Je ne regrette rien

That Anne and I have had a holiday home in Charente for nearly 20 years is no secret. It is a source of constant, ineffable smugness. I wonder if we would have had the guts to do it today. With Brexit looming (I have avoided mentioning it in this blog until now), we would almost…

Moscow in the Dark

The Florey Building - not looking its best October 1979: I was still, or again, (depending on which way you looked at it) studying at The Queen's College Oxford. The college offered me the exalted and ridiculous-sounding position of Vir Probatus (Junior Dean) if I abandoned the slum that was 41 Bullingdon Road and moved…

Cold War: Best Film of 2018?

Xmas card by Mikey Cuddihy

In 1983, as previously confessed, I was living in east Oxford grinding away at my thesis. One of the other post-grads I got to know was Paul (a Pole with a German passport), who was studying at Wolfson and rumoured to be writing a thesis on Hölderlin. We became good friends. He had a finely-tuned…

The Lost Thesis

Complete works of Pardo Bazán

A couple of months ago I was introduced to the new Chair of the Camberwell Society, who teaches Modern Languages at a local posh school. It transpired that he had studied Spanish at Exeter University; we talked about the former professor, Maurice Hemingway, who had examined my MLitt thesis many years ago. A few days…

Ageing Rocker

I'd had enough of working for a living so I moved back to Oxford to be with my girlfriend. I joined Bernard's band, together with my old schoolmate Andrew and our fellow housemate Wiff and a young drummer from New College called Paul. Then we added a female singer, a posh-sounding blonde called Jo, with…