The
Common Room (c)
By
Michael
Casey
What
are you sniggering at? You are worse than a child, I have to mark this drivel,
you would think if they got to Cambridge they would have least learnt how to
write, they’d know how to string a sentence together. Or at least make it
interesting. This one will get an F, and F is the appropriate letter I should
begin with for this drivel. If his Daddy paid for all the best schools perhaps
he should have bought his a Dictionary too. Or at least paid for a French
mistress who could have taught him English in his gap year. At least they leave
a few cases of the 69 at the Porters lodge. He’s a decent sort, he told me to
be really rigorous when marking his son’s papers. If only the French mistress
was as rigorous and taught him a bit of English in the gap year.
You
are smirking now, I’ll have to gather myself up from my chair and see what
exactly you are reading. Oh, that 300 and Not OUT, a cricket magazine or something. I would ask Jeffrey Archer to
pop in and explain how to write page
turning prose, only he’s gone off with Andrew Graham Dixon and some Italian
bloke to have dinner. I despair of the youth of today, they can’t string a
sentence together, what they write reads like an obituary. Shakespeare should
inspire them, or Charles Dickens, or that Little Woman, or rather the book
Little Women, they should have Pride and no Prejudice in what they read and
then write about. Instead its cut and *&***((ing paste, do they think we
are stupid, WE ARE CAMBRIDGE DONS after all.
Yes
I will have a Cuban cigar, and I know you really did steal them from Fidel,
help yourself to some of the 69 while I light this monster. We are the last
bastion of good taste here at Singing Anvil College, we really were founded by
a blacksmith 100s of years ago. We are known as the SAC college because of all
the ale stored underneath the chapel. That bastard you are reading stole the idea
and used it in his butchered version of the baker and the undertaker story, The
Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, my big fat hairy Cambridge arse.
You
are still sniggering, is he really any good? Or does he just make lots of money
from his books, even though his writing is horse manure, if I’m being polite. So
he’s written over a million words, but is undiscovered, like a pearl of great
price but you’ve lost the shovel and the map marking the spot. So he’s just a
bit of a cult, yes I said cult. So who exactly reads him? Only Dons in Cracow
Poland. But the Poles have a funny sense of humour.
But
what do you see in him. He’s fat and silver haired and wears shades, mainly to
hide his ugly mug. His structure is like an outside toilet, big and strong with
the odour of something quite right, if I ever met the daft brush I’ll give him
a bottle of something. No not a bottle of the 69, it would be wasted on him,
maybe some cheap perfume for men, or failing that some Jeyes Fluid disinfectant
to dab behind his ears.
He
just teases and half tells a story and then expects us to finish it for
ourselves. I say he’s just a lazy writer, or has run out of steam. You don’t
think so? If a girl and a boy are alone then he should tell us what happens, it’s
more like a Bollywood film and he just leads us a merry dance. I want more
detail. He uses a metaphor. She weighed up his evidence, she assessed the power
repeatedly, she smiles and gently glowed, and she in turn gave him a stiff
sentence, or was it a stiff drink. Or knowing your writer it’s always a pint of Stella Artois. The only thing sophisticated
about his writing is the Stella Artois.
I
know, but he’s big in Poland. Only Amazon don’t publish in Polish, the irony of
it all, now that is amusing to me. I better mark some more of these useless
bastards’ essays. And yes of course I do want to read 300 and Not Out when you
have finished with it. He may be a totally useless writer but at least he
entertains me, otherwise I’d have to read Harry Potter to my grandchildren.
Some
say he’s really a Don at that crappy University, up the road, you know Oxford.
He just pretends to be a moron, when really he’s an Oxford Don, though how do
you tell the difference? The moron is better educated. Wasn’t there something
in a Tom Sharpe book years ago about a writer who had somebody else pretend to
be him to do all the publicity. While he stayed in some house of ill repute,
like the House of Lords or something? Well whoever really is this Michael Casey
I just hope that someday he gets discovered then he can bequest all his money to our
college. The SAC college wine cellar needs replenishment, those bastards from
Porterhouse College tunnelling into the cellar and stole a load of the 69. Is
there no honour any more?
With
that it’s just after midnight, so go to bed with your wives and lovers and
mistresses And if its 3 to the power of one its far cheaper, though for the
mathematicians out there, you are in for a very exciting night, 3 to the power
of one, is your favourite equation after all.
And if you don’t know what this fat silver haired writer in shades means
by that, I’m sure your girl will enjoy explaining it to you.
See
no wonder Cambridge Dons hate me, though one brother really went to Cambridge
and another to Oxford. Me I was just more common, as common as a Common room.
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