless bedtime stories, I would toss and turn in my bed, conjuring up all sorts of terrifying...
Last night, I dreamed of him again. My siblings and I were sitting on the sand at Waihi Beach, squabbling over our picnic lunch, and boasting of the waves we were going to catch. John was to my...
In a rebuttal to a previous article , Emeritus Prof Olssen accuses me of making ''specious'' claims about the legacy and character of Captain James Cook.
I was wandering aimlessly around the airport on Tuesday morning, after arriving horrifically early for my flight, when I chanced upon a brightly coloured children's picture book.
After a long and harrowing journey, I was finally home.
Nearing the end of her first year in Oxford, Jean Balchin says it can, at times, be a dark and lonely place.
Every time I hear the phrase ''committing suicide'' it feels like someone has sucker-punched me in the stomach, writes Jean Balchin.
Every morning, shortly after waking, I carefully press out two yellow and green pills from their silver foil and pop them in my mouth. I swallow them with a mouthful of coffee, and then go about my...