There was a little stress to begin with, last night, as a crowd of historians began gathering in chilly conditions for the annual Caius History Society Dinner whilst I paced around declaring that I would only require two further things in life to be happy forever after: a photographer and a Radio 4 controller. Within minutes, however, they had duly both arrived and everything was set for a wonderful evening. The food was delicious, Mark's speech was excellent - although having heard some of the feedback which Radio 4 gets direct from the controller's mouth, I don't think the frequently hilarious Feedback will ever hold quite the same allure again - and our Part II DoS, Emma Hunter, delivered a happy dose of embarrassment to many of us by pulling quotes direct from our personal statements. (Beware, children! They may well come back to haunt you years later!) I left the after-party sometime after 2am, although it was very much still going strong for some, feeling very pleased and content that this mini-feat of organisation had come off alright on the night. (And only a little sad that it would be my last time going to one of these... ) So... hurrah for you all!

Hmm, now to get back to all of that work I've been neglecting...

*Yes yes, I realise this isn't literally true, but it's the spirit of maternal inheritance which counts. Oh, and the number isn't arbitrary either...

Bad blogger blah blah blah. Let's move on: or back, rather to the weekend before last! A weekend in which Lucy and I once again fell in with the Emma crowd (and it really was the Emma crowd this time) by going to their formal hall on Sunday. This was... a strange experience. It was lovely to be invited, and they did serve finer potatoes than anything Caius has ever managed. (Less Fewer points for the meat, but that's a different story.) But what was very odd was one of the porters, who - donned in sunglasses even through indoor sunglasses are near-universally ridiculous - spent his time roaming from one table to another and telling people off. Largely for talking.

"We have your names!" Well, erm, actually you don't - I believe Simon put me down on the guest list as 'Dominic Livingstone'. And Lucy goes to Sussex, who are unlikely to care much. But that's not the point! Still, it has given me a renewed warm glow towards Caius... they may loose your cheques and serve you questionable chicken burgers, but at least they never shout at you because 'I can hear you laughing'.

(Then we went off, drank lots and ate from the Van of Life. Twas good.)





Other things! Um - I gave up three hours of my life in aid of Science, further motivated only very slightly by the promise of £25 (volunteer bias - yes, we know, this is what happens when you decide it's 'unethical' to experiment on people by kidnapping them). As a psychological experiment it wasn't hugely excitingly, largely consisting of simple visual tests - like, did you see the flash happen on the left or the right of the screen? - but then again I eschewed the advertisement of a more game-theoryish psychological experiment, where you'd have to try and win your money, on the basis that I would probably get screwed over by hard-nosed economists!

I'd also like to show off my now-completed Secret Project X, or 'Oliver's birthday present', but I can't quite yet, so it'll have to wait for next time. So, 2012ish, perhaps?

(Postscript: the philosophy library is one of my new favourite places in the world. This probably won't last, though: my productivity goes up in little spikes with the novelty of finding a new place to work before settling back down again. Hence Simon and I deciding that we were going to embark on a roving library tour...)

(Postscript the second: stop spamming my blog, spammers! I don't want to learn how to play the guitar, and neither do I want 'cheap phentermine'. I don't even know what phentermine is. [Looks it up.] An 'appetite suppressant'?! Pur-lease. The really cheap way of suppressing your appetite is through eating cheap food.

When even someone like Matt - who, in a former life, rather mocked this blog! - mentions a recent drying up of my posts appearing in his 'news feed' (see, they all give in eventually ) you know it's time to scribble something. And I have a nice little gap of 20 minutes or so in-between Special Subject ('gobbet practice' - now doesn't that lend itself nicely to confusion...) and supervision, so here we are. Truth be told I started a post a couple of days ago but abandoned it because it seemed too political, and this is an audience-aware blog (TM) which tries to avoid being too dull. Sometimes.

(Btw, reading Tash's PWG post this morning was the most heart-warming thing ever! )

Have seen a bit more of Promise this term than we usually get around to: I've now got yet another person to Caius Hall, at least! The novelty's worn off for most, naturally... Lucy's coming tomorrow evening (yay!), and I think we'll head for Pizza Express instead But basically, I have little to write about because I am genuinely committed to a work-heavy patch between now and finals Have written 40+ sides of notes on reading for my first two essays alone, which is by far the most I've ever done, even compared to political thought last year. (Well, I started well last year, but drifted off track notes-wise - which I am totally determined not to do this time. Even if it is impossibly-bonkers German idealism.)

Um... someone left a gospel of St Mark's in my pigeon hole? Well, I mean, I wasn't singled out - everyone got one - but the guy had taken the time to handwrite individual post-it notes for each of us. Was absolutely planning to leave The God Delusion and a friendly note in his pigeon hole in return, but sadly someone else beat me to it, so instead I will have to content myself by considering my answers to the following questions which came on an accompanying postcard:

What does God know about sex? Everything! (And I really mean everything...)
Is Jesus the only way to God? Yes.
Why does God let us suffer? Free-will. And mysterious divine plan.
How could a loving God send anyone to hell? Hell is 'separation from God'! (Alternatively: who's going to stop him, eh?)
Will being good get me to heaven? No. Perhaps if you were a noble pagan. But not now, no way.

I think I win. Supervision time!

Key points to note:

- I borrowed the top hat for the photo, obviously. (Believe it or not, but in black tie rather than white tie I was actually under-dressed.)

- I had taken it off by this point, but the Ken Livingstone badge made its proud appearance.

- The always-charming Cornellius did buy me a gin and tonic

- It was a good night, and I enjoyed it. But...

- At the end of the day, here's to not being a conservative!

It's Sophie's birthday today! And, in fact, part of my lack of blogging for the past week has been having to keep under wraps my latest Silly Project prepared for today as a birthday present, to which Andy will no doubt wonder how much time I have on my hands. (The same amount of time as you, mate )

Produced together with Owen, Scotland Today, Scotland Tomorrow rested on a simple concept: if you don a suit and carry around a couple of cardboard props, it shouldn't be difficult to convince the good people of Cambridge to donate a few minutes of their time to compare Gordon Brown to Sophie, the latter of whom morphed into increasingly absurd celebrity. ("...training to be the first Scottish astronaut...") Sure enough, several kind souls did indeed agree to take part, no doubt partly lured by the offer of a free chocolate chip cookie, and to them I remain eternally grateful. Especially the cheerful Norwegian couple, as well as the dude who agreed to stand on a photo of Brown halfway through the interview to signify his distaste. Go go fake news!



In non-fake 'actual events', Leonard and Sebina returned to Cambridge last weekend to take me out for lunch and argue about politics 'n' stuff - thanks muchly to them. And on Wednesday night we properly inaugurated a real Yuletide spirit by going to the annual Footlights panto, which was (as you might expect) lots of fun. (Did you know that I once saw Jim Davidson in panto? It was probably the single biggest deviation by my mother from the principles of good parenting, and equally inexplicable, since she's hardly a fan of him either. Maybe it was a test of taste.)

And speaking of deviations: I now have two black-tie dinners in a row, after which I might just have to compensate by walking around in pyjamas for a week. Tonight is Sophie's birthday dinner which offers the utterly intriguing ability to meet her parents (who most probably do not, as our film claimed at one point, "own six percent of Scotland"). Tomorrow is far less excusable - I'm going, in a 'once in a lifetime' kind of spirit, to the CUCA Chairman's Dinner. Wearing a Ken Livingstone badge as a protective political talisman, of course. Bring on the quail...