I went to a gaudy last weekend. Several British universities now host these splendid events; mine was at Worcester College, Oxford, from where I graduated in 1981 with a double third in mathematics. A gaudy is essentially a reunion weekend with knobs on. At Worcester they are blessedly free, which is great for paups like me who can enjoy the exceptionally good food and, particularly, wine with a huge stupid smile. (The only cost was £42 for a guest room for a night, and my God do you need that.) Gaudies typically occur for each year’s intake only every seven years, and when you get the invitation you need to respond by return, because if you don’t you won’t get in.
I won’t pretend that I didn’t have rather complicated feelings about either my college or my course. My thirds weren’t the traditional gentleman’s degree, fuelled by idleness, brandy and cigars.
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