St Andrews is, in many ways, a little oasis which we have been blessed with the pleasure of enjoying. Edinburgh is close enough to make journeying there feasibly, yet far enough to make it still a slight effort to go there. We have a library which, though not comparable to Alexandria of old nor Bodley’s or Congress’s of late, has a wide and deep breadth and enough to keep us occupied. We have beautiful beaches, divine strands on which to saunter, rest a while, exascerbate ourselves, paddle in the waves, or converse with a friend. We have a number of good bookshops in which to peruse ancient volumes. We have myriad cafés in which to read our books, and pubs in which to stir our minds over pints of bitter. We have a style of teaching which allows ample time to wander the library, ambulate down the sands, explore the booksellers, enjoy our drinks. We have, most thankfully, a community of orthodox Catholics and fellow travellers, saints and sinners, which provides sufficient good times and fellowship that one imagines we’d be happy even without our beaches, libraries, cafés, et cetera. We have an entire lifestyle of tradition, thought, worship, and enjoyment. It was ever thus, we are told, and ever thus it shall be, God willing.