Well the new year is finally upon us. I am very glad to say that this New Year’s Eve has been a very quiet and reserved one, perhaps appropriately enough given the recent catastrophes in Asia and Argentina. The hour was met calmly and quietly with Mom, Pop, Uncle Ed, and the requisite bottle of Veuve-Cliquot.

I previously had designs upon the usual rites of greeting the new year down in Manhattan, but found myself there last night (Dec 30) instead. Fellow Thorntonian Lev Trubkovich had a little event at his apartment in Stuyvesant Town — ostensibly to celebrate the recent Ukrainian highjinks — and I decided to be social for once and attend. Besides, there was pasta and chianti on offer, and I’ve rarely been one to turn down a free meal, even if it is at 11:00pm or thereabouts. There were in attendance an inordinate number of Columbians, but they seemed of a generally jovial character so it was all for the better really.

Last New Year’s Eve was spent in Pipa, a bar on 19th, with Clara and Lucas de Soto and a few others, and was altogether a much enjoyed evening. But this year having been out the previous night I hadn’t the stamina to go out tonight. I am, only somewhat regretably, becoming an old man.

And speaking of fellow members of the prematurely old, I had the immense pleasure of lunching just the other day with the one and only James J. Feddeck, that great proponent of Teutonic and Christian values. James is soldiering on as one of three or four conservatives at Oberlin College in Ohio. I am told that they meet secretly in a dimly-lit boiler room from time to time to watch the Fox News Channel, read the gender-specific translations of the Holy Bible, and fawn over portrait photographs of the late President Reagan. They are hoping the janitors do not find them out and report them to the President of the College, who, the day after the presidential election, sent out an official college e-mail to all the students, faculty, and staff assuaging them for the country’s loss, encouraging them to keep on trying, and telling them the election result shouldn’t dampen the Oberlin College spirit. Absolute insanity. Completely against the spirit of sportsmanship and fair play, if you ask me.

Herr Feddeck is also saddened that the new minister in charge of Village Lutheran is rather low-church. I thenceforth extolled the virtues of Rome, and he grumbled somewhat accordingly – albeit with a slight chagrin.

I’ve occasionally said that I don’t truly feel that I’ve returned home until I’ve heard the incantation of “Asperges me” at the 11:00am Mass at St Agnes, and I was most glad to have done so last Sunday. I rather regret that the obligation for tommorrow’s feast (today’s by now) is moved to Sunday, as we could all really do with some more time at Mass in our lives.

Well then, I guess I’d better wish you all the best for a blessed and joyful new year.

We remember those who have died this passed year, most especially Diane Gannon, my godmother, and Marylynn Heaton, my cousin. Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.

Well today was rather heartening. I went to the midday mass at St. Joseph’s (the local church) and Msgr. Doyle (the pastor) addressed the congregation before mass, donning a cassock, something I’d never seen him do before. He then told us all that our beautiful tabernacle was being moved back to the centre of the sanctuary, where it would be joined by the fronting of the 1927 altar which had be found and restored, and that the priest’s chair would move to the side. All this would be finished before Christmas, too! I had often considered writing a letter suggesting this very thing, but never got around to it.

Monsignor also pointed out that there were four pages of guidelines for church regarding dress, behavior, reception of Communion, and various other important things that have oft been ignored in the past forty years. (See pages 5-8 of this pdf file – very good stuff).

Gosh, St. Joe’s is becoming more like St. Agnes. What a Christmas present! Now we just need them to give us some Latin.

Later, Adam Brenner and I went off to the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols with the Rev. Andrew C. Mead, OBE at St. Thomas Church (Episcopal) on Fifth Avenue. Caroline Gill dropped out to take a look at a house. Anyways, I’m a big fan of Lessons and Carols, so that was much enjoyed. St. Thomas really do have a superb choir. They also have the reredos to end all reredoses – a massive stone affair that takes up most of the west (liturgical east) end of the Church. Beautiful church, but I still prefer St. Vincent Ferrer (which in addition to being beautiful is a proper church with valid sacraments).

Thanksgiving is one of the things you miss most when you’re abroad. A., Chris, Dave, Jenny, and Za-Za were kind enough to host a Thanksgiving at their residence on Queens Gardens last Friday, since we don’t get Thanksgiving Day itself off. (more…)

A long morning. A few people filtered into the flat from 1:00am. Kat, Jocie, C., Dave Watt, Rob and Maria. After having some celebratory champagne with future American immigrant D. P. at around 7:00, I finally got to bed around 8:00am and slept until 11:30am. Half past midday now and I need some breakfast/lunch.

Electoral college of beverages consumed: A California’s worth of tea, a New Hampshire of whiskey, and probably about a New York of beer. And an Alaska of bubbly.

Condi versus Hillary in ’08, anyone? God forbid.

Boy did we have a blast last night! Bishop Rifan of Campos swung by Edinburgh on his tour of the United Kingdom (organised by Una Voce Scotland and the British Friends of Campos), and I was among a number of St Andreans lucky enough to make his aquaintance and receive the episcopal blessing.

It began with a Pontifical Low Mass at the Church of St Andrew in Ravelston, Edinburgh. The church is a wooden structure that would not look out of place in the Catskills or Adirondacks. In fact, it somewhat reminded me of the Chapel at Camp Jeanne d’Arc, where my sister spent her summers growing up. Such a setting in addition to the Mass being in the old rite slightly assuaged my permanent yearning for New York. (more…)

Woke up at 9:00 this morning and had ‘breakfast’ at the Northpoint Café with C.. I put the word in quotations because breakfast ought to imply a meal, but owing to the Northpoint’s scant menu, breakfast meant buttered toast and a pot of tea. At least it was only £2.00.

The topics of conversation were of the usual C. n’ Cusack ilk: How ridiculous Britain is, how brilliant the States are, delving into meaningless and ultimately feckless points of argument, hoping for the downfall of world Islam, and recalling past misadventures as well as plotting new ones.

I think the only reason we ever have breakfast at the Northpoint is because Afghan president Hamid Karzai had tea there when he was in town last year, and Chris has some sort of bizarre fascination with this.

“French Algeria 1830-1962” was at 11:00am, with Dr. Stephen Tyre. A fascinating class of five students which we usually manage to steer onto some even more fascinating tangent, which itself usually tangentalizes onto football somehow. Today was all about Abd el-Qadir and his jihad. We also discussed an Islamic figure in 1840’s Algeria who claimed his goat was the Prophet Mohammed and sparked a brief uprising. Oh those wacky savages and their messianic goats!

Read quite a lot during the afternoon, had spaghetti bolognese from Pizza Connection across the street (since Jocelyn has Mondays off), and then popped down to the Cellar Bar for a pint of de Konick with Robert O’Brien, Maria Bramble, “Ishmael”, and Jon Burke – an assemblage which ought to be collectively known as the Inappropriate Joke Squadron. Classic.

“Monarchy, Church, and State” tommorrow with the indomitable Rev. Dr. Ian C. Bradley. I think I shall have to abandon or change my Hapsburg essay plans owing to lack of adequate sources.

Last night I had a few people over for dinner and drinks that lasted until 1:00am. Jocelyn, our trusted agent of culinary perfection, and Jenny, whose ancestors had beastly things done to them by Chinese pirates, cooked up a splendid shepherd’s pie. On the receiving end of said pie were fellow American Rob (one of Jocie’s choir friends), apostate Catholic and former Literary Society president David Taylor, Mitre associate editor and former Catholic Society president Robert O’Brien, his fiancée and my good friend Maria Bramble, current Catholic Society president Matthew Gorrie, California’s prettiest Antiochian Orthodox girl Abigail Hesser (engaged to an Aussie), and Connecticut’s prettiest Choate grad, Kat ‘Kiki’ Murphy.

Jocie and Jenny left for the Byre shortly after dinner to meet up with a friend of theirs. We were then joined by traditionalist/OTC/Old Cliftonian Jon Burke and the legendary Blackpudlian, “Ishmael”.

I think we got through four or five bottles of wine if not more, at least one bottle of port, and luckily not too much of my whiskey. We just about went through our entire retinue of politically-incorrect jokes as well. One of the highlights of the evening was getting the former ‘most enthusiastic man in St Andrews’ on the phone: none other than the great Peter Cox. We had all had a fair amount to drink and decided calling Brussels wasn’t a bad idea. True to form, Peter Cox was enthusiastic as ever, explained that he is organising things for the upcoming World Youth Day and working in a youth hostel to pay the bills. The man is brilliant.

We listened to half of Bach’s Mass in B Minor, our favourite Breton/French hip-hop/jazz group Manau and the obligatory Smashing Pumpkins.

One of my flatmates left his KK tie lying around, and Jon Burke decided to put it on. Fair enough. Unfortunately, Burke forgot he had it on, left my place and proceeded to Ma Bell’s – one of the preferred night spots for members of the Kate Kennedy Club. Of course the first KKer who observed Jon and his illegitimate usage of club neckware gave him a right verbal bollicking. Still, nothing nearly as bad as what happened when Paul Pennyfeather ran into the inebriated members of the Bollinger Club wearing his old school tie which was surprising similar to that of the Bollingers. This, of course, took place at Scone College, Oxford in Evelyn Waugh’s Decline and Fall.

David Taylor agreed to write a piece on Derrida for the next Mitre, although it’ll probably be fawning. The current crisis in modern poetry was discussed, and it was agreed that Milton is more important than Shakespeare.

“Yeah, Abby. That’s about as funny as the sack of Constantinople.”
– “Ishmael”

“I hope his gerbils get better by Septuagesima.”
– E.S.

A palace coup has taken place and I have been forcibly removed from the Committee of the Literary Society. Which is fair enough. Last term I just turned up to their AGM for the free wine and to make fun of David Taylor, and somehow ended up on the committee. Besides, at the Kens club committee meeting last night, I was put on the subcommittee to organize the Christmas charity event, along with Second Lieutenant Cockburn and Herr Wyss.

Had a brilliant time at Rob’s last night on Hepburn Gardens. Maria, “Ishmael”, and I were over for dinner from 8:00 until midnight. Great conversation as always, and laughter barreling through the night. Not to mention the food was excellent. I have the utmost appreciation for those who can cook, owing to my complete incompetence in the field.

I may be taking up gardening, however, as Maria Christina has waggled me into volunteering to help out with the parish garden. I explained I know nothing about gardening, but it really couldn’t hurt to try.

Kat Murphy is a riot. We were playing Scrabble the other day in Sallies and she just said the funniest things. Sadly, I can’t remember any of them. Sic transit gloria.

Sarah Laurence Goodwin is organising a production of Our Town. Grovers Corners meets St Andrews. An interesting combination. I can rather picture the old church ladies from Holy Trin singing ‘Blest Be The Tie That Binds’. Last time I visited that little corner of New Hampshire was at Bronxville High School, with Julie McAllister as the narrator, Emma Haberl as someone, and I’m pretty sure Caroline Gill was in it too (Oh, Caro!).

Last night I attended the ordinary session of the University of St Andrews Union Debating Society. It was an altogether so-so debate, (This House Believes Harry Potter is A Danger to sometherother) with the first proposition rather overwhelming the three other speakers.

The most interesting aspect was Mr. Ralph Covino in the Chair, since the Convenor of the UDS, Mr. Peter Blair, was second prop. Mr. Covino showed himself very capable of such a task, and handled the Chair with alacrity.

My only criticism was when he mistook a portrait for Andrew Carnegie for the Marquess of Bute, which is actually all the way towards the back. It hangs approximate to the portrait of Field Marshal Jan Christiaan Smuts, replete with the coats of arms of the University (of which he was Lord Rector) and the Union of South Africa (of which he was Prime Minister — twice). (more…)

Last week, Robert O’Brien and two of his old school friends from Manchester (or thereabouts) gathered in the Cellar Bar along with the brilliant Miss Maria Bramble (the future Mrs. O’Brien), the inimitable Mr. Donald Renouf (aka Donocle the Monocle), and myself.

A good time was had by all, and I even got to try on the legendary monocle. A bit tricky trying to keep a monocle in one’s eye. Donald has had it for years, so is much more used to it.

Today has been altogether a wonderful day. The sky was slightly cloudy and the air had that simply brilliant, crisp, cool autumnal feel to it.

Luncheon with the Kens. Club at Broon’s lasted from 1:00pm to 4:00pm. Leek and Stilton soup with bread as a starter followed by a main course of chicken stuffed with mozzarella and wrapped in pancetta served with potatoes, and chocolate tart with vanilla ice cream to end it all. Coffee as a finale.

Discussed meta-narratives with the Club’s token postmodern deconstructivist Marxist, Mr. Thomas Leppard, as well as Mr. David Vinton’s summer on a tea plantation in India stomping around the premises on an elephant every afternoon. An informal motion was passed declaring the blunderbuss to be the official weapon of the Club.

An hour after luncheon had finally ended, there was the Vigil Mass, with the usual suspects over to Canmore for tea afterwards. Mr. Ryan Freeburn and myself discussed National Review, whilst Miss Katya Mouris and I discussed the Viceregal Salute of Canada (a fine country, despite being on the slow road to fascism). Mrs. Freeburn referred to the Great White North by the moniker of “Soviet Canuckistan” which I had not heard before.

Rob and Maria may be coming over late for a showing of Bon Voyage.

Well my godson is excommunicate. Having become a Freemason, he has now decided to attend the high Anglican church in town instead of the Catholic parish (Which at least is preferable to his remaining a Freemason and claiming to be a Catholic).

His godmother (a good friend of mine) and I tried to postpone his entry into the Church because we were afraid just this kind of thing would happen. We didn’t think three months of instruction were enough, but at the end of the day, we thought he was completely on board.

Everything else seems to be going fairly well though, minus the grim weather that hangs round these parts this time of year. Ah, to be in New England this time of year, rather than old Scotland.

Also, Tori informs me that Michael Davies has died, so we must all say a few prayers on his behalf at the next opportunity.

On a lighter note, Fr. Patrick Burke’s talk last night at Canmore went exceptionally well. The subject was “Can We Prove the Existence of God?” and Fr. Burke handled the matter with his usual alacrity and humour.

For those who don’t know of Fr. Burke, he is a graduate of St Andrews, having been Convenor of the Union Debating Society during his tenure as an undergraduate. He then went on to the Pontifical Scots College, I believe, and then the Gregorian. Fr. Burke is currently editor of Faith magazine and a parish priest in the Archdiocese of St Andrews.

Fr. Burke is one of our most popular speakers, evidenced by the fact that the Common Room at Canmore was filled to capacity, with three or four others standing in the hallway outside. Next week is Fr. Luiz Ruscillo, also of the Faith movement, also one of our popular speakers. Also, Fr. Luiz has only recently taken up saying the Tridentine rite.

If any of you receive Mass of Ages, the very well-produced magazine of the Latin Mass Society of England and Wales, you will no doubt have noticed an article on the Schola Cantorum Universitate Sancti Andreae – aka Scusa, Sophie von Hauch’s splendiferous chant choir. Definitely worth a read.

That’s all for now. There’s work to be done…

Well, I have returned to the old gray town and it is much as I have left it. Our apartment is simply splendiferous and I’ve already got my Stars-and-Stripes, Union Jack, and Rhodesian flag hanging from the walls. It’s a bit messy, half-full bottles of absinthe, Bulgarian wine, and empty glasses and the like, but we make do.

Last night, at about two o’clock, we were invaded by a contingent of the Officer Training Corps which included the infamous Paddy Levack, our man David Watt, and a good few others, including Jen, Charlie, and Emma. A bit insane, but good fun nonetheless.

Have to get out the old gown and give it a good dust off, for there is a debate tonight. It’s on some ridiculous topic, but they’ve got good speakers lined up. Peter Blair and I had to truck up to Safeway today to purchase £61.87 worth of sherry and port for the event. No worries, the Union reimburses us.

Must go!

Well folks, another entry is long overdue, and it will surprise you not that my computer is still out. As such, the unanswered emails are piling high, but I promise they will be taken care of.

Reading.

I’ve finished Buckley’s Miles Gone By and I have to say I found it immensely enjoyable. It is a collection of biographical musings from across the years, akin to his previous Nearer, My God. The former, I’m glad to report, avoids the slight haphazardness of the latter, perhaps because it is much longer and the selections included are well grouped. One of the tales which I particularly enjoyed was of WFB and Brent Bozell (whose brother is in Solesmes) at Yale. WFB and some cronies had piled there money together to purchase an aircraft, which Buckley and Bozell one day landed on the great lawn of the Ethel Walker School, where Buckley’s younger sister was studying. Upon disembarking the aircraft, they were promptly invited to tea with the headmistress. The audio CD which accompanies the book is a mere fancy.

Of Paradise and Power was particularly enlightening. Though Mr. Kagan’s general supposition about the difference in American and European worldviews (as well as Europe achieving a Kantian perpetual peace only by existing under the wing of the United States, a Hobbesian leviathan) seems quite well thought out, I did find myself disagreeing with one or two of his conclusions. Plus it irritated me when he referred to Britons as Europeans. Such silliness.

Speaking of silliness, I’ve started reading Wodehouse. Bought Young Men in Spats, a collection of tales from the Drones Club, and a volume of three of the Jeeves-and-Wooster novels. So far, both are thoroughly enjoyable.

et cetera…

I was very pleased to catch up with Mr. Nicholas Merrick last night, via whom I also ran into Mssrs. Simon Tuchman and Steven Lagotte. Good old Nicholas, I’m very pleased to say, is not a Buddhist as was previously thought for some unknown reason, and Deo gratias Simon is no longer of the Marxian persuasion in terms of economic thought and whatnot. Floreat Thorntona!

Michael Ulsterman (as he is known to me), our favourite Oirishman, was in town recently and I was very pleased enough to take him out for a bite at Café Lalo, one of Manhattan’s finest eateries (as well as the locale where I inadvertently stood up Brearley girl Buffy Breed on accounts of my not knowing what day of the week it was). Michael, though a liberal, is a Unionist through-and-through, and has a very sharp, sardonic wit that I hope will soon grace the pages of the Mitre. I think the first time I went to Lalo’s was with Jessy Lewis, Jessie Smyth, and Peter Scott (and was the other Peter there as well?). Jessy is now at Brown, which I’m informed she is enjoying much more than her premier year at Barnard; I just spoke to young lady Smyth (Univ. of Penn.) a week or so ago; and last I heard of Peter Scott he was on the May Ball committee at King’s College Cambridge. Not bad, not bad at all.

Particularly enjoyed the recent Kens Club correspondence.

Got to chat with Nicholas Vincent on his birthday (Aug 1) whilst he was minding Japanese children in Oxford with the indefatigable D. P. Atheist Mr. Vincent threatened to don shorts to evensong at Christ Church Cathedral, but Mr. Prior threatened a walloping and Nicholas was brought into line. (I know! Shorts at evensong! What will they think of next?)

Lastly, and mournfully…

Our prayers go out to Lindsay Mucka, whose father died only a few days ago. Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. Amen.

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