An Actual Phone Conversation: Fact

“The bill for the cleaning will be a million pounds” says an admittedly tipsy YUSU Socs’n’Coms Officer Rory Shanks, surveying Lancaster’s sleeping quarters. “They live like pigs.” Accompanying him in waders and a gas mask is Ac Welf Officer Charlie Leyland. She’s also wearing clothes. She chimes in, expressing her abject disappointment at the lack of evidence of contraception. Nouse’s reporter, on the phone to Shanks, ably pumps him for information about the fallout. “There’s loads of underwear,” he finally admits. “A skip’s worth at least. Maybe half a ton, maybe more.” Alcoholic seriousness kicks in. “No, but seriously. There’s, there’s seriously a lot of underwear.” Then, randomly, “It looks like a refugee camp.”

Adam Shergold was at the Croquet match with the Chancellors, Vice-Chancellors and Sports Union Presidents. “Brian Cantor was a liability,” he tells me, and “Lancaster’s Chan cellor was about a hundred and sixty and had probably learned to play with Napoleon.” And our beloved Greg Dyke? “Lovely cockney geezer. He’s pretty good actually. Well practiced. Obviously they play it in the East End a lot.” “Generally,” he says, “no-one had a bloody clue.”

The Wonderful World of Alex Lacy

At approximately fifteen minutes past three on the night of Sunday May 11, the Sunday of York’s Roses Victory, YorkSport President Alex Lacy and YUSU Welfare Officer Charlie Leyland found themselves in the unenviable position of being refused re-entry to their chosen drinking establishment. In the hazy hope of finding a safe harbour in which to shelter for a while, they found their way to the offices of this esteemed newspaper.

This is a direct compilation of some of the things that they said. In Vino, Veritas.

On the Roses Trophy:

Lacy: You laugh, but I don’t actually know where the trophy is.
Leyland: What?
Lacy: No. Wait. We do know where it is. It’s at Stash’s mates’.
Leyland: It’s not made of acid. It’s made of pewter, ‘cos I drank coke out of it earlier and if it was made of acid it would have dissolved. [we’re not sure what she means either]

On the Cheerleaders’ display:

Lacy: There was a lot of vagina on display. Amazing vagina. I was blinded…
Pause
[to Leyland] Is that bad welfare?

On killing a daddy-long-legs:

Lacy: [kills a daddy-long-legs by trapping it in unnamed Nouse Comment Editor’s bag and flailing wildly at the outside of the bag]
Leyland: Why did you do that? He was looking for a home.
Lacy: He was not looking for a home. [He rifles through the bag] He was looking for sunglasses and tampons.
Pause
That is bad welfare, isnt it?
Leyland: That is bad welfare.
Lacy: Sometimes bad welfare is fun.

On Nouse Editor Henry James Foy’s nipples:

[Foy, allegedly, twiddles his nipples]
Lacy: Oh my god. When you twiddled your nipples just then, it made my phone lose signal. I heard a radio over there lose signal and go fuzzy. Then you stopped twiddling your nipples and it was like ‘welcome back to radio classical’.

On considering Socs’n’Coms Officer Rory Shanks’ likely reaction to the evening’s revelations:

Lacy: Rory is going to shit a brick when he reads this.

On Leyland’s interrupting his musical experience:

Lacy: Charlie sucks. I was happy sitting there listening to jazz.
Leyland: We were not listening to jazz, we were listening to Enya.
Lacy: Enya was good.
L’land: Enya was not jazz.
Lacy: Enya was good.
L’land: Enya was not jazz.
[this argument continues for some considerable time]

On his picture taken at the Chancellor’s croquet game:

Lacy: I look like the ringmaster of the paedophile circus.

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