The Tab est in museo
Quintus est in smoking area
If you didn’t sweat away your teenage years trudging through swathes of a ‘dead language’, just to read whether Caecilius dies tending his roses or battling Daleks, or if you gave up before the matricide and raving lunacy, you probably think classics is a subject for toffs or career jellyfish.
Hoping to ignore all the vocab I just couldn’t be bothered to learn (what exams?), I decided to prove all the haters wrong. Classics is not dead at all. Today is the day we forge new ground in the interpretation of the ancient sculptural masters. I braved the heatwave, and trolled Sidgwick’s very own cast gallery to check in with the lads of antiquity.
That Cantab lyf
Life as a half-classicist is great, except for the other half (Russian). With approximately the same number of unknown words as the area of Siberia to cram before tomorrow’s exam, it’s time for me to put aside the fact there are 4 different Russian verbs for “to marry” in my eternal solitude. I know you just thought, “Oh, Russian sounds useful”- it’s time to extenuate my about-to-be-horrendous Russian speaking in defence of the reason I spent my Easter either rowing or reading about coins, slogans and prosopopeia.
Typing the title of an essay 6 hours before it’s due
Before a supervision…
NatSci: “lol, reading”. HSPS: “fight me”.
“Cycling” through King’s Parade
Seeing your crush in Sainsbury’s
On the Razzle
There is almost nothing a classics degree won’t cover: from particle physics to electioneering, we wade through all your degrees like a Johnian through Life, getting with everyone on the way. What we study is for now as for then. When we read of the media’s UKIP we see Cicero’s Catilina. When we flick through Tinder, Ovid’s over our shoulder. When we’re contemplating the futility of life over cheesy chips, Lucretius shakes his head as he pinches one from the middle.
When you turn around in Dangerspoon’s
Not long into that Thursday 9AM
Trying to act sober for the bouncer
The Trin-mos are on the beats
Embracing your inner boatie
There are those who decry classics as the privilege of the privileged, the leisure of those at leisure, the toy of the toymasters. It’s not just a lesson in how a bunch of tribesmen subjugated half the known world. It isn’t a lesson in verb conjugations, noun cases or precisely where Caecilius chooses to spend his private life at home. It is a universal lesson in everything we, as global citizens require. It is a global education which every pupil should have the chance to access.
Supervisor when I try to rearrange the supo
Those morning outings
We are at one
We haven’t spent so long cornered by breezeblocks, in rooms unacquainted with the concept of fresh air, to give a mirage of what the world outside is: that’s Eng Lit (or it would be if they ever went to lectures). We see this world differently, even more differently than the Great Court steps after Trinity formal.
We came, we saw, and we conquered this inimitable collection. The Museum of Classical Archaeology is 100% worth a visit: free of charge, and you can even sneak into a cheeky poetic metre lecture at the same time.