His dressing gown was a legend in itself; encrusted with the brown sauce, egg yolk & general grime of ages, it was practically rigid and more than capable of standing up on its own. He would parade around the kitchen wearing the repulsive raiment. Sometimes it would gape open when you least expected it and your appetite for lunch would suddenly vanish. And the thing was, he just didn’t care.
Now, a memory test; which of these pictures looks more like our SOGAT hero?
Outside term-time, of course, the college allocated our rooms to students on short courses. This proved impossible in the case of Bilbo's room, which was simply too malodorous. The cleaners tried all methods known to sanitary science to get rid of the nauseating miasma which permeated his domain. Bleach, “Shake & Vac”, nuclear-grade deodorant; all failed. On his return to the college, Ruskin’s answer to Noel Coward revealed the source of the horrendous whiff: he was in the habit of sitting on his bed eating prawns, throwing the heads & shells on top of his wardrobe and leaving them to fester. As you do....
Eventually, his wife paid a visit to the college. We were expecting a similar character, so we were completely bemused when an immaculately turned-out and graceful woman appeared. Err... how could this be? I know that opposites attract, as they say, but on a practical level - how did she put up with him & his crustacean-stashing habits at home?
Once, he bit someone's nose in the Oxford Union. To be fair, I believe that the bite-ee had earned the toothing through his supercilious arrogance. Predictably, this started the annual debate amongst the Henrys & Henriettas about whether or not Ruskin students should be banned. Dr Yeo put out an admonitory circular (much lampooned by Chris Shannon - more on this later, maybe) and eventually it all died down: Ruskin students remained as major investors in the O.U. bar, & Bilbo was permitted to return without the need for a "Justice for Falstaff" campaign.
Bilbo had an old injury which made it difficult for him to write at speed (Badger, on the other hand, had an attitude which made it difficult for him to write at all). Obviously, this put him at a disadvantage during written exams. So, it was decided that he would bash out his first examination on a P.C. keyboard. This being the "Steam Age" of information technology, the only available word processor was in the Vice-principal's office. Our hero was placed in the office with his examination paper and, to prevent cheating, a tutor took up station on a chair outside the door. Cheating? That was the last of Bilbo's intentions. In fact, his completing the paper by any means, fair or foul, simply wasn't on the cards. What was likely was that the whisky bottle which Bilbo's incredulous eyes perceived in the Vice-principal's drinks cabinet was going to come in for some serious hammering. Three hours later, a bibulous and staggering Falstaff emerged, leaving behind an unfinished - indeed, unstarted - examination paper.
Here's to a shining beacon of slovenliness: Hail Bilbo, dissolute peddler of "Militant"!
Hasta la victoria siempre!
Eventually, his wife paid a visit to the college. We were expecting a similar character, so we were completely bemused when an immaculately turned-out and graceful woman appeared. Err... how could this be? I know that opposites attract, as they say, but on a practical level - how did she put up with him & his crustacean-stashing habits at home?
Once, he bit someone's nose in the Oxford Union. To be fair, I believe that the bite-ee had earned the toothing through his supercilious arrogance. Predictably, this started the annual debate amongst the Henrys & Henriettas about whether or not Ruskin students should be banned. Dr Yeo put out an admonitory circular (much lampooned by Chris Shannon - more on this later, maybe) and eventually it all died down: Ruskin students remained as major investors in the O.U. bar, & Bilbo was permitted to return without the need for a "Justice for Falstaff" campaign.
Bilbo had an old injury which made it difficult for him to write at speed (Badger, on the other hand, had an attitude which made it difficult for him to write at all). Obviously, this put him at a disadvantage during written exams. So, it was decided that he would bash out his first examination on a P.C. keyboard. This being the "Steam Age" of information technology, the only available word processor was in the Vice-principal's office. Our hero was placed in the office with his examination paper and, to prevent cheating, a tutor took up station on a chair outside the door. Cheating? That was the last of Bilbo's intentions. In fact, his completing the paper by any means, fair or foul, simply wasn't on the cards. What was likely was that the whisky bottle which Bilbo's incredulous eyes perceived in the Vice-principal's drinks cabinet was going to come in for some serious hammering. Three hours later, a bibulous and staggering Falstaff emerged, leaving behind an unfinished - indeed, unstarted - examination paper.
Here's to a shining beacon of slovenliness: Hail Bilbo, dissolute peddler of "Militant"!
Hasta la victoria siempre!
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