thirteen

My college history society held its annual dinner on friday: a good, oldfashioned five course meal (!!!. that is the only response i can properly articulate. cambridge is a strange place to me, still), complete with a ridiculous amount of cutlery and four different kinds of wine glass. the whole of the college's history 'community' is invited, from lowly undergraduates to the mountaintop high Regius Professor of Modern History, making for lots of awkward conversation. The four different kinds of wine help to lessen this awkwardness.

The meal was very nice, and my absolute fear of being sat next to a scarily intelligent historian was somewhat assuaged by her lovely normalness (the waiter acicdently poured her red wine into the wrong glass, and apologised profusely; after he'd left, she looked confused, and said very quietly, 'but all these wine glasses look the SAME'). It was the after-party, however, that made the night: we all went back to my friend D's room, and when i say all i do mean us normal undergrads and ALL OF OUR PROFESSORS, including mister.Regius Professor. it is quite a surreal thing to see the man who holds one of the most senior positions in our history faculty getting completely drunk in the corner of my friend's room.

to cut a long, rambling, alcoholsaturated story short, i ended up trying to explain lolcats to a man credited with being the cleverest young historian around.

'oh, right, does that stand for laugh-out-loud cats? why is she telling me this?'

yes, and it also stands for 'OH DEAR GOD I AM A DRUNKEN IDIOT'.

sigh. lesson of the night: lolcats should remain within the realm of the internet. also, do not try and verbally teach someone leetspeak.