Ah, Chemists' Dinner. The one night of the year when the Jesus chemists and the tutors get wasted and actually say what they think instead of couching everything in diplomatic language (except Professor and Mrs. Downs, who have images to maintain).   The evening started at the Eagle and Child for pre-dinner drinks whilst Mark and Ed sorted the tables and places out in the restaurant (or rather, Mark phoned Chris back at the flat to get the details of the table plans which he'd left behind). I arrived with Andy and Chris, who had brought with them Dr. Fairbanks' 'Sold' sign which they'd procured from outside his new house on the occasion of his housewarming party. This item (which attracted many odd looks from passers-by as it was transported by three blokes in black tie down a busy city street) was wrapped in newspaper and was to be hidden, ready to be returned to Fez during dinner. The staff were very good natured about the whole thing.   Once everyone arrived from the Eagle and Child, we got sat down and bottles of wine were opened. It is traditional for second and third years to get the first years horribly drunk, and so Ieuan and I set to work plying Jeremy Taylor, who was sat next to us, with his own wine. The standard technique is the 'game' whereby a small coin is dropped into the glass, and the wine must be downed in one otherwise the coin will drown. Jeremy, being a veteran of such drinking games, proved rather adept at retrieving the coin and returning it to Ieuan's glass. Ieuan was soon on the way to being merry too. Jeremy, however, seemed to get the worst of it, and had to leave the table before the main course. On his return he used some very colourful language to describe Ieuan, which seemed to quite surprise Dr. Greene, who was sitting nearby. Thankfully the room was very noisy, otherwise his rather robust allegations about Ieuan's true nature would have travelled much further.   Last year, Dave was extremely drunk before the starter had arrived. This year it was the turn of Becky Nicholson (technically a fourth year, but actually a third year due to an unfortunate case of glandular fever just before finals) to be very drunk, very quickly. Chris Mellor, the unfortunate first year who had to sit next to her, was soon being forced to drink wine by a drunken Becky (who is forceful enough when sober, let alone when drunk). Chris soon had a bad case of The Stares as his drink-addled brain tried to work out the difference between the toilet (a good place to chunder) and the tablecloth (not a good place to chunder). His brain failed in this task, but he was soon led away by helpful hands.   The speeches are always the nail-biting time of the evening, when the question is not only 'has the speech-maker had too much to drink?' but also 'have they had sufficient?'. There have been tragedies is the past, when someone has delivered what is more of a drunken harangue than a speech. I made the first years' speech last year, and I believe it went well (although I remember very little of the whole event). This year Huw was making our speech. This had its drawbacks: on the one hand Huw is good at making speeches, but on the other, he doesn't actually know us that well (apart from Dave, Huw's practical partner and surrogate mother, who seems to spend his time sorting Huw's life out). This meant that most of us escaped lightly, which was probably a good thing. Huw did point out that most of his speech came from the index of the diaries, so they do serve some useful purpose. Huw also warned all people called Claire that Dave was a serial Clairist and that they were in danger of undergoing the Cowhig Experience if they weren't careful. Jeremy and Mark 'Mole' Lyall made the speech for the first years, and it was generally very good once you'd worked out what they were saying. We had neglected to tell them how long to make the speech, so they did go on a bit, until they were shouted at to sit down. The third years' speech went surprisingly well, considering Richie had had rather a lot to drink. I'm sure Dr. and Mrs. Downs will overlook the occasional swearword. The speech also included the chanting of 'Bouffant! Bouffant!' at Dr. Fairbanks by all present. Andy Jackson made the fourth years' speech, the centrepiece of which was the presentation of The Sign. Dr. Fairbanks seemed pleased to receive it.   We all staggered from the restaurant towards the college bar, doubtless annoying townies as we lurched, arm in arm down St. Giles, in some cases carrying a 'Sold' sign. Dr. Fairbanks attempted to leave the sign in the lodge, but the porter refused to allow it. Fez attempted a majestic 'do you know who I am?' only to be cut down with a simple 'no'. He left it in First Quad, and the ported called the Junior Dean. Fortunately the J.D. did know who Fez was, and cleared the matter up when he found him in the bar. Fez agreed to leave it in the bike shed.   Traditionally everyone goes to the hell-hole that is Downtown Manhattan (DTMs to the cognoscenti). Last year we got Fez down there along with Alan, chief technician in the DP teaching labs, guest of honour and all-round top bloke. This year Alan decided that he was too old (although this will change next year), but by the application of extreme pressure, we managed to get Dr. Greene, Dr. Brouard (whose wife was not present this year, which might also explain why he seems to have started to smoke again), Dr. Fairbanks and Dr. Fairbanks' bit of fluff, Sian, to accompany us.   Once in DTMs, Dr. Greene bought me a pint (one of the bonuses of Chemists' Dinner) and I sat and shouted at Ieuan and Dr. Brouard. Dr. Brouard made the serious error of getting his wallet out, and Ieuan, ever the opportunist kleptomaniac when drunk, swiftly extracted a tenner and sent Andy Jackson off to buy four double whiskeys. Before Andy's return, Dr. Brouard went in search of Jim and the ticket for his coat and Ieuan did a runner. Andy reappeared, informing me that four double whiskeys cost a damn sight more than a tenner in a nightclub, so I had to locate some extra cash to cover the cost.   Dave, meanwhile, appeared to have proven Huw right by engaging in some unsightly behaviour with Claire W, who dragged him away back to college. I started to feel rather tired, so I left with Andy, Mark and Chris Seward. We stopped off at the GCR, where we were met by Dave who had decided that discretion was the better part of valour and had left Claire's room before the fireworks really started. We were about to return home when we suddenly realised that Fez had left his sign in the bike shed. Being public spirited fellows, we decided to return it to him. Chris assured us that it wasn't far, so we began walking. Some time and some distance later we finally reached our destination and quietly propped the sign up in his garden where it belonged. And so, tired, drunk and foot-sore, we went to bed.
			The characters and situations in this diary are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happenings. Any resemblance to such things is coincidental, or just for humourous effect. All names have been chosen to implicate the innocent.