(BY THE WAY GUYS THE AMOUNT I WRITE ON YOU IS IN NO WAY RELATED TO HOW MUCH I LIKE YOU… THIS IS PROVED BY THE FACT THAT MAX IS GETTING A LOT WRITTEN ABOUT HIM AND FRANKLY I HATE HIS GUTS)
I’ve also included some of the ways in which I have annoyed these people. This is risky as my mother is probably going to read this and I am going to get an email from her saying THOMAS WHY DO YOU DO THESE THINGS TO PEOPLE THIS IS WHY YOU NEVER HAVE ANY FRIENDS and I can to be honest not be doing with it. But I’m including reasons anyway.
Matt: The Ladies Man
I have listed Matt first not because I like him the most but because he features in the majority of my other anecdotes. Matt is very tall and pretty and all of the girls like him. I am of the opinion that this is because he mostly just hangs about with me and thus anybody who keeps that kind of company can’t really escape being a magnet for the women. I don’t really know how much I’m allowed to write about his tangled love life at college but suffice to say on pretty much the third night he got with Signey (who will be introduced later) at a club called “The Coven”; only later did it transpire that she had previously tripped over and banged her head and so was partially CONCUSSED and thus unable to remember a thing about it the day afterwards. Probably brain damaged.
Matthew is very funny and has a good sense of humour; he does these little comedy ‘bits’ which he likes to repeat regularly and often. Like he has a fear of cucumber so he says “Cucumber? You’re not a food! STOP PRETENDING!” really loudly – as though he is talking to imaginary talking piece of cucumber! Oh what larks. He doesn’t like blogs though, and when I said I had one, he affected a high-pitched squeaky voice and said “Oh, I blog, look at me I am so UNIQUE”. Whatever, he comes from LUTON he can’t be expected to know anything.
I like him though and am considering making him my official Mancrush of Oxford.
Ways in which I have annoyed Matt:
None, really, except by telling everyone that Signey was unconscious in a pool of her own blood and vomit when he was getting off with her. Possibly by including the following picture as he is a bit vain and likes to untag photographs of himself on Facebook if they do not match up to his expectations.
Minoo: The Eccentric One
I really do not know how to describe Minoo. I really don’t. I guess the best thing I can do would be to say “Imagine your stereotype of an Oxford student… and then triple it”. He is literally the craziest thing I can imagine, a half Iranian (Persian, as he says), half scottish Zoroastrian with an encyclopaedic knowledge of English literature and a ‘unique’ understanding of social constructs. He tends to run left and right like a chicken and can be guaranteed to loudly say something confusing at any point in time. The first night at the bar he got drunk (he only drinks gin, whiskey or brandy) and started loudly screaming Shakespeare at the top of his lungs. At a karaoke evening he did Blondie’s “Heart of Glass” by simply screaming unintelligible bellowings. For our fancy dress party (theme: “Icons of our Time”) he went as the Virgin Mary, complete with huge rings, a giant pregnant dress, and a scarf. He wears trenchcoats. He has a man living in the shed at the bottom of his garden, as well as two twins in his basement and a dog called Bysse (after Percivald Bysse Shelley).
Mino is… you have to meet him to be honest. He is a king amongst men. A KING.
Ways in which I have annoyed Minoo:
Nope. Minoo is impossible to annoy and frankly he provides so much enjoyment by just being in a Good Mood that I see no purpose in annoying him. Also I fear what Angry Minoo would be like. I imagine a Tempest of Shakespearean proportions.
Photograph of Mino: (I didn’t take this but it frankly sums him up to a tee so there we go)
Josephin: The Genius
Josephin is a genius swede who knows more about literature than any of us (with the possible exception of Minoo), and gets really excited about things like Professor Christopher Ricks. Frankly she makes me feel bad about the fact that I’ve sat in this library, FULL OF BOOKS, and have instead spent the past hour and a half typing this shitty blog. Shame on you, Josephine. She is an ex goth; also, she only wears black (which made her attendance to the rave bop a bit problematical), does not drink, and goes off on long mysterious bike rides into Oxford. The current betting is that Josephine and Minoo will get married and have the most intelligent babies ever.
Ways in which I have annoyed Josephine:
I think that she is in a mood with me NOW because I said that she should go to the icons bop as Anne Robinson. I don’t see what the big deal is, she has red hair and she wears black clothes THAT WAS ALL I WAS BASING MY SUGGESTION ON OK. But at the time she didn’t know who Anne Robinson was and in the meantime she found out; then at the bop when I saw her and I suggested it again she said “You know what Tom, you are really NOT that nice a person to me,” and then she stormed off. I felt well bad because I hadn’t even tried to annoy her, it was an actual suggestion. And annoying Josephine is like kicking a puppy. A highly intelligent puppy that could rape you at all sorts of English literature but a puppy nonetheless. I’M SORRY JOSEPHIN. I bet she’ll get annoyed at this blog post as well.
Aime: The Mumsy (… but achingly hot) One
I LOVE AIME. Which is good because her name is French for ‘love’ (YEAH I WENT THERE). She is my welsh friend and she has a hilarious accent and she is nice in a kind of trustworthy but angry way. I met her at Reading, I did. The festival. So that means that I know her better than everyone else. She tends to get annoyed at me and then say I AM GOING TO THE LIBRARY TO DO SOME WORK and then do no work and get all worried about it. Because she is so nice and trustworthy I naturally use her as my bitch, to get her to teach me how to use the washing machines/dryers, drink tea with me, bitch about people, spy on people cheating on their boyfriends, amuse me, cheer me up, etc etc. Aime I would say is trustworthy and is like the Balliol version of Rose.
Ways in which I’ve annoyed Aime:
Ella: The Cool One
I have written a few blogs now about my friend Steve. This is a picture of her doing drugs:
Steve was always my druggy friend who SMOKED ROLLUPS and DRANK ALCOHOL and WAS CONVENTIONALLY COOL IN WAYS THAT I WOULD NEVER UNDERSTAND. Like, I’d talk to Steve and I’d think “One day I will see a blurry black and white photograph of you on the news next to a reporter talking about the latest hopped up bloated drug-carcass to float up the Thames and get partially eaten by rats and/or beetles,” and then I smile to myself, safe in the knowledge that the world will always somehow make sense and that there would always be people averaging out the ‘too cool for school’ balance to make up for the fact that I was spending time sitting in a library writing a blog about people’. But now I have met ELLA, all of that has changed, because now I realise that Steve isn’t cool. Steve is sad. Steve makes me feel slightly ill at the pit of my stomach. ELLA is COOL. In fact I would say that Ella is not the natural successor to Steve, Steve is in fact some kind of proto-Ella. Ella is who Steve WISHES she was.
Ella is little and short and wears HUGE sunglasses and is constantly smoking rollups and is usually drunk; like it’ll be eight and we’ll all be sipping our pints of weak lager in the bar, then suddenly Ella will roll in with a bottle of wine and a pleased expression on her face, dragging a slightly moody looking gay guy with her. “I’ve just been at an art exhibition with him,” she’ll probably slurr, pointing at the chap, “APPARENTLY I was embarrassing”. The upshot of the story is that she got into an argument with the artist about the nature of art and then won. The scary thing about her is that she is blisteringly clever which means that people get into arguments with her, thinking she’s just the drunk one, and then she will own them and rip out their spines and beat them to death with them (intellectually). This is why I do not call her “Drunk Ella” like many of the other alumni as I feel she is too dangerous a character for that. She is simply Ella. Or “The Girl Who Is Always Right”. You can conclude any argument automatically by saying “Yeah but Ella is on my side”; and she will nod wisely and the other participant will have to simply agree that you are correct SUCH IS THE POWER OF ELLA. It’s like paper scissor stone Ella. Ella also loves Hassan’s Kebab Van (across the road) with an obsession that is getting slightly worrying.
Oddest thing I’ve seen Ella do:
When drunk, say: “Tom, I know you have a hole in your tshirt, but even if the rip gets so big that it encompasses the entire WORLD, you won’t need to worry, because Hassan’s will still be there to show us the way!” – and then order us to carry her to the van. Which we did.
Ways in which I have annoyed Ella:
Ella doesn’t get mad. Or annoyed. She simply gives an order and you disappear one day. I have not annoyed her.
Signey: The Girl
Signey is a half blood (AKA she does English and Spanish). Frankly she is very nice, although she does come from Canada and she does go on about a bloody lot. Ooh, its always Canada this, Canada that. We get it love, you’re an American. Other than that, I can’t really fault her. The other night when my fake moustache fell off at the fancy dress party she drew a new one on for me with an eyeliner pencil, which I think is nice.
Ways in which I have annoyed Signey:
A photo of Shaznog looking jolly:
Max: The Comic Relief
Max I would say is the ‘Karl Pilkington’ of the me Matt Max triangle. We tend to spend our time together either tormenting him or thinking of ways in which we can torment him. It isn’t because he’s Jewish (although yes, that has gotten a lot of playtime in recent days, to the extent that I am bored of the whole thing). It isn’t because he is probably gay (he claims he’s not, but on the other hand Matt and I said that he was, which I feel is an equally valid argument), and it’s not because he has one of those weird stretchy faces that means that he looks like Feivel the mouse from An American Tale, the Cat in the Hat, DangerMouse, an owl, Mr Burns, Chucky the baby from Rugrats, a moomin, Ash Ketchum, the MAD Magazine boy, AND the Cheshire Cat, amongst others. No, I think that the reason we torment him is because he deserves it and he needs to be taken down a peg or two. The latest thing we were doing was to join in a conversation with him and then every time he started talking, scream SHUT THE FUCK UP, MAX as loudly as we could.
Thing is, we do love him really and it’s all banter. And frankly he starts it. Even so, I am not entirely evil and a few days ago I said to Matt “Do you think we bully Max too much? I don’t want to scar him,” to which Matt responded “Don’t worry, it’s fine” so we moved on to phase two, which was to tell him that we’d decided he was gay AND that we didn’t accept his religion and would he please convert to something more sensible, like Islam or Scientology. He got a bit moody and had a bit of a go at me and frankly I was considering just beating the shit out of him just to show him who was top dog (can I point out that at this point, Matt, the puppetmaster, smoothly sidled away leaving me to deal with the 61 kilograms of angry jew). We had a bit of an argument. Then I realised that he was probably right so we hugged and I gave him some chips and we agreed that we’d cut down the relationship from 100% meanness to Max to a more healthy 97% meanness, 3% niceness split. “That’s all I ask, Tom,” he said solemnly. I patted him on the head because I love him really, despite all of his faults. MAD LOVE MAX XXXX --^-^---
Ways in which I have annoyed Max
See above.
Here is a photo of Max doing what he does best, acquiring money:
(Also pictured: Random people who mean nothing)
Mysterious Henry: The Mysterious One
Nobody has ever seen Mysterious Henry. He is a myth. He is an enigma. He is THE WIND. He barely exists. He is the phantom that stalks through the night. He is the winged demon of the dark who haunts your dreams. He is DARKWING DUCK.
I met mysterious Henry on the first day of term. We shook hands, as gentlemen are wont to do, and I said ‘whats your name?” and he said “Harry” and then I went on to meet 60 other people and so I pretty much forgot what he was named, and so when the rest of the English posse (affectionately known as the Balliol Bloc) met up later, everyone was like “So who is this other guy who does English?” and I was like “Yeah, he’s called Henry”. So now every time we see him we call him Henry as he is never around long enough for the “Harry” moniker to stick. But that’s the thing - we never see him. He appears at lectures and then BLAM – as quick as a flash – he is gone again. Nobody knows where he goes. Some say he travels to the depths of the Antarctic sea to catch Narwhales. Some say he bareknuckle fights in a thai ring for beer money. Some say he goes to the library and reads the complete works of Arnold. Me? I think he does all of these things and more; I think he goes where the wind takes him and where the moon and the stars are his guides and friends. For he is Mysterious Henry.
Ways in which I have annoyed Mysterious Henry:
Telling everyone ACCIDENTALLY that his name was Henry when in fact it was Harry.
No picture exists of Mysterious Henry. One was taken once, but the photorapher chose to burn himself alive rather than spoil the mystery of his mysteriousness. But this is the nearest picture we have, based entirely on an artist’s impression of the words of the few witnesses who have glimpsed MH:
So there we go. These are the people. I like them all, they are all nice, I am lucky to be a member of such an upstanding group of men (with the exception of Max but then perfection is impossible and he does English and Spanish so I don’t have to see him so much). I would probably consider myself to be the “Wry, sensitive, whistful” member of the group. Possibly the Seth Cohen.
WOMEN WANT ME, MEN WANT TO BE ME
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