third week, I'm sure I'll get better at it, and I know deep down that I am capable of coming up with an eloquent and incisive reply, even if it won't be for another three to four days. In the meantime I decide to see if I can change the subject.
'So what d'you want to do afterwards then?' I say.
'Dunno. We could go for a drink if you fancy it . . .'
'No, I mean, after uni, when you qualify . . .'
'When I qualify? Dunno. Something that actually makes a difference to people's lives. Not sure if I want to do that whole barrister thing, but I'm interested in immigration law. The Citizens' Advice Bureau do good work. Maybe I'll move over into politics or journalism or something, help shift those Tory bastards. How 'bout you?'
'Oh, maybe teaching or academia. Maybe writing in some way or other.'
'What do you write?'
'Oh, nothing yet.' I decide to try something out, and add, 'Just a little poetry.'
'Well there you go. You're a poet and I wasn't aware of it.' She looks at her watch. 'Right, I'd better be getting back.' 'Where d'you live?'
'Kenwood Manor, where that lousy party was.'
'Ah, the same as my friend Alice?'
'Beautiful-blondeAlice?'
'Is she beautiful? I hadn't noticed.' I'm testing out a kind of wry, post-feminist humour here, but Rebecca just tuts and scowls and asks, 'So how d'you know her, then?'
'Oh, we're on the University Challenge team together . . .' I say, shrugging casually. Rebecca's cackle bounces off the museum's stone walls.
'You're joking!'
'What's funny about that?'
'Nothing, nothing at all. I'm so sorry, I had no idea I was talking to a TV personality, that's all. So what are you trying to prove then?'
'What d'you mean?'
'Well, going on something like that, must mean you've got something to prove.'
'I haven't got anything to prove! It's just a bit of fun. And anyway, we haven't qualified for the TV tournament yet. We've got the selection heats next week.'
'Tournament, eh? Makes it sound quite macho. Like you've got to wear protective clothing or something. What position d'you play? Centre-forward? Goal defence ...?'
'Actually, I'm the first reserve.'
'Ah, so you're not technically on the team then.'
'No. No, I suppose not.'
'Well, if you want me to break anyone's buzzer finger for you, just give me the word . . .' We're standing on the steps of the gallery now, and it's started to turn dark since we've been inside. 'Nice talking to you ...I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name again.'
'Brian. Brian Jackson. Shall I walk you home?' 'I know the way, I live there, remember? See you around then, Jackson,' and she heads down the steps, then stops and turns. 'And Jackson? Of course you should study whatever subject you want. The written appreciation and understanding of literature, or any kind of artistic endeavour, is absolutely central to a decent society. Why d'you think books are the first things that the fascists burn? You should learn to stick up for yourself more,' and she turns, and trots down the steps and off into the evening.
QUESTION: What word, German in origin, describes pleasure obtained from the misfortunes of others?
ANSWER: Schadenfreude
Today I finally got my first lucky break. Big Colin Pagett has contracted hepatitis.
I find out in the middle of a lecture on Coleridge and Wordsworth's Lyrical Ballads. Dr Oliver's been talking for some time now, and I've been trying to concentrate, really I have, but to my mind a Lyrical Ballad is something like Kate Bush singing 'The Man With The Child In His Eyes', and that's my central problem with The Romantics; they're just not romantic enough. You imagine it's going to be a lot of love poetry that you can plagiarise in Valentine's cards, but generally speaking it's all about lakes and urns and leech-collectors.
From what I can glean from Dr Oliver, the primary concerns of the Romantic Mind were 1) Nature 2) Man's relationship with Nature 3) Truth and 4) Beauty, whereas I tend to respond best to poetry that explores the themes a)
'So what d'you want to do afterwards then?' I say.
'Dunno. We could go for a drink if you fancy it . . .'
'No, I mean, after uni, when you qualify . . .'
'When I qualify? Dunno. Something that actually makes a difference to people's lives. Not sure if I want to do that whole barrister thing, but I'm interested in immigration law. The Citizens' Advice Bureau do good work. Maybe I'll move over into politics or journalism or something, help shift those Tory bastards. How 'bout you?'
'Oh, maybe teaching or academia. Maybe writing in some way or other.'
'What do you write?'
'Oh, nothing yet.' I decide to try something out, and add, 'Just a little poetry.'
'Well there you go. You're a poet and I wasn't aware of it.' She looks at her watch. 'Right, I'd better be getting back.' 'Where d'you live?'
'Kenwood Manor, where that lousy party was.'
'Ah, the same as my friend Alice?'
'Beautiful-blondeAlice?'
'Is she beautiful? I hadn't noticed.' I'm testing out a kind of wry, post-feminist humour here, but Rebecca just tuts and scowls and asks, 'So how d'you know her, then?'
'Oh, we're on the University Challenge team together . . .' I say, shrugging casually. Rebecca's cackle bounces off the museum's stone walls.
'You're joking!'
'What's funny about that?'
'Nothing, nothing at all. I'm so sorry, I had no idea I was talking to a TV personality, that's all. So what are you trying to prove then?'
'What d'you mean?'
'Well, going on something like that, must mean you've got something to prove.'
'I haven't got anything to prove! It's just a bit of fun. And anyway, we haven't qualified for the TV tournament yet. We've got the selection heats next week.'
'Tournament, eh? Makes it sound quite macho. Like you've got to wear protective clothing or something. What position d'you play? Centre-forward? Goal defence ...?'
'Actually, I'm the first reserve.'
'Ah, so you're not technically on the team then.'
'No. No, I suppose not.'
'Well, if you want me to break anyone's buzzer finger for you, just give me the word . . .' We're standing on the steps of the gallery now, and it's started to turn dark since we've been inside. 'Nice talking to you ...I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name again.'
'Brian. Brian Jackson. Shall I walk you home?' 'I know the way, I live there, remember? See you around then, Jackson,' and she heads down the steps, then stops and turns. 'And Jackson? Of course you should study whatever subject you want. The written appreciation and understanding of literature, or any kind of artistic endeavour, is absolutely central to a decent society. Why d'you think books are the first things that the fascists burn? You should learn to stick up for yourself more,' and she turns, and trots down the steps and off into the evening.
QUESTION: What word, German in origin, describes pleasure obtained from the misfortunes of others?
ANSWER: Schadenfreude
Today I finally got my first lucky break. Big Colin Pagett has contracted hepatitis.
I find out in the middle of a lecture on Coleridge and Wordsworth's Lyrical Ballads. Dr Oliver's been talking for some time now, and I've been trying to concentrate, really I have, but to my mind a Lyrical Ballad is something like Kate Bush singing 'The Man With The Child In His Eyes', and that's my central problem with The Romantics; they're just not romantic enough. You imagine it's going to be a lot of love poetry that you can plagiarise in Valentine's cards, but generally speaking it's all about lakes and urns and leech-collectors.
From what I can glean from Dr Oliver, the primary concerns of the Romantic Mind were 1) Nature 2) Man's relationship with Nature 3) Truth and 4) Beauty, whereas I tend to respond best to poetry that explores the themes a)
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