Tom Davenport

As Lucy Sittle downed her third vat of purified curry grease, she was knocked from her chair by a stray uncooked chicken. Both Lucy and the vat of grease tumbled to the ground and spread themselves across the lino floor, merging into one repulsive mass. In the far corner was a much larger vat of curry into which freshers were dunking their heads in an effort to win themselves places in one of Cambridge’s most elite drinking societies. This was the scene that greeted undercover Tab reporter Tom Davenport as he swooped into The Mahal restaurant, notebook in hand.

Just two days earlier Davenport had been at Tab HQ. Here he had been told of his mission and had reacted with horror: ‘Er, really? Isn’t it like quite gross in there?’ So many others would have folded at the prospect. But the challenge only stoked the fire of Davenport’s journalistic ambition. He accepted.

Stepping carefully over the Sittle/curry complex which half blocked the entrance of the restaurant, Davenport made his way towards his designated spot. Using the Tab’s extensive network of connections, he had secured himself a one-night-only place on a swap with the famous Myferns drinking society. Their guests for the evening were the Downing Poppies. The Myferns and Poppies had already arrived and were politely sipping curry sauce off Sittle who had just been deposited in the middle of the table. Several of the girls, clearly suffering from the stifling heat were in the process of removing choice garments. The boys who had incidentally arrived almost naked seemed to be feeling a little exposed and were using these recently removed spindly and frankly impractical sartorial morsels to attempt to alleviate the issue.

Before long, naan frisbees were being employed to great effect for the transportation of curry from one side of the room to the other. This remarkable act of generosity ensured that some tables inexplicably short on food, were well stocked for the evening. The grateful diners returned the complement by projecting fine wines which they had in plentiful supply back to their magnanimous benefactors, clearly hopeful that some of it would fortuitously land in their glasses.

TBC…