On Thursday evening [H] came in and challenged me to a game of chess. He is a stronger player than myself, to an extent that I have yet to win against him. But for once I got myself into a winning position - whereupon [H] came near to cheating - clowning around so as to disrupt my attention, and then making me respond with too much haste. I became furious, which delighted him of course. I may have been playing atrociously, but he really is the limit! At the present moment, I have no wish to play with him ever again.

We held the Bullingdon elections this morning. Alec Rankin, Dickinson and Godfrey-Fausset were elected. Everything passed off most peacefully - which I might interpret as evidence that my authority now goes unchallenged. Not a murmur of dissent disrupted the proceedings. And this evening we held the elections for Loder's Club. Molossi was the only one to get in. And once again, all was peaceful.

There was another Society dinner was on Monday evening. John Jolliffe was his usual incompetent self in that he had failed to send out some of the invitations. Nor did he inform the chef correctly of the number that would be attending. But in spite of this, he continues to make sniping comments against myself within the minutes - something about me doing something "as a result of his youth". I had taken the precaution this time of asking to see the minutes beforehand, but had somehow neglected to pick up this phrase. (Or did he manage to add it afterwards?) And inasmuch that he himself was absent from the dinner, I found myself having to read it out myself.

After the dinner (which turned out to be quite enjoyable), the elections were held, and I proposed Nicky Gage and B-Riddell for next year's officials. They were elected, and took their seats. But Nicky then proceeded to cheat quite atrociously over the elections. His was the task to add up the total votes cast for each candidate, but when I glanced over to see how he was getting on, I discovered that he was adding lists of his own invention - with the purpose, as I suspect, of keeping out his arch enemy [S]. But that wasn't necessary, in that [S] didn't in any case score a high enough total. But having observed what Nicky was up to, I had to re-check all the scores so that it took ages. Nicky himself looked quite shamefaced at this exposure - as indeed he should.

Caroline L-T had her baby last Saturday, but I didn't get a chance to visit her until Wednesday afternoon. The baby is a girl, and is going to be called Maria. And like all babies, she looks quite hideous!

John tells me that my suspicions about Ian R are well-founded, which he finds quite astonishing. I may not have kept track of these developments within this journal, so I had better fill in a few of the details. It concerns Ian's secret manoeuvering to get himself elected as next year's President of the Bullingdon - against a background where the accepted procedure is that the second-year undergraduate who serves as the Secretary is (more or less) automatically promoted to become the following year's President.

Well my intuitional sixth sense has for some time been informing me that Ian is hoping to usurp the post, although I am still unclear about the method that he intends. I sense this partly because he has been too docile of late - which is entirely out of character. He is up to something. He has probably resigned himself to the continuation of my own authority up until the end of this term that is to say, on the belief that he may be able to gather his own supporters for a coup d'état with regard to the club's subsequent organization - at the expense of Sebastian York of course, who has in fact served my own interests most loyally ever since I appointed him as the club's Secretary.

In my efforts to head off Ian from making any such attempt, I have been sounding out what some of his potential supporters might feel. I've always known that John L-T's loyalties are more towards Ian than they are towards myself. On the other hand John is a firm believer in fair play. When I first declared my suspicions to him, he was inclined to laugh them aside as an example of my paranoid tendency to perceive plots against my authority which might not really exist. But when I went round to see them on Wednesday, he was full of apology - and perhaps even some admiration for my insight. For it seems that Ian has been to see him, and declared his hand, assuming that he would gain John's support - not realizing the extent that John was liable to come down on the side of fair play, and against any devious plotting in such blatant self-interest.

Well it's good that I now know that Ian has such designs, in that to be forewarned is forearmed. And I shall be trying to assess the best method to baulk his ambition. I do not think that it would be healthy for the club to have Ian in the post of President. For one thing it would entail a dangerous combination of authority for the Rankin family, with Ian as President and Alec the obvious choice for Secretary. There is little sense of moderation within Ian's whole attitude to life. There would be little scope for the diverse groups within the club to find their own means for the expression of their separate identities. And besides all that, I would take it harshly to find that the man I had been grooming for the Presidency was slighted by his rejection. It would reflect against my own authority, which should be deemed to exist until I have actually gone down from Oxford.

I can understand the point that is apparently being made, that Sebastian isn't one of the personalities around whom any particular faction within the club can be seen to coalesce. But I do not think this particularly matters. Indeed, it furnishes him with a more neutral position, from which he may seek to integrate the factions into a workable club spirit. I think that Sebastian would make a good President, even if he might see fit to work quietly from the background.

On Wednesday I was invited (once again) by Karl Leyzer to have dinner at the Magdalen high table, and I enjoyed myself immensely this time - largely because I was feeling more confident, and in greater combative spirit. (It is disastrous to sit silent in the presence of all these dons, without disputing all their utterances. They mustn't be allowed to get away with any supposition that they are the unchallengeable experts in their fields of study.) And I think I was acquitting myself passably well. Warnock apparently commented to Karl on the way I was so boldly attacking the President of Magdalen.

Then there was a history don who got talking to me about the Thynne family history. And I was volunteering the information that we believe the name to be a contraction of the phrase "of the inne". He surprised me greatly by declaring that he didn't support this theory, and thought it far more likely that Thynne was a descriptive name of Saxon origin. It is such an obvious thought that I felt stupid in not supposing it of my own accord. The trouble is that I've been accepting what my family have always told me in a far too uncritical fashion. And hearing someone of his reputation declaring it to be bunkum wrong footed me on a subject where I should have been the authority. He has certainly given me some food for thought, which I shall have to digest in my own good time.

I noted how Karl Leyzer's own interest perked up when Professor Ryle came up and started chatting with me in friendly fashion. I know Ryle because I took the initiative of attending some of his lectures, and even getting him to read my thesis on the Nature of Man. But Leyzer wasn't to know any of that, and was evidently filled with curiosity as to how it was that we should know one another. So he finally enquired: "So you've met on the social round?" I looked at him quizzically and replied: "No, it was on an occasion far more intellectual than that!" - which I could see tickled Ryle in that it left Leyzer still struggling to extract a piece of information from me which I was declining to give him.

After dinner we went along to a meeting of the Canning Club, which was being addressed by Max Beloff, who quite evidently entertains a considerable dislike for Leyzer. The paper was on European unity, but when Karl began posing questions about Bavarian culture where he himself might be regarded as the expert, Beloff was quite deliberately snubbing him by just ignoring that he had even spoken.

The prospect of work during this next (and final) week before Schools is pretty grim, since I have failed to match up to the schedule that I set for myself. So much remains to be done. Judging from my recent collections, I really ought to be safe for a Second, but I could so easily slip up. As for a First, I don't really suppose that I've any chance. I certainly don't deserve one, because I haven't accumulated sufficient knowledge on the subjects that I am actually reading. But (like everyone else) I retain some small spark of hope that I may somehow manage to excel during the exam process - deceiving the examiners into thinking that I know a lot more than I do. But after saying this, I'll probably end up with a Third - or a Fourth!

I have fallen foul of the Proctors, but I'd best start at the beginning of this tale, since I have omitted to keep track of it in this journal.

Folly Bridge was raided by the Proctors on the night of May 1st, because of a party that was being given by the two undergraduates in the flat up at the top of the house. (One of them is Peter Tiffin.) But I too got fined £1 for having my car parked outside, instead of in the garage where they stipulated it was to be kept.

Well I imagined this was just a piece of bad luck in getting my car found there on that particular night. I had frequently left it there overnight in the past, so I thought it would be safe to continue doing so. But it seems that the Proctors are tightening up on that issue - quite possibly as a result of the complaints issuing from our neighbours on Folly Bridge.

Anyway on Monday, I got summoned to see the Proctors a second time, because it had been reported to them that my car was parked overnight at Folly Bridge on a second occasion. And they informed me that this was a serious matter, in that it amounted to the fact that I was defying Proctorial discipline. So they asked me to explain my conduct.

Well it so happens that I did have some excuse, in that I've quarrelled with the garage over the cost of housing my car. (They had refused to remove two dents, free of charge, when they were incurred on their premises.) This explanation did seem to help, although I was still fined £5, and warned that I had better not ignore their rulings in future. I really don't know if I shall. It's going to be so painful having to go back to that garage, after the way they dismissed my plea to remove those dents. But it's difficult to see how I can avoid doing so. Or perhaps I might find some street where it's easy to park, a little south of Folly Bridge. I don't suppose they'd spot my car in a backstreet. (Or will they?)

But Ian was in a difficult mood. This term, it is his turn to preside over Loders, but it seems to have gone to his head. or perhaps he's just making it his business to assert his dominance, in a manner that might even exceed my own! He had arrived with special white facings on his coat, which is admittedly part of the traditional dress for this dining-club - although long lapsed. But Ian was wearing it just to draw attention to himself, and to distinguish himself visually from all the ex-Presidents (including myself), to impress his notable guest, as I suspect. For he had made it his business to break one of the rules of this club, by inviting the Maharajah of Dhrogedra to join us for dinner, when it is clearly indicated that no member of the Junior Common Room at Christ Church can be invited unless he has been elected as a member of the club - which has never happened with the Maharajah.

One of Ian's faults is that he's a snob. Or at any rate he esteems far too highly the eminence of rank. (He might make the ideal courtier, if only he could suppress some of his more rebellious instincts.) Not only did he invite HRH the Duke of Kent twice running to the Bullingdon dance, but it would now seem that he is turning his attention to foreign royalty as well. But what I object to is the way that he thinks he can ignore whatever rules he pleases.

When he first announced that he had invited the Maharajah to our dinner, I hesitated as to what line I should take. But I finally said: "Well we can't very well be so offensive as to withdraw the invitation!" - to which Ian promptly replied: "You're so damn right, we can't!" I found this particularly objectionable, for it reveals how he knew perfectly well what he was up to, presenting us with a fait accompli. And it confirms me in the viewpoint that Ian is no fit person to preside over any club. So if I possibly can, I must save the Bullingdon from that fate after my departure from Oxford. All we could do here and now, under the circumstances, was to stress that he must respect the rules in future - which I don't think troubled him greatly.

Ian's behaviour was too assertive in other ways too. I got out of my chair at one point to go and chat with someone, and I suddenly heard Ian demanding (most politely) that I should return to my seat. It was all so ludicrously unnecessary, but to have taken issue with him over such a matter would have amounted to a confrontation over trivia. So I went back to my seat without a word - not without feeling that I have some little score to settle with him, however.

Once the dinner had come to an end, and all the drunken revelry well under way, there came a point when we all trooped outside to pee - standing in a line beside the steps. Well I was next to Ian, and while he was in the full flush of urination, I toppled him backwards by his coat collar. I'm not quite sure if he managed to check the flow before it started spilling over his trousers. But the Maharajah exclaimed something about not doing that, in a tone of voice which implied that my conduct was most ungentlemanly. And once again I resented his presence at our dinner. No other guest would have seen fit to question the antics of his hosts. But I suppose that royalty and people of that ilk can get away with it.

During the few days that remained before Schools, I did manage to get down to some solid revision. The ordeal itself began on Thursday, ending on the following Tuesday.

I feel that I made a mess of three papers - both Economics papers, and the Logic paper, which was in fact quite easy, but I managed to miss the point of each question, to an extent that I feel thoroughly dissatisfied with myself. I would love the chance to resit them, but it's too late to worry about that now.

As for the other papers, I may have performed competently. But it's impossible for me to judge whether they were up to the ß++, which might be expected of me. In the general rush and bustle of pouring out one's thoughts on paper, I'm never sure if I am keeping adequately to the point. But I did feel that I was putting down some good arguments. And if there were a sufficient number of ß+ grades, it is said that they consider upping you to an a grade. So who knows what I might conceivably expect? We'll just have to wait and see if I'm called in for a Viva - when the time arrives. But I'm really feeling a bit pessimistic on the whole issue.

The more I've had time to reflect upon my exams, the more depressed I feel. I am still quite happy about my performance in the five best papers, but the more I think about the way I tackled the other papers - especially the Logic paper, which was really such an easy one - there can be no self-comfort. I know that I disgraced myself. And it will be such a personal disaster for me if I get a Third, that to get a Second will now make me blissfully happy.

The plans for our leaving party are now coming to a head, but there is now a complication. The idea has been for Tim Rathbone, Colin Clark and myself to throw a party in Teddy Hall's barn. But it seems that Colin wants us to switch the date from Thursday to Friday - his reason being that it clashes with a big party up in London, that is being given for [N]. But I feel strongly disinclined to make the switch.

As I see it, there would be considerable loss of face if we showed ourselves to be so volatile - so much concerned whether there might be a bigger and better party being held elsewhere. This is a celebration largely for undergraduates at Oxford, so that the guest list won't be greatly impaired by the absence of those who might come down to it from London - if we are to suppose that they will have been invited to [N]'s party. And a whole lot of them might well prefer to come up to Oxford, even if they had. A decision to cede that we should defer to [N]'s party would somehow demonstrate a lack of faith in the appeal which our own party might have to offer. And I think that Tim has come round to agree with me. But Colin is still dithering, in that he is currently said to be under [N]'s thrall.

The possible dates are in fact extremely limited. It has to be after everyone has finished with their Schools. So we had picked upon Thursday because we had already taken note that the Gages were holding a dance on Friday, and Teddy Hall himself was throwing one on Saturday. [N] picked upon her date only after we had chosen it ourselves. So it would be a case of permitting ourselves to be pushed around if we were to alter it now.

On Wednesday evening was the Bullingdon dinner, and we were all meeting in Robin Herbert's room. As I've mentioned before, I've had this anxiety in the back of my mind that Ian might be contemplating a coup d'état, to wrest the nomination for next year's Presidency from Sebastian's hands. The very fact of him neglecting to ask me any questions about it heightened my unease. So while we were having drinks in Robin's room, I canvassed opinion on the subject, taking people to one side and asking them if they were happy that I should nominate Sebastian as the next President. And the vast majority declared that they would indeed be happy.

When I came to John Mowbray however, I discerned an immediate hesitation on his face, and he then confessed that my query put him in a dilemma. He went on to reveal that he had agreed with Ian to respond by nominating Ian, after Ian had stood up to nominate himself - the general idea being that, in the light of the succession being disputed, I would feel myself obliged to defer the choice for proper election at the beginning of next term - when I myself would no longer be around.

The truth of the matter is that I was taken aback by the realization that John M could be a candidate. I had been supposing that he would be going down like most of the third year undergraduates. But I could hardly deny that he might make as good a President as Sebastian. Anyway I took the general line of stressing how there might be problems in leaving the succession undecided, in that it would accentuate the divisions which already existed within the club. And I urged John M to note that Sebastian would exert a suitably neutral influence upon the club's activities, so that each of the groups might develop their individual personality. He hesitated for a minute and then laughed, saying: "All right Alexander, I won't do anything to make you lose face!" But when I saw John going over to have a word with Ian, the latter's expression was far from content.

The dinner itself was at the Dorchester Hotel in Woodstock. The food was good, but the behaviour of club members became difficult to handle. It was Robin H whom I had made responsible for arranging this dinner, but what I didn't realize at the time was that he had obtained this booking by claiming to the management of the Dorchester that it was a dinner for Lord Weymouth and his friends. If he had mentioned that it was for the Bullingdon Club, he would have found it difficult to obtain a reservation anywhere at all. So it might be said that we were here on false pretences - a point that was made quite fiercely to me by no less a person than the Manager, when he came in to complain about our manners. I think that some bread rolls were being chucked around at the time. Anyway he gave us an ultimatum that we wouldn't be served with the next course until good order was restored - to which Ian shouted in retort that he wouldn't get paid unless he provided better service.

There were several interruption to the meal, which followed much the same pattern - with the Manager giving me some hassle all the time. He was getting quite flustered, but all of our exchanges were polite. He evidently perceived that the rowdiness was coming from others than myself, so that I could pose as being on his side in the effort to restore good order. But the likes of Ian were making things very difficult for me. I was continually having to go outside for a private word with the Manager, and then returning to the private room where we were dining to urge the club members to tone down their more hooligan instincts, at least until the next course was on the table. And there were those in the club who resented this kowtowing to Management. I found myself in a role that I didn't enjoy playing, but it was necessary under the circumstances. And I really don't appreciate for that matter, the arrogance within the attitude of some of my friends, as if every social scenario which they choose to attend is perforce their scenario, where they write the rules of behaviour for themselves. The Manager too had his problems, and I could empathise with them.

Well we did manage to get right through to the end of the meal, without any too severe a crisis. When the moment finally approached for me to propose the next President of the Club, I was still feeling anxious that Ian was going to disrupt the proceedings. The element of rowdy behaviour which he'd been largely responsible for introducing may well have been designed to stoke up a general feeling of anarchy, within which his own ambitions might still have come nearer to fulfilment. But I had successfully steered a course which scotched all that. And we were finally seated back on board the bus, which had brought us out to the hotel.

The evening was not quite ended however, in that when all the club members were disgorged into Oriel Square, their frustrated thirst for vandalism was finally assuaged. The two Rankin brothers were setting the standard by throwing stones at the street lamps, as if they were at a coconut shy. And as soon as I perceived that one had been shattered, I knew that it was in my best interests to retire from the scene. So I went to bed. But I learnt next morning how a group of club members had stormed down Oriel Street, singing rowdy songs and even breaking a window or two. [T] is said to have heaved a bicycle through someone's window, which cannot have pleased the inhabitants of that house. [T] was in fact caught by the police, but it's the club's activities as a whole which may come under scrutiny as a result of their loutish behaviour.

Ian would have been sent down for sure if he had been reported personally to the Proctors. So he should consider himself exceedingly lucky to have escaped. But the point I'm making is that the way in which the evening ended was a clear demonstration of how the Rankin brothers are a dangerous combination, when it comes to setting the tone for an Oxford club. They were each responsible for a broken street lamp, I believe; and with them having set the standard for such hooligan behaviour, the example was followed by others. If they had held the offices of both President and Secretary next term, the club would very soon find itself in real trouble!

This wasn't the last we were to hear of it however, in that I received a summons to appear before the Proctors (on Saturday.) I realized how there was quite some danger that they would take this opportunity to disband the Bullingdon Club altogether, in that they probably regard our antics as prejudicial to the image of Oxford as being a serious place for study. Anyway I found that both Senior and Junior Proctor were present when I arrived, so the atmosphere was a bit like a law court. I was careful to take the line that this damage was most regrettable, but that it was the work of individual members of the club, whose names of course I couldn't reveal, but that the club itself was innocent of such foul play. They were more inclined to regard it as an instance of collective riot, which was not totally out of character with our behaviour in the past. And one of them pressed me on the question of whether I myself had been present at the time. Well I had been at the very start, but I knew how it would be the worse for everyone if I admitted to this. So I claimed that the majority of the club, including myself, had retired to bed before the rioting began. Taking this into consideration, they imposed a communal fine of £20 - plus damages of £20. And in addition to all this, they have suspended the club's activities for a whole year.

The communal fine is something to which we shall all have to contribute, but the damage should be paid for by its perpetrators - Ian and [S], together with [T]. The suspension of the club's activities isn't going to effect me personally in any way at all, and the punishment will in fact penalize those who most deserve it - amongst others of course. But I daresay they will manage to continue somehow with most of their social activities, in private if not in secrecy.

But I should add that events do seem to be furnishing additional evidence of my wisdom in blocking Ian's designs upon the club's Presidency. The tone gets set from the top. And if Ian were in that position, then it would have resulted in a direct confrontation with Proctorial discipline. Much as I like him, he isn't the right man for the post.

The Bullingdon - Oxford University's smartest, most exclusive social club, open only to the very well-bred undergraduate - has been suspended following what the university proctors describe as "disgracefully vulgar behaviour" at the club dinner last week.

The dinner was held at a restaurant just outside Oxford. The wines were plentiful and of excellent quality. Within half an hour some of the 25 members in club dress of gold-buttoned blue tail coats and yellow waistcoats began to throw food about, particularly the asparagus.

The president, Lord Weymouth, 24 the Marquis of Bath's son and heir, immediately gave orders for the tables to be cleared. This served merely to transfer attention to the furniture, a quantity of which was smashed. One member climbed on the table and began to dance. He was whisked off with a broom.

Shortly afterwards Lord Weymouth apologized to the restaurant proprietor and left.

Later in the evening, while returning to their colleges, some of the "Bullindonites" smashed several street lights. The police were called. The dinner is notoriously rowdy, but last week's I understand, was the worst ever.

Tim R and myself went ahead with our leaving party in Teddy Hall's barn on Thursday, despite there being some last minute complications, in that Colin C wrote to say he was backing out from it - a question of being in love with [N], as I'm told. He enclosed a cheque for £10 "to cover the expenses" - which some people might regard as letting himself off too lightly. But there's not much purpose in getting hot under the collar about any of that. It was in fact a huge success, with many people telling me that it was the best party in Oxford that they'd ever attended.

I had been invited to Teddy Hall's party on Saturday evening, and was looking forward to it. I'd already had my dinner, and was just sitting there on the verge of changing into my dinner jacket, when [H] came in. He soon made it abundantly clear that he was in one of his most irritating moods - bashing the front of my electric fire until the protective mesh was all bent. Then he guffawed and said that he was drunk, but from the look in his eye, I could see that he was looking round for his next act of vandalism to perform. It was all too tiresome, so I told him to leave. But he said he wouldn't.

Now I know the form with [H]. He delights in prolonging any situation where uncertainty is involved, feeding upon the irritation which he can engender. And there's no point in permitting him to play that game. If one is going to get angry, it is far best to lose one's temper with him from the very start. So that's what I did. I just exploded with anger, feeling a sudden urge to wallop [H] with all my might. Or rather, I seized hold of him by the front of his shirt, which tore away in my hands. [H] collapsed backwards on to my sofa, looking up at me with startled eyes, and exclaiming: "You must be mad! You may have genius, but you're mad!" He was irritating me so much that I kicked him twice, fairly hard. I realized how I was being needlessly violent, and I wanted a breathing space to gather my wits. So I sat down, saying that I'd give him a minute to get out, or I'd fight him. And having said this, I picked up a book to read.

It was a very long minute. Then [H] started groaning, and rolling his head on my sofa, saying: "No, I won't fight you. I'm not going to." The rest of what he said was in a foreign language - possibly Russian. Anyway I sat there ignoring it. Finally, he clambered to his feet and then stumbled out of the room like a soul in torment. But whether this was genuine, or just another of his acts, I have no means of knowing. His last words were: "Fuck you, Alexander, fuck you!"

After his departure, I did feel somewhat ashamed of myself because of the unnecessary violence. And the party spirit had vanished from me completely. I no longer had any wish to go on to Teddy Hall's dance, and I went to bed instead. So ended my last day of my last term at Oxford. I noted how, this morning Sunday, [H] appears to be looking quite happy again. I have also heard that Teddy Hall's dance was simply wonderful. So I rather regret my behaviour. And I do resent that [H] should have seen fit to provoke it.

On Thursday evening I went for a farewell dinner with Oscar Wood, and his wife Susan. David Pears (who is one of the PPE examiners this year) was present, but refraining from any manner of discussion about the pending exam results, of course. What he did say however, was that there is seldom much of a margin for disagreement between the examiners as to which grade should be allotted to any undergraduate, after they have read his papers. There might have been a hint of warning in his voice, but that could be a case of my imagination becoming oversensitive.

In point of fact I enjoyed the evening quite considerably. there was an American don present, as well as David Pears, and the conversation was lively all round. I may have been rather tight by the time I took my leave.

I spent the majority of Saturday packing all my belongings into suitcases and boxes - ready for the estate lorry to come up and collect them. It came as a great relief once this task had been completed. I've enjoyed Oxford - even if I haven't precisely been happy all the time. But the business of preparing to leave weighed heavily on my heart.