Where I Can See Sky

If you've ever seen  The History Boys , then you might have got the impression that at universities like Cambridge what is considered to be 'intellectual' is that which is controversial. Lots of people (including people at Cambridge) think that what we're aiming for is a veritable smorgasbord and pure mania of 'challenging and original' thought, such that a convincingly argued 'Hitler was really a goodie' essay ought to pass for 'cleverness'. There is some truth in this viewpoint,  something which is by the comedian Stewart Lee in a recent interview (which you can read here: https://www.varsity.co.uk/culture/13360). Lee suggests that the one-upmanship culture of debate at places like the Cambridge Union (and it is predominantly if not exclusively *men* who most enjoy this one-up*man*ship style) has contributed to the diminution of politics into an 'intellectual game' whereby 'the combative sport of debate' becomes more important t

I, and the blog, are back once more! I appreciate no-one cares *that* much (apart from Ellie, my #biggestfan #bringbacktheblog #etc), but let’s briefly construct a hypothetical universe in which the tired and weak and poor care deeply about my blog and have been flagellating with disappointment that there hasn’t been one for two weeks. My dears, my dears! I needed to take a blog-holiday (a bloliday, if you will) in order to rest my weary head, and have a full and proper summery break. That bloliday is, I hope, now over, although even I cannot tell what will come to pass. But for now in any case I return, and the mindless nattering continues. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Let’s talk about letters. Letters are totally and utterly dying out, and this is a sad thing. Why, I hear you ask? Isn’t it better nowadays that we can message each other instantly (etc. etc. you get the gist of this bit). Ye

Taps You know that you know a place if you can remember the intricacies of its taps. At my accommodation in Cambridge, I know that the sink tap is hyper-sensitive, and that opening it a supposedly reasonable amount results in a torrent of water that will cover the entire room with a universal dew. I know which taps at home stick and which don’t. I know that in the tap under the library at Christ’s, the drip tray is liable to overflow. At Sevenoaks School in Kent, where I have sometimes been to rehearse with NYMT, I know that there is a water dispenser where one tap dispenses faster than the other, and where turning on this tap will slow the flow of the other, which is useful if you are in a cup-filling race. Wit Wit is the combination of intelligence and humour. It is highly prized, but it is also dangerous for its possessor. For wit, unless you are on Would I Lie to You, is ephemeral; it is there, and then it disappears forever. I cannot remember the ‘witty’ rema

A short one today! The non-leisurely part of my life has two main foci at present (in no particular order): on the one hand, thinking and writing about the past, and on the other hand, acting, singing and Musical Theatre. I’m one of those people who, rather than being good at lots and lots of things, tries to be good at two big things, both of which I find fulfilling and which I think of as important in ways that relatively few other pursuits are. I have always sung – there is nothing I do or love more, and there is never a day in my life when I do not sing. And through singing I got to Musical Theatre and to acting, particularly from the age of about 13 onwards. This felt like a very natural development, and I’ve always felt that to be a really good singer you need to be able to act, because what sets the voice apart from other instruments most of all is its capacity for words and storytelling, and what makes a story most tellable is, not just good music, but good acting and

NB: This blog post has been vetted and checked because of complaints about high levels of pretentiousness, inordinate self-pity and pettiness in the face of criticism. I am happy to report that none of these complaints have been proved true, that my detractors lack the cultural sophistication to understand my work, that they have no idea who I am or what my life is like and that, furthermore, they are stinky and vile. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Once again I am ill. Ill and tired, tired and ill. Yesterday I got back home from Cambridge, and tomorrow I get my results. I am ill. There is little consensus over what exactly ails me, which is not surprising, because only my brother is in the house today, and we have different opinions. He thinks I may be suffering from some kind of ‘man flu’, a type of illness invented by Swine Flu Inc. while there were rebranding in an attempt to expand their commerc

I continue to be questioned about the exact nature of my blog. Yes, it lacks a coherent linking theme except in so far as it concerns the things that happen to me, but that’s sort of is what living is, and at least it provides for ever unpredictable content! It’s been a busy few days. On Monday I went to Ely with Charlie, where we popped into the Cathedral, had a pub lunch and tried desperately to keep cool. I then had a series of Committee meetings, first with CUMTS (Cambridge University Musical Theatre Society), then CADS (Christ’s Amateur Dramatics Society), and then finally with the Seeley Society (which is Christ’s History Society). I am co-president of the latter next year with my partner-in-crime Anna-Marie, and we’ve been thinking about asking all sorts of prestigious and nearly-deceased historians to come and lecture. All I can say is that it’s gonna be *glorious* line-up. We also came up with some new and exciting event ideas for our prestigious and dignified history s