A large number of residents heard the extremely interesting address given by Mr. White, who traced the vtcissitudes of the N.Z. 2nd. Division through the campaigns in Crete and the Lybian Desert in the last World War. The account of the heroism displayed and the sacrifices made in those grim years made a deep impression on all his listeners.

* * *

A small, but appreciative group gathered round the common room fire several Sunday evenings ago, heard John Marchant (last year's Pres.) give a fascinating talk on the Symphony, illustrating his remarks with LP recordings of ivories by Brahms and Beethoven. Mr. Powles, who recently gave us an evening of classical requests, aided and abetted—in between working out a crossword for his room mate . . .

The Apotheosis of Habbakuk Ben Hasbeen:

Printable history being sacred and sorely lacking we have decided to do something about the notice boards which carry as pretty an undertone of wickedness, human interest and downright lack of intelligence as you every heard.

* * *

Under wickedness falls a forthcoming dance, which every girl with any self-respect will recognise as A thin veil for nefarious and inexcusable things like dancing, coca-cola, "this lavatory reserved for the ladies", and even necking. There appears to be a wholly unfounded fear of entering the house after 11 p.m. or even being there. In the words of one of the more lecherous of us, who made brief appearances in the early stages of Extrav. "Wouldn't it be good to get all these drunk at a party and go round kissing thorn!"

* * *

Another poster with a temporary look about it enumerates at length the advantages of being an usher at the Ice Frolics matinees which is a good one if ever we heard it. Who on earth would go to see all those legs . . . and ankles . . . and figure skating . . . girls . . . no?

Cash! it says—For S.F.A." Nuts to him. Every man for his own says we.

* * *

One permanent notice concerns Telephone Duty. An alphabetical list is made out and each resident answers the 'phone for a night or so and locks the front door. The origin of this quaint old custom is not known, but it probably has some ritual value. The other two doors remain unlocked, and the House may be used as a right-of-way by early morning commuters for all we know.

Stick it on the Stucco

Ever since the One Named Marchant used most of the front page to light into the management committee we were sort of left with the feeling that they'd be gunning for us. It seems that the City Electrician went the rounds with the Registrar and some auxiliary testing equipment. The first and the third now consider our approach to electricity unsporting, and the second is deeply shocked at the number of unmade beds. Either they wait till the part-timers get back from work, and the full-timers get out of bed, or they let us have wives.

Following up hard on the legal advantage possessed by a landlord/the committee then forbade us the use of kettles, toasters, three-ring stoves, clay ovens, welding units, radar and voltameters at the three-point plugs which we understood had been installed for a fair percentage of these amenities. They did not wish our rooms to look like kitchens and indicated our kitchenettes . . . three 6ft by 6ft gloryholes, each with its rusty, gusty gas ring and promised pair of three-point plugs. We got fragmentary nightmares seething with disjointed hordes of cocoa-crazed maniacs making supper thirty-strong, wallowing in all the vices of mass beverages-addiction. So while the more excitable among us combed the glebe for ploughshares to convert, Mr. Boon and his loyal sidekicks invited the committee up to get acquainted with our layout.

And do you know we think they liked it! What with some solid spadework by Mr. Boon and a determined Intercession. So we gather, by Mr. M. O'Brien, the committee made toasters and kettles permissible, but we seem to have last out on radar. This is the first time in years a request of ours has been given a favourable hearing by the committee. All reverence to them!

Muddiedoaths and Dozyoafs

This year the Weir team has been exalted some three grades to the grandiose status of Junior Seconds—no mean feat for a team of only one winter. The year's activities began with a general meeting for the purpose of electing officers and all that. Held on extremely democratic lines, the meeting resulted in the selection of "Doc." Culliford and W. Tread-well as coaches and of W. Allen as captain. The team awaited with blind faith in fortune, its first game, which resulted in Weir's first blood of the season—a 14-3 win. The boys showed surprising co-ordination and fitness at that early stage and those qualities were again exhibited in various well-known establishments after the game.

* * *

This year we have a nucleus of old stalwarts from last years team and some notable new members, including that dive-pass expert "Space" Saili, who has made a number of very nice runs from behind the scrum. Also among us is a man from the executive, one G. I. Rich, who although suspiciously near insubordination on some occasions has played good solid football. Our wingers, "Long" Waite and John Bathgate (you should see my dummy!) have been a little peeved at the lack of material to date—a matter which we hope will be remedied in the near future. So with four wins and two losses to our credit we look to the future with hope, chanting that well-known Latin maximum "oe guestibus non est disputandum" (Will you shut up in that scrum?)