Spirit of ecstasy

The assiduous reader of this blog will recall my account of an attempt to win a prize fellowship at All Souls, the organ through which Oxford University osculates the establishment's fundament. A couple of days ago I found in my spam folder, as will have most of you, an advertisement for Senior Research Fellowships at this same club. Well, it calls itself a college, but it's really a club for the smoothest, smuggest and most complacent bunch of barristers you'll ever find, with a few scholars and intellectuals allowed to tag along. I had to change my underwear, I got so excited: £88K a year, until the age of 67, for "pursuing a programme of research". That's it, no other obligation whatsoever. We all know that means "doing what you like"; even if, like me, you have a serious side, it is the sweetest deal imaginable, so I'm applying, definitely, and I suggest you do the same. Here's the url:

http://www.all-souls.ox.ac.uk/elections/research.php

Performing zeal

I'd planned this evening to watch Performance (James Fox to Mick Jagger: "You'll look funny when you're 50") in the company of a bottle of Burgundy. But "Dad, dad, can I make you a cocktail!" Don't complain, the alternative is being lectured on the environment by a 14 year-old who takes half-hour showers. However, except for Alexanders, I loathe cocktails, and there was neither brandy nor cream in the house. So we compromised on pastis, which I do like, provided I'm not expected to drink 6 oz of it. Now I'm off to watch Performance without the Burgundy; it'll be better that way, trust me.