The past is another country

Recently I went to a conference at my old university. I was put in a college room that, a quarter of a century before, had belonged to a friend of mine. The room was as large and uncomfortable as I remembered it, and somewhat bleak without my friend's obligatory Che Guevara and Raquel Welch posters. Through the high monastic windows you could see the gothic roofs against a grey sky. An ensuite bathroom had been jammed awkwardly into …