An Oglio Of Impertinence

I never got to go to a real university.

I was too clever for school; at least that what I told myself. I coasted through until the final year with no study; no homework, just a wide general knowledge, a talent for mathematics and an unerring ability to do no more than what was required to pass everything by a few percent. I accidentally got an “A” once – in Year 8 French, but that was merely a false dawn for my long-suffering parents:

“your son is very smart, Mr & Mrs Godden, if only he’d apply himself“

I’d argue that the collection of dullards and powerpaths that comprised the staff of the schools I went to could have tried making learning interesting, instead of having me caned or otherwise punished when I wasn’t interested.

For example, I got removed from the top maths class at about 10 when I proved the teacher had the answer wrong to a maths question about the relative orbits of Earth and Mercury; realising that nine years must always contain 2 extra days for leap years. It was assumed I’d cheated. 36 years later that still stings.

Part-way through my final year of High School, I realised that I was going to be a rock star, so I concentrated on that. Failed High School by 5 marks out of 500.

Far better for me, though, it would have been to go to a ‘Penny University’.

‘Penny Universities’ was a slang term in the 1600s for the “Coffee-Houses”. There were hundreds of coffee-houses in London, and they served three beverages, coffee, tea and chocolate. Inside, a rich assortment of men (and only men) would pass the time.

For the price of admission (a penny) you could enjoy a discourse with men of great learning (or none) and therefore receive an education of sorts.

Incidentally, a battle of the genders erupted over coffee houses – women wrote and printed  pamphlets decrying men’s lack of attention in the home, in quite racy terms. They even petitioned the King to close down coffee-houses, so that their menfolk would once again perform in the bedroom:

That since ’tis Reckon’d amongst the Glories of our Native Country, To be A Paradise for Women: The same in our Apprehensions can consist in nothing more than the brisk Activity of our men, who in former Ages were justly esteemed the Ablest Performers in Christendome; But to our unspeakable Grief, we find of late a very sensible Decay of that true Old English Vigour; our Gallants being every way so Frenchified, that they are become meer Cock-sparrows, fluttering things that come on Sa sa, with a world of Fury, but are not able to stand to it, and in the very first Charge
fall down flat before us. Never did Men wear greater Breeches, or carry less in them of any Mettle whatsoever. There was a glorious Dispensation (’twas surely in the Golden Age) when Lusty Ladds of seven or eight hundred years old, Got Sons and Daughters; and we have read, how a Prince of Spain was forced to make a Law, that Men should not Repeat the Grand Kindness to their Wives, above NINE times in a night: But Alas! Alas! Those forwards Days are gone, The dull Lubbers want a Spur now, rather than a Bridle: being so far from doing any works of Supererregation that we find them not capable of performing those Devoirs which their Duty, and our Expectations Exact.

So, while Spanish men were being restrained from visiting the “Grand Kindness” upon their wives more than nine times per night, the English fops were drinking Tea, coffee and chocolate in the “Stygian Tap-houses”.

Adding a few insults, the women actually wanted to force men to drink more beer:

“besides their Beards and wearing of empty Pantaloons: That they no more run the hazard of being Cuckol’d by Dildo’s: But returning to the good old strengthning Liquors of our Forefathers… instead thereof, Lusty nappy Beer, Cock-Ale…”

Did the men take this lying down? No! They got together in coffee-house and wrote pamphlets!

 “And let our Wives that hereafter shall presume to Petition against it, be confined to lie alone all Night, and in the Day time drink nothing but Bonny Clabber” [beer and buttermilk mixed] 

But when I look at Coffee Houses, I realise, that’s we’ve done it all again. But this time, we’ve got it right: Here’s an excerpt from an anonymous pamphlet, circulated in the late 1600’s called The Character of The Coffee House”

…oft you may see a silly Fop, and a worshipful Justice, a griping Rook and a grave Citizen, a worthy Lawyer, and an errant Pickpocket, a Reverend Nonconformist, and a Canting Mountebank; all blended together; to compose an Oglio of Impertinence.”

Isn’t that what Twitter is – a collection of people from all over the world, with different skills, ability, languages, learning, music, art, technical skills, beliefs. Except now, there’s no gender barriers.

And in the same way that some coffee houses favoured lawyers, some the literary crowd, sites like Tea Trade exist to hone in on specialities and special interest.

We’re planning to go to London in 2012 to muck about in history a bit.  It’s a great passion of both mine and Lady Devotea’s. She in particular is interested in historical London. When we do, we’ve been offered assistance in finding historical sites by a local with a keen interest in history – the brilliant English artist Nicolas Jolly .

How do I know him? Because Erik Kennedy (universally known as (@thetearooms) introduced us.

There you go, right there is clearly a three-person Oglio of Impertinence. I bags being the Canting Mountebank.