My meeting with the Durham University mob

My abiding memory of this fairly appalling year is of the face of the young student at Durham University who shouted ‘Disgusting!’ at me as I left the main college building. This followed a very short speech I’d given to about 250 students but which, I suspect, he hadn’t heard because he’d probably walked out before it began. That, incidentally, is one of the reasons this story in which I find myself took a comparatively long while to break.

The speech was on a Friday evening — but it wasn’t until Monday, at the earliest, that the lefties got themselves into a real lather. Until then it had simply been a speech at which a very small minority of students had walked out before it began, neatly choreographed, for the simple reason that I was giving it. Only later did they read what I’d said and thus duly got themselves properly aerated. Can I suggest to the lefties that this is an object lesson? It is far better to stay and listen to someone speaking than walk out before they’ve opened their mouths, because then you have a chance to get really cross about what was actually said, instead of fuming about what merely might have been said.

Anyway, this kid, the one who shouted ‘Disgusting’. I came back into the building to ask him what about me was disgusting. I can think of quite a few things that he could alight upon. I sometimes wear the same boxer shorts for days, for example. I have a habit of picking my teeth with thin slivers of card. But this stuff, if he knew about it, wasn’t what bothered him. ‘Hello — what exactly is it you find disgusting?’ I asked in an affable manner. He was tall and with an intelligent face.