My respect for American conservatism took a deep plunge when I read this in an otherwise enjoyable review by Matthew Walther of Kingsley Amis's Lucky Jim:
Its eponymous hero, Jim Dixon, is a junior lecturer in history at an undistinguished Welsh college. Dixon’s pleasures are simple: he smokes a carefully allotted number of cigarettes each day and drinks a rather less measured amount of beer most nights at pubs. His single goal is to coast successfully through his two-year probation period and become a permanent faculty member in the history department.
It is well known, or ought to be, that the institution in the novel was based on University College, Leicester, which is a long way from Wales. The bit about the "Honours class over the road", a reference to the Welford Road municipal cemetery, is a dead giveaway.
Walther can be forgiven though since he reminded me of this description of Lucky Jim's history article;
“It was a perfect title, in that it crystallized the article’s niggling mindlessness, its funereal parade of yawn-enforcing facts, the pseudo-light it threw upon non-problems. Dixon had read, or begun to read, dozens like it, but his own seemed worse than most in its air of being convinced of its own usefulness and significance.”