Monday 21st Sept.
Returning to the office really can be a bore. Frankly, I would have thought that Michael Worton could have kept things ticking over for a few extra weeks whilst I was back in New Zealand. After all, what are Vice-Provosts there for if not to cover for me while I’m off globetrotting for business and/or pleasure?
It really is amazing that Mikey-boy still greets me like a grinning, anthropomorphised cane toad, despite the fact that I’ve spent the best part of the last decade metaphorically slamming his dick in filing cabinets. And yet there he is, waiting upon me like a dutiful Maori houseboy!
Tuesday 22nd Sept.
Only back a day and am already summoned by that cunt Graeme Davies to his office at the top of Senate House. Just because he’s the fucking Vice-Chancellor of the University of London doesn’t mean he’s my fucking boss.
In the end, a most productive meeting! After the old bastard asked for my assurances that UCL wouldn’t leave the University of London, I glassed him in the face, before boshing him square in the chest with an Art Deco hatstand, leaving him gasping for breath on the floor, powerless to stop me from hurling his personally-signed desk photo of Princess Anne out of the window, where it was immediately set upon and burnt by a group of swarthy SOAS students. UCL one, UoL nil.
Wednesday 23rd Sept.
As if work couldn’t get any worse, today I went to meet the new Sabbs/lackeys at the Union. According to them, Doritos and Jacob’s Creek (served by a black bloke who I presume was part of the catering staff) constitute a buffet — a fucking buffet! Not that it mattered anyway after Student Activities Officer James Hodgson drunkenly ploughed into the table in search of more corn-based sustenance, like a teamster’s juggernaut, collapsing it in its entirety and leaving him drenched in cheap wine and his own filth, giggling like a tickled pig. Disgusting. At least he was more entertaining than that slaphead Education Officer, Blacker, or the Finance and Democracy bloke, Caddy. Having said that, Worton is sure he’s seen the latter listed as ‘F&D Twinkboi’ on Gaydar.
Thursday 24th Sept.
Lunch with the Prime Minister today. “Well done for being a really great bloke” he said as he spasmodically smiled, rubbing his knees like some frostbitten Ranolph Fiennes and chuckling like a defective household water tank. “You’re a bonza bloke too, Gord” I replied.
Lunch itself was tolerable enough, bar the moment when Gordon lost his glass eye in the soup. But small-talk was unfortunately punctuated by MRSA, C. difficile and hospital ‘deep cleaning’, not to mention the size of Harriet Harman’s majority. However, it was certainly better than the muck they serve in the Lower Refectory at College.
The highlight of the meal was Peter Mandelson’s homemade banana fritters. “I try to eat Peter’s banana fritters at every opportunity!” remarked the PM.
Friday 25th Sept.
There really is no better cure for a stressful week than pooning a bit of junior secretarial flesh in one of the seedier hotels off Russell Square. Frankly, if this term has started as it means to go on, this tasty little blonde number from Estates & Facilities will be a quadriplegic by Reading Week!