Nouse reads: Blogs of the BNOC’s

I just can’t wait to be King!

I t is but a wonderful feeling to be overlooking one’s Kingdom when a brand new batch of willing subjects arrive. I get a great sense of achievement in knowing that 3,000 more minions of freshers will now be doing my bidding at this university.

I am much saddened by the fact that I cannot reside in my Kingdom more often. I have to make so many other State visits and pay unfortunate tributes to our Lancastrian rivals, that these commitments really do prove to be quite constraining on my time.

Formalities, of course, do have their perks – a lot of travel and making some superb contacts. (Sometimes I keep the costs of these expenses to myself, but what is someone in my position to do? I mean, really?)

There’s really no chance of rebellion amongst the masses, especially as they are kept at bay by YUSU. Who knew that five of my former subjects could do such an excellent job at making sure the rest remain obedient to my wishes?

I often like to stroll around the grounds incognito – it gives me such freedom to watch the State outside of Heslington Hall. I know that when I overhear some of my subjects talking in disrespect about the establishment, it is only because they are dissatisfied with my lack of personal interaction with them.

I may include some of these revelations in my memoirs, which, in fact, I have just started. Some provisional working titles include: “Guiding a Kingdom”, “Inspiring Growth: Leading The Masses”, “How To Rule From A Distance, Memoirs of a Remote V-C”. The publishers weren’t keen on the sketches I provided of York’s food web with myself at the top, but I told them my crown was entirely unnecessary, of course it was a whimsical gimmick! I never wear my crown out in public. What a faux pas that would be – it’s only for the bedroom, naturally.

Ye Olde Tales of Woe

It so bifel me on an autumne day that upon a strolle aside a lake darke and murkey that I espied a sweete maiden with lockes of the fineste shade. When I approacheth closer I discovr’d that she had somme straunge device akin to hire eares.

She spoketh withe milde tone in aliene tong, and of thinges which were foriegnne to me. What was this boke of which she spak? It was in the shap of a face – a face fayrer than thynne, genteel maide? I do not comprehende her meening. Ay, I supposede it were a boke of faces for match-making: so longe hath I dream’d of a maiden like hire that I only desire my face to be in her boke. I muste purchase a copy on the morrow for her delighte! 
My weary travails continued, paste the Centrale Halle towards the Alcuine hilles to meet my fellowe kinsmen. T’was but a momente before I pass’d upon my goode man Dereke and I convers’d with him on matteres long and deepe. The latest jouste was that afternoone and I hoped to wing yon maiden’s hearte for mine owne.

The noon-tide grew near, crowdes gather’d for the matche. Would she arrive? Would hire lockes shine in the afternoone sunne before mine eyes? I foughte withe mine opponent valiant and stronge I wonne the battail…but never did mine maiden coom to me. The sunne rose and sette, and I stoode alone waiting for her arrivale. Yet! In the distance, beholde! T’was hire! Mine joye was boundlesse.
Yet I looked closere – she laugh’d and I sawe she ridicul’d mine attyre. Mine hearte…hath broke.

Fresh(er) Meat

Aah freshers. Their excited young faces, the overwhelming sense of awe, the intoxicating combination of alcohol, independence and zero sense of direction. Perfect time to strike. Since the Football Stud, the charming political BNOC and the Sexy Sabb upped and left (they call it graduation, I call it giving up) I’ve had to move onto a new breed of man. Fresh meat.

And all those freshers will be looking for a woman of the world to show them the way around campus. And if they’re lucky I’ll let them inside my Central Hall. But I really do take my STYC duties very seriously; it’s just the first night that’s off limits, at least, I think that’s what the Welfare chap said. Who knows. Who cares. After the initial ice breakers I launch my full-on attack. That ghastly over-size “Hi I’m Your STYC” t-shirt is the first to go; sleeves chopped off, neckline slashed to my bellybutton and hello sailor! Here I am. The beauty of Freshers’ Week is the lack of subtlety…lets face it, any “fancy dress” evening is just Cougar Code for “get it out for the lads”….right?

And of course those public-school puppies, confined to single-sex classes and prim country misses with pussybow blouses are putty in the hands of someone with real pulling power…meow! It’s like a bash to the head; Cougar Concussion I call it.

The thing is that by the time the Fresher’s Fair rolls around, and I’ve “product tested” every bed in the block, the hedonistic mix of insecurity and too much make-up is wearing off, and I need a new fix. So I pick myself up, dust down my fishnets and prepare for next years’ batch of underlings, welfare warnings ringing in my ears. Roll on Freshers Week 2011…12…13….

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