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