Tom Davenport

I have been working as an undercover reporter for The Tab for almost a year now. During this time, aided by my unwavering determination to reveal the truth, I have beamed my Hogarthian light of journalistic scrutiny onto the murky quagmires of controversy that are some of the most notorious institutions of Cambridge University. Never before this term had I thought, though, that I would be asked to unearth the realities of perhaps Cambridge’s most infamous night-time gathering spot of all: the ADC Bar.

The Tab Undercover Operations Wardrobe would kit me out appropriately. I did not know what to expect; but one of the guys there had a brother who had been into the bar once in the late nineties – we would have to improvise. Above all, it was imperative that I blended in with the crowd; I had to be able to mingle inconspicuously without ever revealing my identity. As we have come to expect of them, the TABUCOW hit the nail on the head; odd shoes, odd socks, torn, faded and skin tight pink corduroys, a loose stripy t-shirt and a strange take on a top-hat theme (as a arm-band, obviously). It goes without saying that all the clothes were damaged in some way for maximum authenticity. They were also doused with a perfume which contained a mixture of the smells of stage make-up, alcohol, expensive cologne, cheap perfume and human sweat. I was prepared.

Before I departed on my mission, I was called into the office of the big chief himself, the CEO, Managing Editor and Editor of The Tab, Sir Joshua Harman. He gave me what would prove to be sound advice: ‘it can get pretty hairy in there, mate. Here is what I advise; if it all goes to s**t, just shout ‘ HI DARLING’ a few times, swear at nobody in particular and look people briefly in the eye before looking over their shoulder with even bigger and more expressive eyes as though Jesus Christ has just appeared behind them. Following this, shout, ‘Beetroot, baby, how are you’ looking out of the bar door and leg it.’

I arrived at the ADC at 10.17. I swooped past the ticket desk, spun right with all the flamboyance I could muster, hot-footed it up the stairs and made a magnificent entrance into the bar itself….

To be continued next week…