The Oxford Student - Official Student Newspaper

Finals of a Diarist...

This week I lost my marbles. I had the fear. Madness is a strong word, unless you happen to be a professional academic. Perhaps that is what happens to people who continually subject themselves to these irregular bouts of cramming entire epochs into their brains. Take my own tutor, a man who fell out of the tweed tree and hit every branch on the way down. Only yesterday I watched him as he turned round and bent over his desk. It wouldn't normally be a homo-erotic moment, but for the fact that he was in his shirt sleeves and the top of his briefs peeped momentarily over the tweed trousers. A label jabbed out against his flesh. It said 100% pure Tweed. Underneath was the slogan 'For supreme discomfort, supreme sturdiness, supreme protection, supreme tweed'. Unfortunately the slogan was written in very small writing, I had to get real close to read it, and when he turned round I had to explain that I wasn't trying to examine his crack, but was merely curious about his pants. I can't remember what happened after that, in fact the whole of that story may not be true, except that this is the don who spent 17 years studying the history of merchant shipping in Greater Yarmouth, in the eighteenth century, so that even if I did make it up, it is still in a sense, true. Man. (Budweiser)....