End of Term Letter [Don Mace]

So... that actually went quite well. No one stuck their tongue in my ear all week.¹ Titania and I had a nice chat using our "mobile telephones". And a formal dinner with the Doppelganger restored my faith that one can, in fact, be friends with attractive young women without causing any problems for one's marriage, as long as they're French.

Oh, and I met Violet, who's lovely. Let me just say, in a blokey kind of way: you the Daddy, Char.

All around me, of course, the mating calls of homo vanillicus oxbrigiensis were advertising the pre-Xmas clearance. (That is, the usual offer of half-a-twin-bed and drunken impotence for well vodka and a raid on a roommate's stash, but with tuneless carols on the way upstairs from the bar.)

The prize for smoothness goes to the chancer at the Purple College end-of-year bash who, his witty observations on the skill of the band and the desirability of nipping outside together for a ciggie having gotten him nowhere, leant close to my dancing partner's ear one more time and bit her on the back of the neck.²

Second prize goes to the charismatic blonde who, having finally resolved to make a move on Oblivious Man, proudly told all his friends about her bold decision and then, strangely, couldn't find him.

***

And that's it from me. I'm in the Old Country en famille until after Char gets back. Assuming she ever goes away. Y'all have a lovely few weeks.

[1] I'm giving the benefit of the doubt to the woman who invited me outside to supervise her smoking, complained that she hadn't got laid since arriving at Cambridge because everyone's gay except the women, and happened to mention that the star-crossed love of her life had been a much older man. She had no way of knowing I would summarize the conversation like that.

[2] Settle, Char. Not even you would enjoy that as an introduction. Right?