A couple of hundred politically engaged and enthusiastic twentysomethings pack out a lecture hall in central London.
A recent Gallup poll asked people in different countries how happy they were. Denmark won the race, with 82 per cent of respondents saying they were happy. In China, only 6 per cent ticked the happy box.
It's been a fantastic three months for those of us gripped by the dynamics of crowds.
They dropped like proverbial flies.
Sometimes a word comes along that makes you feel sick. It doesn't happen very often. But when it does, you sense it deep in the gut: word-nausea is visceral. Enter "telegentsia".
Dublin, 1916. After seven days of savage fighting and at a cost of almost 200 lives, the Easter Rising is over.
Bonus, boni, bono, bonum, bono, bone. Not a chant for U2's Ray-Banned frontman, but the declension of bonus in Latin. We use the word all the time; it lives, even though the language died.
Thank God for cricket. Without it, the first days of the Year of the Cuts might have descended into deep gloom, but instead we were distracted by Down Under and its sunshine, success and sprinkler dance.
Weather, the lifeblood of a British newspaper in a snow-gripped winter. Vince was a brief distraction from weeks of ice analysis. Have there ever been so many disgruntled interviews conducted from Heathrow Airport?
(Warning: this column will bypass all hand-wringing discussion of the commercialisation of Christmas and its severance from religious meaning.
Amazingly, it is 30 years now since the constitutional crisis that briefly left the United States without a president.