In this post: discussion of literary advice to university students, and a brief introduction to absinthe
A while back - indeed, my first post - was as intended to be entitled "Grand Remonstrances". Yes, fathers and concerned relatives throughout the ages always had a lot to say about one's behaviour at university - and I intended to use them as checklists and in light of my parent's own advice.
As it happened, by the time I had time to blog, I'd forgotten all their advice. True, I remember the sense of it - but dad had actually produced his as a numbered list which hit about 22. Highlight was number 2, boys, which I do recall verbatim: "People will tell you that boys are only after one thing. They're right"
My mum, as far as I recall, only had a single instruction which was "on no account go to Hampstead Heath at night". This term she has added "on no account go to a Gaza protest", and while if I felt strongly on either of these issues I wouldn't let this stand in my way, the fact is it would make them more unhappy for doing it than it makes me unhappy for not.
The term "grand remonstrance", of course, comes from Cousin Jasper in Brideshead Revisited. One of my chiefest disappointments in university is that no one has read this book. To me, it should be required reading. In any case, here is cousin Jasper's advice to Charles on his first week at Oxford:
"You're reading History? A perfectly respectable school. The very worst is English literature and the next worst is Modern Greats. You want either a first or a fourth. There is no value in anything between. Time spent on a good second is time thrown away. You should go to the best lectures Arkwright on Demosthenes for instance - irrespective of whether they are in your school or not...Clothes. Dress as you do in a country house. Never wear a tweed coat and flannel trousers - always a suit. And go to a London tailor; you get better cut and longer credit...Clubs. Join the Carlton now and the Grid at the beginning of your second year. If you want to run for the Union - and it's not a bad thing to do - make your reputation outside first, at the Canning or the Chatham, and begin by speaking on the paper...Keep clear of Boar's Hill...Don't treat dons like schoolmasters; treat them as you would the vicar at home...You'll find you spend half your second year shaking off the undesirable friends you made in your first...Beware of the Anglo-Catholics - they're all sodomites with unpleasant accents. In fact, steer clear of all the religious groups; they do nothing but harm...One last point. Change your rooms. I've seen many a man ruined through having ground-floor rooms in the front quad. People start dropping in. They leave their, gowns here and come and collect them before hall; you start giving them a sherry. Before you know where you are, you've opened a free bar for all the undesirables of the college..."
Meant to be funny, of course, but I do think of this now and then. Particularly "time spent on a good second is time thrown away", and also "you spend your second year getting rid of the friends you made in your first". Always liked that line, and again I think it does have the ring of truth - although to concerned first year friends reading, I genuinely don't think it's going to happen to me. I don't think I've met any Anglo-Catholics yet, in fact I only know atheists, my room is on the second floor and I am working on aquiring a suit. Today, for instance, I purchased a bow tie - true, it's shiney green and I intend to use it as a ribbon hair band, but it's the principle of the thing. Incidentally, pedants, I do realise that Jasper's actual Grand Remonstrance happens later in the book.
Slightly better - or in any case, more universal advice comes from Polonius to Laertes in Hamlet, and indeed, I recall thinking of this during my pa's own list as some of it was very similar?:
And these few precepts in thy memory
See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in,
Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine ownself be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!
You'll note this scene obeys a universal rule - namely, whenever someone in Hamlet tells you they're going to be brief, you're in for the long haul.
They do agree on one point - which is, don't fall into decadence and excess. This only came to mind because last night I remembered a third Grand Remonstrance - that of Christian's father in Moulin Rouge.
"A village of sin! You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a cancan dancer!
Which occured to me as I became better aquainted with the green fairy, sometime past midnight last night.
I love obsessed people. It doesn't matter what they're obsessed about - at the heart, there's very little between spending £80 on Lungbarrow, or £80 on a model Galactica, or on a signed sporting replica, or in this case, £80 on a limited edition book about absinthe. And indeed, it's not just a financial thing - listening to obsessed people speak is an experience too. Calypso is really into her absinthe. If it's black, it's not absinthe; if it's red, it's not absinthe; if they serve it in bars, or involve fire in any way, it's not absinthe (well that's Moulin Rouge out the window then...)
And after fifteen minutes of this, I could really see the appeal.
Absinthe has a very bad reputation, and like all such things, the reputation is also actually part of the charm. And part of the reputation is the ritual and the history. This was the drink of Tolouse Lautrec, Rimbaud, van Gough, and yes Wilde when it all got very depressing at the end - banned in most places for most of the 20th century, with lurid accounts of its effects. How true are they? Wikipedia isn't sure. The almost certainly overblown 19th century reaction only increase the allure, not to mention a wealth of trivia to sink your teeth into. Getting your hands on even the smallest piece of "pre-ban" absinthe can set you back far more than The Dark Path, So Vile a Sin and Lungbarrow put together. There's literature, and there's art, and thats all before you actually get to an Androgum, culinary appreciation of the different varieties - in other words, a thousand different angles on the same topic.
As for the ritual - well, that's linked with the history. With absinthe being a niche interest, not to mention an expensive hobby, they can sell the kit for exorbitant prices because they know people who buy genuine stuff will also shell out for equipment to match - exactly in the same way Forbidden Planet flogs Batman vs. Scarecrow statues because they know people will pay. It's the romantic, decadent image which allows them to do this - it's not a drink you knock back, it's part of the experience.
Absinthe comes neat, and while you can just drink it that way - with it being anywhere between 40%-80%, it's obviously not a very good idea. One of the first things I remember Calypso saying is that she had an absinthe spoon, to which I nodded and smiled knowledgably to disguise the fact I had no idea why a spoon would be necessary. Turns out that it's a flat object with holes in it you lay across a glass containing the stuff, and put a sugar cube on top. You then drip ice water onto the sugar cube, so sugary water drips down into the absinthe as it changes from green green to white green, at which point it is good to drink. Connosseurs have specialist drippers, but being students we had to make do with a squeeze-top bottle. Apparently the smell is fantastic at this point, and the aroma is a serious part of the experience.
So, what to say? First gulp, it tastes a bit like the cool, stale roundness of getting a mouthful of seawater - but where the ocean has salt, it has sugar. Next comes the burn, which is just intense, and finally you're left with a very agreeable aftertaste which makes your insides feel like they' ve been wrapped up in a snuggly blanket. Success.
I'm not the world's greatest fan of alcohol. It must be said that the price puts me off very much, but it's also the way people drink. Its a combination of all the things I hate - late nights, loud rooms, bad music. I can't stand the "lets get drunk then we'll have fun" mentality - I go out with friends because I want to spend time with friends, not spend time with the people they turn into when drunk. In London, the fact you have to queue half an hour then pay £7 to get into a club is also a severe disincentive. But I would dare all this if alcohol actually made me feel good. It's a nasty fact that after a glass or so, I do tend to die inside - I feel sulky, introspective, very very self critical, and according to most people, I start saying what I really think of them too. In other words, I tend to stop having a good time. Different things affect different people in different ways, I suppose, but my mood just plummets.
Interesting fact about art vs. Life - Lord M ALSO gets sulky, quiet and introspective when he drinks too much...I discovered this fact age 13 - and yet I only discovered my own reaction to too much booze age, say, 17. Which is interesting, for anyone who thinks I'm joking about my alter ego.
In any case, absinthe fails dramatically on the first count - the price, which is fairly high. But the best part is, I react to it so much better. It's the only booze I've ever sampled which hasn't put me in a foul mood - I felt quite light headed, but not muggy, indeed I felt like I thought more clearly. I certainly felt more cheerful, which is what was so brilliant about it - booze almost never does this to me! Disappointingly, however, the hallucinations promised by prohibitionists lurid tales never materialsed. Although I could also feel my alcohol induced biting honesty coming out too, so I extricated myself at 2 in the AM before I got too mean and slinked off home. You'll also note my "number of hangovers" is still 0. My insides feel a bit queer (antiquated phrase, but it gets my meaning across), but I do indeed feel fine.
Well. New experiences is what university is all about. And at the bottom of our list of priorities for a house next year - showers, NW London, a TV, a video player, a grand piano - we've added "absinthe fountain". Which sounded like a good idea at the time...
A while back - indeed, my first post - was as intended to be entitled "Grand Remonstrances". Yes, fathers and concerned relatives throughout the ages always had a lot to say about one's behaviour at university - and I intended to use them as checklists and in light of my parent's own advice.
As it happened, by the time I had time to blog, I'd forgotten all their advice. True, I remember the sense of it - but dad had actually produced his as a numbered list which hit about 22. Highlight was number 2, boys, which I do recall verbatim: "People will tell you that boys are only after one thing. They're right"
My mum, as far as I recall, only had a single instruction which was "on no account go to Hampstead Heath at night". This term she has added "on no account go to a Gaza protest", and while if I felt strongly on either of these issues I wouldn't let this stand in my way, the fact is it would make them more unhappy for doing it than it makes me unhappy for not.
The term "grand remonstrance", of course, comes from Cousin Jasper in Brideshead Revisited. One of my chiefest disappointments in university is that no one has read this book. To me, it should be required reading. In any case, here is cousin Jasper's advice to Charles on his first week at Oxford:
"You're reading History? A perfectly respectable school. The very worst is English literature and the next worst is Modern Greats. You want either a first or a fourth. There is no value in anything between. Time spent on a good second is time thrown away. You should go to the best lectures Arkwright on Demosthenes for instance - irrespective of whether they are in your school or not...Clothes. Dress as you do in a country house. Never wear a tweed coat and flannel trousers - always a suit. And go to a London tailor; you get better cut and longer credit...Clubs. Join the Carlton now and the Grid at the beginning of your second year. If you want to run for the Union - and it's not a bad thing to do - make your reputation outside first, at the Canning or the Chatham, and begin by speaking on the paper...Keep clear of Boar's Hill...Don't treat dons like schoolmasters; treat them as you would the vicar at home...You'll find you spend half your second year shaking off the undesirable friends you made in your first...Beware of the Anglo-Catholics - they're all sodomites with unpleasant accents. In fact, steer clear of all the religious groups; they do nothing but harm...One last point. Change your rooms. I've seen many a man ruined through having ground-floor rooms in the front quad. People start dropping in. They leave their, gowns here and come and collect them before hall; you start giving them a sherry. Before you know where you are, you've opened a free bar for all the undesirables of the college..."
Meant to be funny, of course, but I do think of this now and then. Particularly "time spent on a good second is time thrown away", and also "you spend your second year getting rid of the friends you made in your first". Always liked that line, and again I think it does have the ring of truth - although to concerned first year friends reading, I genuinely don't think it's going to happen to me. I don't think I've met any Anglo-Catholics yet, in fact I only know atheists, my room is on the second floor and I am working on aquiring a suit. Today, for instance, I purchased a bow tie - true, it's shiney green and I intend to use it as a ribbon hair band, but it's the principle of the thing. Incidentally, pedants, I do realise that Jasper's actual Grand Remonstrance happens later in the book.
Slightly better - or in any case, more universal advice comes from Polonius to Laertes in Hamlet, and indeed, I recall thinking of this during my pa's own list as some of it was very similar?:
And these few precepts in thy memory
See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in,
Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine ownself be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!
You'll note this scene obeys a universal rule - namely, whenever someone in Hamlet tells you they're going to be brief, you're in for the long haul.
They do agree on one point - which is, don't fall into decadence and excess. This only came to mind because last night I remembered a third Grand Remonstrance - that of Christian's father in Moulin Rouge.
"A village of sin! You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a cancan dancer!
Which occured to me as I became better aquainted with the green fairy, sometime past midnight last night.
I love obsessed people. It doesn't matter what they're obsessed about - at the heart, there's very little between spending £80 on Lungbarrow, or £80 on a model Galactica, or on a signed sporting replica, or in this case, £80 on a limited edition book about absinthe. And indeed, it's not just a financial thing - listening to obsessed people speak is an experience too. Calypso is really into her absinthe. If it's black, it's not absinthe; if it's red, it's not absinthe; if they serve it in bars, or involve fire in any way, it's not absinthe (well that's Moulin Rouge out the window then...)
And after fifteen minutes of this, I could really see the appeal.
Absinthe has a very bad reputation, and like all such things, the reputation is also actually part of the charm. And part of the reputation is the ritual and the history. This was the drink of Tolouse Lautrec, Rimbaud, van Gough, and yes Wilde when it all got very depressing at the end - banned in most places for most of the 20th century, with lurid accounts of its effects. How true are they? Wikipedia isn't sure. The almost certainly overblown 19th century reaction only increase the allure, not to mention a wealth of trivia to sink your teeth into. Getting your hands on even the smallest piece of "pre-ban" absinthe can set you back far more than The Dark Path, So Vile a Sin and Lungbarrow put together. There's literature, and there's art, and thats all before you actually get to an Androgum, culinary appreciation of the different varieties - in other words, a thousand different angles on the same topic.
As for the ritual - well, that's linked with the history. With absinthe being a niche interest, not to mention an expensive hobby, they can sell the kit for exorbitant prices because they know people who buy genuine stuff will also shell out for equipment to match - exactly in the same way Forbidden Planet flogs Batman vs. Scarecrow statues because they know people will pay. It's the romantic, decadent image which allows them to do this - it's not a drink you knock back, it's part of the experience.
Absinthe comes neat, and while you can just drink it that way - with it being anywhere between 40%-80%, it's obviously not a very good idea. One of the first things I remember Calypso saying is that she had an absinthe spoon, to which I nodded and smiled knowledgably to disguise the fact I had no idea why a spoon would be necessary. Turns out that it's a flat object with holes in it you lay across a glass containing the stuff, and put a sugar cube on top. You then drip ice water onto the sugar cube, so sugary water drips down into the absinthe as it changes from green green to white green, at which point it is good to drink. Connosseurs have specialist drippers, but being students we had to make do with a squeeze-top bottle. Apparently the smell is fantastic at this point, and the aroma is a serious part of the experience.
So, what to say? First gulp, it tastes a bit like the cool, stale roundness of getting a mouthful of seawater - but where the ocean has salt, it has sugar. Next comes the burn, which is just intense, and finally you're left with a very agreeable aftertaste which makes your insides feel like they' ve been wrapped up in a snuggly blanket. Success.
I'm not the world's greatest fan of alcohol. It must be said that the price puts me off very much, but it's also the way people drink. Its a combination of all the things I hate - late nights, loud rooms, bad music. I can't stand the "lets get drunk then we'll have fun" mentality - I go out with friends because I want to spend time with friends, not spend time with the people they turn into when drunk. In London, the fact you have to queue half an hour then pay £7 to get into a club is also a severe disincentive. But I would dare all this if alcohol actually made me feel good. It's a nasty fact that after a glass or so, I do tend to die inside - I feel sulky, introspective, very very self critical, and according to most people, I start saying what I really think of them too. In other words, I tend to stop having a good time. Different things affect different people in different ways, I suppose, but my mood just plummets.
Interesting fact about art vs. Life - Lord M ALSO gets sulky, quiet and introspective when he drinks too much...I discovered this fact age 13 - and yet I only discovered my own reaction to too much booze age, say, 17. Which is interesting, for anyone who thinks I'm joking about my alter ego.
In any case, absinthe fails dramatically on the first count - the price, which is fairly high. But the best part is, I react to it so much better. It's the only booze I've ever sampled which hasn't put me in a foul mood - I felt quite light headed, but not muggy, indeed I felt like I thought more clearly. I certainly felt more cheerful, which is what was so brilliant about it - booze almost never does this to me! Disappointingly, however, the hallucinations promised by prohibitionists lurid tales never materialsed. Although I could also feel my alcohol induced biting honesty coming out too, so I extricated myself at 2 in the AM before I got too mean and slinked off home. You'll also note my "number of hangovers" is still 0. My insides feel a bit queer (antiquated phrase, but it gets my meaning across), but I do indeed feel fine.
Well. New experiences is what university is all about. And at the bottom of our list of priorities for a house next year - showers, NW London, a TV, a video player, a grand piano - we've added "absinthe fountain". Which sounded like a good idea at the time...
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