Snow-covered peaks viewed from Edinburgh Castle.

The busy nature of the past week or so has been the reason for a distinct lack of posting. And the fact that I have an essay for Monday, a presentation for Tuesday, and another essay for Friday means there may not be all that much over the next week either.

We have been graced with two guests in the Auld Grey Toon recently, the first of which was Chris Moreland, a reactionary Catholic friend of Chris C., followed this past week by my cousin Mark Gannon visiting Europe for the first time. I’m pretty sure both enjoyed it thoroughly. It was fun acclimatizing Mark to the various idiosyncrasies of St Andrews; they are legion.

In the midst of all this, Jon and Abby had a dinner party for the feast of St Thomas Aquinas and it was quite a grand affair. We consumed two bottles of champagne, ten bottles of red wine, a bottle of port, and some cognac to boot, ending at nearly three in the morning. There was more wine left and I was ready to carry on til dawn, but I don’t think Jon’s flatmates would’ve appreciated it. No doubt the ‘Dumb Ox’ was proud of our prodigious endeavour in his honor. Unfortunately the conversation was of such a jovial nature that it would not bear repeating on the internet, for fear of the entire slate of participants being banned from positions in most realms on employment. A damn good time; many thanks to Jon and Abby.

Now I’ve got to get a bite to eat for lunch and head off to rosary. Pray for the conversion of India!

Before rosary today, Clare and I sat in the living room of Canmore listening to Rachmaninov’s piano concertos on the record player. She read abour Irenaeus, whereas I read the Telegraph. We decided that we were discontented with the state of the world, and that this would be partially remedied if girls wore skirts and men wore collared shirts and ties. (Said despite Claire being trousered and me being collar-and-tieless).

I’m pulling a Buckley and self-interviewing.

Why do you blog? Out of boredom, and partly as a release for whatever little creative talents I have.

What are you reading at the moment? Pickwick Papers (Dickens), France Since the Popular Front (Larkin), France Since 1870 (Sowerwine).

Who are your cultural heroes? Hmmm… Thérèse of Liseux, Graf von Stauffenberg, the Ven. Fulton Sheen, Bl. Pier Giorgio Frassati.

What is your favourite poem? Anything humorous by Chesterton or ‘In Memoriam’ by Tennyson.

What is your favourite movie? I’d probably have to go with Rushmore.

What is your favourite song? ‘Dona Nobis Pacem’ from Bach’s Mass in B Minor. Also James Macmillan’s Mass, specifically the Sursum Corda and Preface, Sanctus and Benedictus, and Eucharistic Prayer. It is the only serious piece of music written for the Novus Ordo. Ever. And he’s working on a Missa as well.

What philosophical thesis do you think it most important to disseminate? Traditionalism.

What philosophical thesis do you think it most important to combat? Anything atheistic or which denigrates the inherent dignity of the human being (ie: Nazism, Communism, totalitarianism, modern liberalism).

Who are your political heroes? Teddy Roosevelt, Stauffenberg (again), Charles of Austria, Chesterton.

If you could effect one major policy change in the governing of your country, what would it be? Having the thirteen original colonies secede and restore the Stuart line. Juan Carlos can have California.

What do you consider to be the main threat to the future peace and security of the world? Islamic fundamentalism, secularism, materialism, individualism, in that order.

Do you think the world (human civilization) has already passed its best point, or is that yet to come? Though I’m a big fan of the pre-WWI order, I think the thousand-year reign of Jesus Christ at the end of the world will probably top it.

What would be your most important piece of advice about life? Don’t forget there’s a life after this one.

Do you think you could ever be married to, or in a long-term relationship with, someone with radically different political views from your own? Doubtful.

If you could choose anyone, from any walk of life, to be Prime Minister, who would you choose? Lord Alton.

Who would play you in the movie about your life? Joseph Cotten.

If you could have any three guests, past or present, to dinner who would they be? (Assuming this is along with the usual Rob, Maria, Abby, Matt, Jon, and Clare) G.K. Chesterton, Taki, and Noel Coward.

Where would you most like to live (other than where you do)? Well you have to have a place in town (New York) and a place in the country (upstate). Or maybe Mitteleuropa.

What would your ideal holiday be? I think anywhere when there’s a coup taking place and the goodies are ousting the badies. And hopefully enjoyable climate and pleasant scenery as well. Think springtime, restoring the Hapsburgs, Vienna or Budapest.

What do you consider the most important personal quality? Courage, sincerity.

What personal fault do you most dislike? Superficiality.

What, if anything, do you worry about? Pissing off God. (Essentially, my salvation, and friends’ salvation. All else is fluff.)

In what circumstances would you be willing to lie? Circumstances in which it would not be wrong to. And probably some in which it would.

Do you have any prejudices you’re willing to acknowledge? I’m not keen on that which lies on the other side of the Mississippi.

What is your favourite proverb? He who marries himself to the spirit of the age is soon widowed.

What commonly enjoyed activities do you regard as a waste of time? Dancing. (Except traditional dancing, of course).

What animal would you most like to be? Turtle or elephant. Either.

What do you like doing in your spare time? Laying on the hammock in our back garden at home, reading the New York Sun, the New Criterion, First Things, and the Encyclopedia of New York. Having a good pint of John Smith’s. Rueing Gavrilo Princip.

What is your most treasured possession? Perhaps the portrait of grandpa on my wall at home in New York. Perhaps my St Albans rugby top. Perhaps the Encyclopedia of New York.

If you had to change your first name, what would you change it to? Nicholas.

What talent would you most like to have? I wish I could actually tell stories. I’m a crap storyteller. I forget half the essentials and then remember them when it’s too late. And languages. I wish I could speak French, Spanish, German, and Afrikaans fluently. And Latin, of course. So storytelling and linguistics. And athleticism.

What would be your ideal choice of alternative profession or job? University principal/chancellor, philanthropist, urban planner.

Who is your favourite comedian or humorist? Chesterton and Waugh, and my fellow American, P.G. Wodehouse.

Who are your sporting heroes? Bloody heck, do I have any? Dr. Nat Kernell.

Which English Premiership football team do you support, and which baseball team? Let’s go for Man U and the Mets.

How, if at all, would you change your life were you suddenly to win or inherit an enormously large sum of money? Some more port, more sausages, and it’d be much easier to found the university I’m planning.

Questions nicked from Normblog profiles.

Today, after printing off the Review (which, by the way, is both erudite and informative, as well hilarious, especially “Ishmael”‘s contribution) and going to Rosary, I popped over to St. Salvator’s Hall (aka ‘Sallies’, seen above) where Kat and Jocie were watching a dvd of The Office. I sold Kat a copy of the MLR, and she played with a yoyo I found while I was home.

Now, there is a certain misconception going around which has reached almost mythical proportions in the Royal Burgh. It is thus: that I am an infrequent visitor to the Bibliotheca Sancti Andreae, more commonly known as the University Library (f. 1612 by one of the King Jameses). This misconception has spread to such an extent that once, chancing upon Rob and Maria in the stairwell of said insitution, Rob expectorated “Fancy seeing you here!” with the smug tone of a too-frequent visitor-of-libraries and the engaged ensemble burst into laughter.

Well, haw haw! I do visit the library, and have even gone so far as to wander the stacks on occasion, finding upon one such a misadventure, decades of bound Spectators for perusing. But to return to the story, following my visit to Sallies, I made my way towards the main library taking a route which took me through St. Salvator’s Quad, reflecting upon the comeliness of which, I decided to take a photograph.

It shows the entrance to College Hall, wherein many important events take place such as examinations, public meetings, champagne receptions, and the like. Moving along from the Quad into Butts Wynd (‘wynd’ is Scots for alley, ye uninformed), I nearly ran right into 2Lt. Robert Cockburn of the Queens Own Yeomanry, a magistrand (that’s a fourth year student, ye uninformed) who happens to be running for the presidency of our Students Union. I told 2Lt. Cockburn to strike a dashing pose, and he gave it his best.

The other candidates are unreconstructed socialist Marco Biagi, future Conservative MP Adrian Galey, and my cook Jocelyn. The real surprise is that Alex Yabroff, a Californian of liberal Episcopalian extraction and member of the Kate Kennedy Club, has decided not to run. Reasons unknown. UPDATE: Alex Yabroff is running.

Anyhow, I went to the top floor of the library and found myself a desk, from which I took the following photos.

The saltire flies from the top of the Town Hall, with the spire of Holy Trinity kirk to the right.

The sun hides behind clouds, with the rooftop and chimneys of the Crawford Centre.

Lizzie popped round to the library to purchase a copy of the Review off me, and I gave her my Spectator as well, since I was done with it. Very good article by some Oxford academic decrying attempts by that University to move away from the traditional tutorial system of education to put a greater emphasis on money-making research. Anyhow, at nearly half past five, I’d had enough of reading various books and egressed our hideous modern library, but just then took a photo of our beauteous College Tower, which I will leave you with.

Well, last night was magnificent. Fraulein Hesser and I travelled down to Edinburgh for the Knights of Malta Ball at the Assembly Rooms in George Street. Our party was organised by Mr. Gerald Warner whose visceral lashings in print of all the senior hubrisarchs of our day are published in weekly in Scotland on Sunday. Alas, Mr. Warner was exposed to mumps recently, and thus could not come for fear of spreading the contagion, but he very kindly gifted us two tickets, for which we are extremely grateful. We toasted his health. (more…)

De temps en temps j’ai une excuse pour écrire une entrée en mon pauvre français, et la visite d’Emelie à St Andrews est une excuse par excellence. La merveilleuse Claire Dempsey était assez aimable pour accueillir un petit événement la nuit passée dans le aumônierie (Canmore).

Nous avons discuté des matières fascinantes comme des pommes de terre (ou “spuds” comme Clare les appelle), dommages du rugby d’Emelie, le fait que des fonctionnaires (civil servants) français sont payés pour ne faire rien, et avec précision quoi appeler la couleur de la chemise de Stefano. (Il s’est étendu des saumons à la fraise écrasée).

Clare, Stefano, et Emelie dans la cuisine de Canmore.

Some have said that the students of the University of St Andrews are pampered layabouts with nothing much to do. Today, we proved them wrong. We packed a microwave with butane-filled baloons and metallic materials and blew it up in a potato patch. And had a barbecue. (more…)

Well. We all had such a Shrove Tuesday that Ash Wednesday was made all the more penetential. The fast was made more endurable by the fact that I only finally rose from my bed about two hours past midday, and upon rising decided to shave off the previously mentioned beard which had seen fit to make its habitation upon my own grim visage.

On embarking upon the rail journey from Edinburgh’s Waverley Station, chance had it that my good friend Emma was in the same railway car, and the conversation made the trip pass much more quickly. Emma lives near Oxford, and had flown up to Edinburgh from Birmingham. Anyhow we discussed the troubles and travails of our measly student existences – finding places to live, grades, people, etc — and Nicholas Vincent was kind enough to pick us up from the barren surrounds of Leuchars rail station and transport us to the Royal Burgh of St Andrews itself.

Emma had to run but Nicholas and I then decided to avail ourselves of the very advantageously-priced Sunday luncheon on offer at the Oak Rooms. A decent lunch for a fiver, though the popularity of the offer meant we had to wait a short while for a table. Thus, a pint of Guinness accompanied our wait and we discussed Freddy St. Johnstone’s keeness on a United Nations career. This sparked me to go on one of my textbook tirades on U.N. corruption and fecklessness, though were I offered a U.N. job which involved freedom from parking violations, kids’ school fees paid, and the effective right to refuse to travel anywhere unless there is suitable accomodation of at least four stars, I wouldn’t refuse.

That evening I stopped into the Russell for a pint with Rob and Maria and was filled in on all the latest talk and chatter. They had, the evening previous, dined with a few friends of ours, Mr. Peter Blair (the convenor of the Debating Society) his belle, Miss Sarah Laurence Goodwin (previously mentioned in these pages), as well as California’s most eligible daughter, Fraulein Abigail Hesser, and Bristol City F.C.’s biggest fan north of the border, Mr. Jonathan Burke.

Monday morning played host to the first of my two courses, ‘France Since 1940: Politics, Culture, and Society’, with the ever capable Stephen Tyre (of last term’s ‘French Algeria 1830-1962’) at the helm. Without last term’s Fraser, I’m afraid that our discussions in pursuit of higher knowledge will no longer be steered towards banter regarding deep-seated Scottish football rivalries. I very much look forward to the rest of the course though. There are a few old faces amongst the other students in the course.

Tuesday, yesterday, was my other course for the term, ‘Art and Piety in Western Europe, 1400-1700’ lead by Dr. Bridget Heal, of whom “Ishmael” is an ardent admirer. Though a Modern History course, it leans somewhat towards Art History, which means that Matt Gorrie, one other fellow, and myself are the only chaps in a class of about fifteen. I look forward to hissing Calvinist iconoclasts and urging onwards Tridentine reformers. Margaret Breed, a Brearley girl who defeats the school’s stereotype by being interesting, engaging, and just plain generally endearing, is also in the course.

Mrs. Freeburn is introducing me to the fascinating world of Bollywood cinema. Cinema aside, the other day I was thinking what a glorious culture and civilization India has, and how magnificent it would be if it was conquered by the Faith. If orientalism in ecclesiastical architecture is to your taste, you might want to check out the Church of the Immaculate Conception in New Orleans, especially the beautiful altar.

Projected printing date of next Mitre: well, let’s hope Friday.

An altogether successful foray was made last night into the neighboring sovereign state of Connecticut, wherein resides a middle-aged (or perhaps even old, by our national standards) university which is named Yale, after the institution’s early benefactor. Said place of higher learning is also home to the burgeoning second chapter of the greatest society ever to have graced the University and Royal Burgh of St Andrews. It was in such a capacity that I was invited along to a moderately informal and very cheerful evening. (more…)

Here’s a glimpse of life at St Andrews and elsewhere. Most of them I took, though some were stolen from Clara and elsewhere. Above are Fraulein von Hauch and Mrs. Freeburn after having divided a chocolate bunny for their own consumption. (more…)

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…)

Jon Burke (aka ‘Little Jon’ to distinguish him from ‘Big John’, Dr. John Lamont, the Gifford Research Fellow) tries out a biretta whilst flipping through an old Mitre at the Societies Fair. (more…)

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