Organic chemistry

My old Oxford college, Mansfield, isn’t a famous establishment, though its current principal, ‘Baroness Helena Kennedy’, as she incorrectly styles herself, has raised its profile by lefty networking. (Owen Jones, no less, has lectured there.) The building is pretty, however, and its nonconformist chapel splendid, so long as you avert your eyes from the gruesome stained-glass Reformed divines. The organ was played by Albert Schweitzer and makes a mighty racket.

This I know because in the 1980s the chapel was unlocked, which allowed me to creep in after a night on the sauce. I’d pull out all the stops, cackling like Vincent Price in The Abominable Dr Phibes. No pedals, though. I’d briefly taken organ lessons with the chaplain’s wife, but your brain doesn’t want to move your feet in the opposite direction to your hands and until you learn that trick (which I never did) the pedals are hateful. You can also bang your head on them if you find yourself homeless and spend a fortnight sleeping overnight in the tiny organ loft.