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eyes filled with hatred for Psi Soc, were the representatives of Physics Soc. There were two socs for players of Dungeons & Dragons. Jack interrogated both to establish their differences which transpired to be that while one group favoured dressing up as wizards and orcs to act out their fantasy lives in the local countryside and caves, the other group insisted that games remained confined to the snugs of ancient pubs or cosy college rooms. Each soc utterly abhorred the other.
    Meanwhile, Jack’s latest target was locked in his sights. He stood with his hand to his mouth, pointing at a sign that read ‘Sock Soc’. Above the sign was strung, between two broom handles, a blue nylon washing line. And fastened to the line, using old-style wooden clothes pegs, hung a large collection of different varieties and colours of socks.
    Jack started striding purposefully toward Sock Soc’s stall. ‘Look at these two laughing boys,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘Tweedledum and Tweedle-fucking-dee.’
    In fact, the two representatives of Sock Soc appeared only slightly overweight and wore name tags, one reading ‘William’ and the other ‘Warren’. The name tags were designed in a sock shape with the names curling unevenly around the heels.
    Upon arriving at the stall Jack leaned his elbows on the counter. ‘Please, my friends, tell me everything I need to know about Sock Soc. I find it such a fascinating proposition,’ he said. ‘The name … it’s … it’s ingenious.’
    ‘Sock Soc is a society for the discerning socker,’ said William.
    ‘We don’t, however, meet regularly,’ said Warren.
    ‘The meetings are rather … ad sock ,’ giggled William.
    ‘When we do gather, we like to discuss philosophical matters.’
    ‘By which Warren means we engage in … sock -ratic dialogue!’
    ‘I am the president of Sock Soc.’
    ‘But I am the true power behind the throne,’ said Warren.
    ‘Some people have called it…’ (now they spoke in unison) ‘… a sock-puppet regime.’
    Warren, having just about contained his laughter behind ballooning cheeks, then continued their pitch. ‘Naturally you do receive certain guarantees as a member of Sock Soc,’ he said, trying hard to appear serious now.
    ‘Yes, we promise never to give anyone the sack,’ said William.
    Warren concluded with a smirk, ‘No, we just give them the sock!’ he said, producing from nowhere a pink-and-blue argyle to illustrate his point. Now they were both smiling and they held the pose together for several seconds while looking immensely proud of themselves. The scene reminded Jolyon of a holiday photograph, a humorous tableau snapped on a seaside pier.
    For the first time since they had entered the Freshers’ Fair, Jack had been rendered speechless. He stared in shock at the pink-and-blue argyle and turned very slowly around.
    Chad, whose attention had been focused elsewhere for some time, sensed the movement and his mind snapped back to his friends. He looked toward Jack, who was walking away gingerly, and became concerned. Perhaps something was wrong.
    When he had tiptoed the length of a tennis court away from Sock Soc, Jack finally allowed himself to laugh, an explosive outburst, his body creasing and tears squeezing from his eyes. ‘Sometimes I wonder why the fuck I came to this place,’ he said. ‘You know, there are normal universities in this country, places full of normal people. I could have gone to one of those.’
    Chad wondered what he had missed. Sock Soc had seemed such an innocent proposition. But he soon lost the thread of his friends’ conversation.
    Jolyon shook his head solemnly. ‘Learning is about more than just books, Jack. And I think we’ve all learned an important lesson today.’
    Jack nodded. ‘The abortion procedure remains very much undervalued by the interbreeding classes.’
    ‘Thank God I met you, Jack. I could have ended up with friends who consider garment-based puns the highest form of wit.’