Expeditions Society 1996-97

Another very good year can be reported. Membership has kept to high levels, and the number of Sixth and Remove involved in at least one Expedition is very encouraging. Play Term saw Sailing in the Channel and the ever popular Lyke Wake Walk. This year's LWW was heavily oversubscribed (warning to potential walkers next year!). Lent Term was more awkward because of the lack of free weekends, but the cavers managed to get away, and the small party who got to Skye also had a marvellous time. Election Term brings the good weather and is always busy. Cycling, Parachuting, more Caving (due to popular demand) and Riding are all in the pipeline. To cap it all, a week in Scotland over the vac looms for the Summer Camp.

As for next year, the perennial favourites (LWW, Sailing, Caving, Parachuting) will all be there. The Easter Camp will be cross-country skiing in Norway, and the Summer Camp looks like taking off for one of the USA's National Parks.

I would like to thank all those who have helped in running the Expeditions this year - the assistance is much valued.

Damian Riddle

PHAB

Two things stick in my mind about the PHAB week. The first is what we were set up to expect - how I went into it recoiling against horror stories of exhaustion, stress, and irritatingly psychological 'spiritual development'. The second, how much easier everything became. By the end of the first afternoon, awkwardness was sliding down the list of priorities, and we were functioning - granted, in an unusual environment, and with slightly more responsibility and required effort - as coherently as Westminsters conceivably can. I can't stress enough how quickly disability stopped being the major issue (except where it concerned the daily manoeuvring of wheelchairs up and down stairs), and how various hyped stereotypes ('the chronic exhaustive', 'the emotional gauntleteer') found themselves clinging on, rather than controlling. At a certain point - and that point comes pretty soon - you find yourself having more problems with fellow ABs than the PHs you're meant to be focussed on: legend has it that last year's Crucible-like scenario saw bemused PH's counselling traumatised Westminsters. There's always the flip-side, of course; the hard-core financial advantages of the week: flexible budget, perennial chocolate supplies, theatre, and cinema. All successful, except our final Mission Impossible outing (£5.50 for a desperately needed three hour nap, and not-so-comfortable chair), which just goes to show the truth behind various horror stories. Yes, you do get pretty tired. Yes, socialising is the order of the day. And yes, there's no question that the week involves an excessive amount of lifting, early rising, and tolerance.

The 'pragmatism' theory, however, refuses to fit the whole equation. Even for people who have done the course several times, the emotional side remains a highly charged, and highly attractive, area. At its most mechanical, you can trace a few stages: the obvious initial awkwardness, being unsure of what to say, when, and how to say it; improvements on both sides, and shift from conscious 'socialising' to chatting; and the final, undiscriminating retaliation against everything, and desperate bid for sleep. This - even this - doesn't account for everything. Despite a violent phobia of over-emotionalising, and inbuilt 'psychobabble' filter, feelings squeeze through that cannot be slotted into any kind of agenda - realising that you're giving, and having, a lot of pleasure, that conversations are now more interesting than awkward, and still (even though it becomes less frequent), that you are incredibly lucky to be able to dress and feed yourself. Everything, in this respect, seems to be a mixture of extremes: intense fun, intense exhaustion; one minute motivated, the next, deflated.

Unsurprisingly, the ending concert - towards which daily workshops had been geared - encapsulated the week's exotic emotional combinations. An Oscar-winning performance by David Esfandi boosted the remarkable Abba hits/musical numbers repertoire, was burnished by futuristic prop contributions, and backdropped by PHAB's premiering thriller sequence. After a much deserved round of mutual back-patting, we were left with the last item - David Myles reciting one of his own poems. It is difficult to pin down, and even harder to describe. If I say that he can hardly move or talk, and that he writes exclusively of love and beauty, the audience confusion becomes understandable - one of the only times where the cliched laugh/cry dilemma has been totally accurate. If I had to sum up PHAB in a memory, it would have to be that finale. The week is a balancing act, a see-saw of overwhelming sympathy and awkwardness (unproductive), and pitiless pragmatism (equally unproductive). Embarrassingly obvious as it may sound, the key to a sane seven days is remembering that they're in it for fun, that you're in it for fun, and that you'll end up getting as much out as you put in.

Salome Leventis (Hakluyt's)