Sat at my desk in the Porters’ Lodge, my mouth hangs open ridiculously and a terrible churning feeling is manifesting itself in my gut. An unbelievable and unthinkable thing has just happened. I stare accusingly at the telephone in my hand, this being the conduit for the implausible news so recently imparted.
Head Porter has called in sick.
Head Porter has never, ever before called in sick. According to Porter, he has never once been ill in the ten years he has served at Old College. His croaky voice was very convincing and, despite the execution of The Dean’s plan not being until midnight tonight, he fears that he is far too unwell and we will just have to carry on without him.
I smell something suspicious. And this time, it isn’t Porter.
Speaking of which, the very chap is hovering around my desk as I sit gaping like…
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