Cambridge. A place of neo-gothic splendor, brogues, mature cheddar and oil paintings.
Despite being a university, Cambridge is curiously devoid of the fifa marathons, all night house parties, reasonably priced drinks and other student staples you would expect to find in halls and houses across the country.
You would not, therefore, be forgiven, nor in the minority, if you didn’t occasionally wonder, just whose university is this? Finally, the Tab has revealed the answer. It’s Hugh’s.
Dear Fellow students of Cambridge,
People may not look back on this week as Cambridge’s finest hour.
In one move we catapulted ourselves into the Assange fuckbadgery which also put us slap bang in the middle of the endless and increasingly futile debate for freezepeach in universities. If that were not enough we also got into a wee bit of trouble for trying to construct a picture of poverty beneath a 700 year old college with a £65m endowment.
The slum in the cellars case did tickle me rather. Clare barely had time to consider the risks of hosting a slum when the bunch of do-gooders were out-lefted by another band of behaviour policing plonkers. I mean they probably saw ‘micro-slum’, mistook it for ‘micro-aggression’ and loudly shat themselves. Top quality banter.
I mean, if a bunch of unwashed loons popped over to chez Hugh and tried, ‘in the name of charity’, to set up shop amongst the sauvignon I’d probably phone environmental health to have them cleared out, or just send in the dogs.
In other news I’m yet to decide how I’ll be voting on the Assange issue come the union referendum. I must say I’m usually extremely decisive but It’s something of a quandary when your love of freezepeach clashes with that of the sanctity of the patria. I mean it’s like being told that I have to choose between a 30 year old single malt and a blowjob. literally can’t be done- give me both.
I never did like Assange and it was nicely fitting that after years of jeopardising millions of people with his whistle blowing antics it was his desire to get his whistle blown by someone else (apparently) that saw him go from liberal hero to liberal zero.
On the other hand a vote against Assange is a vote for the women’s campaign, and I’d rather cut my bollocks off than ally myself with those scary, lary and quite contrary whingers. Don’t get me wrong I love women, but this whole representation thing, which frankly borders on entitlement, is getting hugely out of hand.
We must be the bigger man and put aside our political grievances for the larger issue of freezepeach which is at stake. As a straight, white, middle class male I’m probably now one of the least represented peoples in this university but you don’t see me kicking my toys out the proverbial pram when I’m not consulted on whether we invite some WikiLeaks wanker to our hallowed halls. And please don’t protest him when he turns up, it’s not classy. Take some advice from Hugh and leave your rage on the rugger field.
Consent workshops seem fairly à la mode right now so I should probably touch on them. I went along to mine, reluctantly I might add, but the best thing to do when forced to kow-tow to the whims of the student left is to keep schtum and get it over with.
If Hugh can endure an hour of being patronised by the libtards then so can anyone, so what the bloody hell was that guy from Warwick thinking by writing that article? However noble his efforts were, he is a fool for thinking that he might reason with the fundamentally irrational, hilariously hysterical propagators of the feminist agenda.
Again it comes back to freezepeach though one can’t fail to see that with every brave but foolish opinion piece by men on issues such as consent (because apparently we’re not allowed to comment on these things anymore) the image of the straight male becomes tarnished. This plays right into their hands as they strive to make the great white male the last and only acceptable target of prejudice.
What does this mean? In simple terms It means It’s becoming more and more difficult for your boy Hugh-nani to get himself some punnani, that’s what it means!
So, as loathsome as they are, with consent workshops the mantra is simple; turn up, do your time, make some sympathetic noises while checking out the potential, then leave- simples.
Anyway must dash, this writing malarkey is thirsty work and I desperately need to sink a few with the boys.