Month: November 2016

Midnight Manoeuvres

Secret Diary Of PorterGirl

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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Making The Most Of Freshers’ Week

Secret Diary Of PorterGirl

“No, no I told you – I won’t need to sell the house now. No, I’ve sorted it all out, I promise… cough cough

I am rather ashamed to say that I am eaves-dropping on a seemingly very private telephone conversation between Head Porter and a hitherto unknown other party. I have never known Head Porter to smoke, but at present he is trying his best with a foul-smelling cigarette, possibly to give him an excuse for lurking in this far-flung, deserted smoking shelter. His voice is strained and anxious and he is obviously very distressed at whatever this situation might be.

I am a little hurt he has not thought to confide in me. We have had our differences in the past, but I had hoped the death-defying events from last term had elevated our relationship to something special. Not that I would be much help in a financial crisis…

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The Special Relationship

Things are so serious, Wing Commander Tom removes his hat…

Who Shot Tony Blair?

Boris, King of Oxford gently closed the Cabinet office door behind them as he and Nigel Farage exited into the hallway. They watched as Wing Commander Tom and the Prime Minister scampered away towards her private office, engaged in animated whispering. Boris’ face resembled a bunched fist as he thrust his hands into his pockets and contemplated the current situation.

“I tell you, Nige old bean, Bozza does not like the flavour of things right now, not at all.”

“What are you thinking?” asked Nigel. “Do you think maybe… something went wrong?”

Boris sighed like an unknotted balloon.

“I knew you should have been keeping an eye on the kidnap,” he grumbled. “Rather than feasting your eyes on the royal arsenal, what!”

“Actually, Boris, it wasn’t you I was observing, as such…”

“Look here, we need to do a little intelligence gathering of our own, post haste!” Boris turned to…

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