chopped bops flop - St Hugh's College JCR

12
the back page - you can go soon, children...
The latest phenomena: that thing called
DARTS...
Three arrows, two players, one dream - daaaaarts!
“Mad” Maz Reardon reports
Have you noticed louder
cheers in the bar than
usual. It’s not just
because of the new Old
Hookie beer (though,
cheers for that, Vas) or
the 5 quid Pino Grigio
wine...it’s all about that
little corner on the side,
the one no one’s discovered
until now...
Darts is fast emerging as the
most popular sport in St
Hugh's and is finally getting
the recognition it deserves.
While the international circuit
spews forth beer-gutted, golddripping
hustlers, St Hugh's
boasts some of the most gentlemanly
darts experts in the
game. Cult heroes such as
Phil "the power" Dobbs and
Alex "heavy metal darts"
Webb are creeping up from
the underground into positions
of Hugh's royalty. These
demi-gods pound the board
with 180 after 180, and yet
they remain modest in their
The Last Word...
There was a fear last term that
Hugh's News would turn into
Gardener's News. Despite
Ross' earnest 'sponsorship'
conferences plea, it just didn't
happen. But enthused by her
American 'evangelical' fervour,
Hattie has dragged Ross from
rehab and here we are today.
It's a hard act to follow, though.
Sam and Marcus - absolute
legends - will be tomorrow's
Woodward and Bernstein (look
it up!). And a brief word to our
dear freshmen, who've never
experienced the erotic delights
in the lodge when you see the
paper's inviting flap in your
pidge. We try to be political,
but invariably we end up getting
pissed. That's St Hugh's.
victory over the arrows; truly
an inspiration for
young dartists
the world
over.
The undisputed
King
of Darts is
Jules "the
Adonis"
Aldridge. He maintains a
steady stance hugging the
darts corner on a nightly
basis, overseeing his young
protégés with pride and
encouragement. His flock of
curly hair, the pin-stripe jacket,
the rollies - they all
scream "champion" and
prove his worth as first team
captain.
Conversely, the second team
captain, Matt Jobber, is
shrouded in controversy
wherever he goes. It was he
that led the team into the
infamous "Worcester brawl",
the match that resulted in his
Get used to it, biatch! So send
in your silly-drunken-illegal
stories galore. But there's only
so many "Oh my god, I did
something naughty last night"
anecdotes and we know there
are serious issues at heart, too.
Hugh's News embraces everything,
whether your poison is
Lambrini or Don Perrigone.
Incidentally, always useful for
inspiration. (name one journalist
who's a tee-totaller?)
Until next time, stay safe (top
right pidge in the lodge!)
From your hosts, Hattie "I friggin
love celery" Brett and Ross
"it's gotta be Gardner's"
Burley.
men retreating from the fray
throwing insults and punches
as well as the occasional
dart. Since
that day of shame,
barbed wire
fences have been
erected in
Worcester bar to
keep the crowd from
the oche. There has also
been a warrant issued for the
immediate circumcision of
the one called "Chesney"
(that likes to play with no
trousers on). More recently,
Jobber's team selection has
been called into serious
doubt, overlooking such talents
as "on the" Mark Brown
and "Cheeky Bull" Gerlis
despite their shameless sexual
surrender to the big man. Mr
Jobber commented that
although underhand tricks
like these are welcome, they
do not guarantee throwing
time and no receipts will be
issued.
Letter(s) to the
editor...yes, we will
shut up next time.
I am writing to express my concern
at the possible illegal activities
of Mr. Joshua Green. As an
invester in the upcoming
Hugh’s musical, Grease, I am
worried at the unprofessionalism
of the ‘stage manager’.
It has come to my attention that
Mr. Green has been conducting
a number of illicit affairs,
including one with the Producer
of the show, Hattie Brett, and
several members of the cast,
such as Mr. C. Souffle. I am
afraid that unless Mr. Green
cleans up his act and fianlly settles
down, I shall be forced to
withdraw my considerable funding.
I do know of several ‘sex
clinics’ that I would be happy to
recommend.
Yours Sincerely, M Douglas.
Since the rising of the hallowed
game into the popular
spotlight, a new breed of
sports tack has emerged.
"Dart tarts" as they are fondly
known are fast becoming
dominant at St Hugh's, but
there can only be truly one in
the hearts of college dartists.
"Mad" Maz Reardon, the first
lady of darts, would do anything
for her boys- always
watching, supporting, polishing
darts, and hurling abuse
at the opposition. Although
normally a bubbly girl, one
thing continues to pain
"Mad" Maz: the unrequited
love so often experienced by
darts tack. Maz has carried a
torch for Phil Dobbs for quite
some time. And who can
blame her-he's a hot lump of
180 throwing ass.
All in all, darts has no rival
and no sport dare try rival it.
One time for my homeboysdaaaaaaaaaaarts!
See you at
the oche.
This issue was
brought to you by...
Co-editors
Hattie “smoking” Brett
Ross “Gardeners” Burley
Layout
Janis “sex” Ridsdel
Business Man
Tom “masturbating” Rafferty
Digital Guru
Tom “naked bungee jumping”
Bull
Contributors
Mary “pinot grigio” Page; Pete
“double gin at lunch”
Laverack; John “trans-Alpine
goat herding” Blake; Liam
“soulboy” Brooker; Mairianne
“gossip” Reardon; Jay “mark”
Gerlis Adams; Mark “Jay”
Brown
* No, I haven’t gone mad editing
these fine pages, but these are
some of the things my lovely people
have been doing while procrastinating
from work, or writing
the articles you read today.
in this issue:
HUGHSIES VENTURE
OUT
“CELEBS”
DARTS
BEER
Sounds like the perfect
lads trip to Ayia Napa
Issue 1
Hilary Term
----------
Good things come to
those who wait
CHOPPED BOPS FLOP
Spurred on by the Traffic Light bop’s sensual succeses, Hughsies
are still up in arms about the Dean’s decision to end bops early:
Carngage as a result
Last Saturday I had the misfortune
of going to the Keble Bop.
Now, don't get me wrong,
Keble has one of the most
remarkable and architecturally
handsome bars in Oxford,
looking like something straight
out of a George Lucas wet
dream. But it's small. Very
small. And when you pack two
hundred people inside, it
makes the Purple Turtle's
'unique' atmosphere seem pure
and chaste.
It was then that a Keble student
who shares, some might say, a
more than remarkable resemblance
to Alice Robinson, said
how “garbage” it was compared
to the last St. Hugh's bop
she went to.
And that's the point. This college,
which I love dearly, is not
exactly famous for many
things. Mention St. Hugh's to
someone outside college, and
more often than not, they'll
make some oh-so-witty remark
along the lines of "St. Hugh's?
Isn't that in Cambridge?", or,
"Is it true that Hugh's has its
own postcode?" However,
every other Saturday, the college
bar was packed, not only
with Hughsies, but regularly
with students from St. Anne's,
St. Catz, Keble and Somerville.
The St. Hugh's bops were
famous, and rightly so. The
spirit and atmosphere present
at bops were incredible - they
were well organised events
which, for me, symbolised
everything that St. Hugh's was
all about. I helped with setting
up bops on many occasions,
and it always surprised how
much effort, creativity, and
pride went into each and every
bop. Students would give up
their Saturdays to work on the
bop, and feel a true sense of
achievement as they watched
people hit the dancefloor and
soak up the atmosphere.
The end of the evening would
be marked with a particularly
cheesy track - my favourite
was 'Take my Breath Away'…
an ideal stilton which gave
boys or girls that final window
of opportunity to 'go in for the
kill'. After the bop, people
would amble off to bed, happy
until the fateful next morning
as they learnt their frankly
embarrassing actions of the
previous night.
The situation now is rather different.
It is not that bops have
lost all their atmosphere, or
people have less fun… yet
something has gone. The decision
by the SCR, and in particular
the Dean, to ignore the will
of the JCR is unacceptable and
simply wrong.
The argument the SCR often
dismisses, that longer bops
keep students away from town
on a Saturday night is losing
weight, as violent crime in the
city spirals out of control; two
weeks ago, a student from
Somerville was mugged at
knife point near the graveyard
on St. Giles.
Yet there are other arguments.
Firstly, the bar is losing a huge
amount of money - money that
could and should be used to
Chesney’s Mole
improve college facilities (like
heating, perhaps?). Secondly,
people are less willing to help
set up bops, abating the positive
atmosphere. Thirdly, and
the most important point for
me, is that the SCR failed to
heed or act upon a massive
petition that was held last year,
signed by the vast majority of
the JCR, to keep bops as they
were.
This total disregard for JCR
opinion is disturbing, and perhaps
a warning of things to
come. The Dean has argued
that he is simply enforcing a
rule that was in place many
years ago. Thus, the natural
question becomes, why was
this 'rule' not enforced before,
and why was it enforced now.
These are questions that the
Dean has failed to address.
Hugh's News calls upon the
Dean to come to a JCR meeting
and address our arguments, and
answer questions. Surely it is
only right that we as fee paying
students have an adequate
explanation for something precious
to us, that was perhaps
wrongly taken away.

2 what you need to know
So, the vote is over, and we all
know how it went. Although
the top-up fees legislation will
have to pass through numerous
other barriers to become
the law of the land, the principle
of free education, for the
time being, appears to have
been lost. This is a great
shame for the country generally,
and those students now in
further education colleges and
Sixth Forms, who will have to
face the government's new
plans. They will have to hock
themselves up to an amount of
debt for fees ranging up the
£3000 a year (and it seems
that almost all unis will be
charging this), and further
debts for living
costs - it will
not be a pretty
picture for
those who
emerge on the other side
of the government's
brave new world.
Those students
from lower
income backgrounds
who
have been
offered contradictory
and confusing help from the
HE Bill may or may not
choose to attend university
now - if they do, will they
choose Oxford? This question
is central to the future of this
university. The Vice
Chancellor might well have
supported and welcomed the
introduction of these fees, but
I believe that he is fundamentally
wrong to do so, and that
is these fees go ahead
unchecked, this university
will come to resemble a relic
of the past, not a modern educational
institution.
The introduction of fees has
already led to a decline in the
number of students from
lower socio-economic groups
attending higher education,
the predications (if one
ignores the government's
hopelessly optimistic ones
based such economist's
notions as "perfect information")
are that fewer will go
when the fees are three times
higher. For Oxford this presents
special prob-
lems, in that this
university
already has
Top Up Tragedy
Top Up fees will not make this university better, argues newly elected OUSU president,
John Blake. They will merely send it spiralling into its own past.
enormous difficulty
attracting
students from
non-tradition backgrounds:
presented often in
the media as elitist if not also
sexist and racist (and, let us
face it, not always as clear of
those charges as we
would all like it to be),
Oxford had difficulty
widening access when
university education
was free.
There was a constant assumption
that Oxford was more
expensive to attend than elsewhere
in the country; a gem of
truth was contained in this
statement, in that Oxford is an
extremely expensive place in
which to live, but now there
is no way to hide: Oxford
will cost you more, and no
matter what the kudos of the
name, it is difficult to see how
this will attract poorer students.
Thus, top up fees will
cost Oxford a chance to genuinely
broaden its access base,
and the University will return
from whence it came: back to
being a finishing school for
the upper classes and those
aspiring to attain those heights
- attended only by civil service
wannabes, soon-to-be hotshot
City bankers, and the
class of lawyer who doesn't
take legal aid cases, perhaps
interspersed with a few dimwit
progeny of the rich and
famous whose wealth opens
doors closed to all others.
Perhaps in forty years time,
Oxford will be able to lay
claim to having produced a
bombastic, inarticulate, yet
extremely wealthy national
leader just as
“Not yet time to
surrender all hope
- the war is not
Yale can with
George W.
Bush. It seems
unlikely we
will be able to
lay claim to
many teachers,
unless they are those who
agree to be shackled to their
job for life in order to pay off
their university debts.
over...”
The future may well seem
bleak indeed for those who
believe in the university
generally and this
University in particular
as an institution
with
immense
potential
f o r
social
change
and betterment
and not
merely personal
economic improvement, but it
is not yet time to surrender all
hope - the war is not over yet.
In the immediate term, it
might seem there is little that
can be done to prevent the
coming of variable top-up
fees, and perhaps that is right.
As I said, for the present, the
basic principle may have been
lost. But there still remains the
committee stage from the Bill
in the Commons (where we
will discover what concessions
it was that bought off the
Labour rebels) before it goes
into the Lords, where the issue
of fees is likely to remain
unchanged, but the new
Access Regulator will be torn
to pieces. There are chances
for lobbying at all these points
to ensure that, even if we cannot
cut the heart from the Bill,
we can at least ensure that its
poisonous effects on higher
education in this country can
be slowed long enough for a
government of genuine vision
and conviction to correct
this manifest
wrong. And in
that hope lies
also the
hope of
this
university
-
the Vice
Chancellor's
vision of Oxford
under this new fees
regime is clearly distorted
by an understandable
but unhelpful desire for
more money however it is
acquired. As students of this
university, who will be forever
tied to it, we should all
struggle as best we can to
ensure that a better vision of
what this university could be,
what higher education in this
country could be, wins out
from this debate.
11 ...and, no dancing at the Bridge doesn’t count
‘We are top of the League’
Digging deep in crunch match, the Yellows head for the top of the
table
The Gaffer scores his 48th goal for the club...but who’s been
counting?
Friday 23rd January:
St John's 3 St Hugh's 3
A single point was enough to
take St Hugh's to the top of
Division 1, despite a slightly
disappointing 3-3 draw at St.
John's.
Hugh's are now ahead of Jesus
only on goal difference, and
Forder's men will be contemplate
only at the end of the
season whether this was one
point gained or two points
lost.
The opening stages saw a typically
defensive line-up struggle
to deal with the determination
and, at times good ball
play by St John's. They were
nodded in front early on, with
Heath struggling to make
ground from a set piece.
Despite plenty of possesion
and effort, it was John's who
extended their lead half an
hour in, with the St. Hugh's
defence left uncharacteristically
exposed and duly punished
for a two goal deficit.
Now it was a game for the
battlers, and it was none other
than Trevor Smith who got on
the end of a cross to pull one
back for the Yellows. Smith
should be proud of his goal, a
fine header from a cross.
Another twist led to St John's
extending their lead just
before half time. A great cross
from the right caused confusion
and even the best efforts
of The Cat and Levine weren't
enough to keep the ball out.
Half Time: St John's 3 St
Hugh's 1
A half time switch saw Will
Hardyment replace the subdued
Mott, and dividends
were paid within a minute.
Another superb Paterson
delivery from a corner was
despatched with aplomb by
the unmarked Levine and
Hugh's were back in the game.
Thomas replaced the bustling
Goddard, and with Lockwood
and Hardyment working hard
in the midfield, Hugh's finally
got their deserved equaliser,
this time from the head of
Forder, his 48th goal for the
Club.
From this point on, the crowd
were in for a real cracker;
chances, late challenges,bookings,
the lot. Lockwood and
Forder took the brunt of the
abuse, both feld cynically by
the excellent St John's centre
half.
Despite all the hustle and bustle,
a draw was a fair enough
result, and was enough to take
St. Hugh's five points clear of
third spot. Everyone will now
be aware of how important it
will be to maintain this position,
with both the Cuppers
and League titles in mind.
Full Time: St John's 3 St.
Hugh's 3
The Stats
St Hugh's:
Wilson, Kenny, Bath, Levine,
Smith, Lockwood (Pyrah),
Mott (Hardyment),
Goddard (Thomas), Paterson,
Heath, Forder.
Goals: Forder, Levine, Smith.
Man of the Match:
Lockwood - worked so so
hard
5 star rating: *** - let's see
what it means at the end of the
season.
This Season’s
signings
The departure of Captain Cohen
and his counterparts last year,
threatened to leave a void in
SHFC. But, with the boys going
top this weekend, it appears that
freshers and co replacing finalists
have left Forder’s men well
placed to make a serious challenge
for Champions this season.
Let’s meet ‘em...
Adam Levine:
Dave Cohen: The Second
Coming. The gritty Mancunian
has been a key asset to the St
Hugh's defence so far. Despite
advertising himself as a midfielder,
his extraordinary heading
ability saw the Gaffer plant
him at the heart of the defence,
with immediate results. It must
be a “Levinho” of some quality
to unlock his partnership with
Bath.
Alan Glesson:
One last hurrah for the 6”7 42
year old Oirishman who’s come
down from the boardroom.
(Interesting fact - he earns 250
squid a minute).
James Van der Bath:
The wiry centre back is the only
player to have played every
minute of the campaign so far
this season, and what a season
he has had. Commanding and
strong in the air, he is becoming
a cult hero with his trademark
hard tackles and outrageous
shouts.
Simon Goddard:
The 'little graduate' has a touch
and the grace of Paul Scholes.
Can play anywhere on the field
apparently, and has greatly bolstered
female season ticket
sales, after being voted Sexiest
man in the football club. [Ed -
is this hard..?] But, it’s his performances
on the pitch that
have won him the greatest
respect, scoring and creating
important goals at important
times.

10 sport...
At the end of last term, 900 students
from Oxford and
Cambridge went on the
'VarsityTrip' - a skiing/boozing
(in pretty equal proportions)
holiday to Austria. The introduction
of some great freshers,
left Hughs slalom-ing their way
to the prestigious Cuppers
victory.
The tournament was held one
night on a floodlit piste. Two
slalom courses were set out next
to each other with one skier
from each team racing at the
same time. As soon as one skier
got to the bottom, the next skier
in the team could go down, and
the first team to get all four
skiers down the mountain won.
This year the St Hugh's team
comprised of Will 'the drunkard'
Hardyment, Maeve 'the revelation'
O'Leary-Barrett, Rob
Grieg-Gran, and 'Swiss' Kris
Alfthan. On paper the team
looked strong, but when
Hardyment turned up completely
off his face after some excessive
apres-ski, it looked as
though we were heading for an
early exit.
Our first race was against
Corpus/Linacre. Hardyment
went off first and was looking
good until he lost his balance
and slipped, allowing the other
team to catch up and overtake
us. O'Leary-Barrett went next
and put in a solid run that
allowed us to claw back some
of our disadvantage. A very
speedy run by a focused Grieg-
Gran allowed us to retake the
lead and Alfthan conslolidated
with a good anchor leg to win
the race.
We were up against LMH in our
quarter final and Hardyment
went off first again, but about
halfway down the course he
clipped a gate and and one of
his skis came off. He made a
determined run back up the hill,
put his ski on, and finished the
course, but we were already far
behind LMH and it looked as
though we were crashing out of
Hugh’s ski to Cuppers Victory
cuppers. The pressure was on,
but the two first years, O'Leary-
Barrett and Grieg-Gran,
responded magnificently by
giving their all with two storming
runs, bringing us back level
with LMH. In the last leg,
Alfthan beat his LMH counterpart
with a strong run to lead St
Hughs into the semi finals.
After Hardyment's dismal performance
in the first two runs,
he was given one last chance to
redeem himself in the semi
against St Peters, the reigning
cuppers champions. Hardyment
went off first and finally
showed his true class as a skier.
His aggressive style coupled
with smooth, crisp turns, left St
Peters trailing. Two more solid
runs from O'Leary-Barrett and
Grieg-Gran consolidated the
lead. Alfthan was pushed by
Peter's last skier (who cheated)
but managed to hold on for the
win.
The final against Oriel turned
out to be a bit of an anti-climax,
as they were shit. Fast runs
from everyone in the team,
including Hardyment for once,
allowed us to destroy them
completely, clear winners by
one whole run. Hardyment,
Alfthan, and Grieg-Gran all
competed in the Varsity ski
races, too, helping Oxford to
trounce the tabs for the third
year running.
More importantly, the team
managed to beat the Cambridge
cuppers champions, in a drinkoff
during the final night dinner.
As a celebration, Hardyment
gave a VIP Robbie Williamsesque
performance to about 200
people in the bar afterwards.
Other highlights included Sam
Porter, in true public school
fashion, donning a thong, and
Matt Coupland contracting
syphilis. All we need now is
more Hughsies out there next
year to continue our skiing and
drinking domination of the alps.
Guess which one belongs to our very
own Will Hardyment...?
And just to prove some skiing did go on
- when Will had finished drinking...
‘Jolly Hockey Sticks’
Hugh’s Hockey revived by Janna
Schmidt-Holtz
The Hockey term started
with a training session, for
which three people turned
up: Tessa Pudge, Anna
Littler and Chris Abbott. A
week later the first match
was to be played. Hugh's vs.
Brasenose (Cuppers). BNC
managed to get a full team
out while Hugh's arrived at
our pitches with eight
players. BNC's superior
numbers and as much as we
hate to admit it skills meant
we unfortunately lost with a
goal difference of ten.
We were beginning to get
more and more concerned
about the future of the team
so we had no choice but a
change in strategy. We
decided to combine with
BNC so that both colleges
could play the league. The
result of last match of the
term Hugh's/ BNC vindicated
our decision: We beat St
Anne's by 8 goals to 0.
Thanks to Camilla, Tessa,
Phil, Sarah, Lucy, Anna,
Becci, Janis and our one and
only fresher Claire, our
hockey team is no longer on
the Red List of Threatened
Species and we have found
ourselves with a good
chance of winning the
league. But if you want to
play, there’s always room
for more..!
3 page three...need we say more
Oxford university is reputed to
be home to the most eligible
bachelors in the country - well,
lets not be coy, the universe!
Oxford ladies however (and, no
I'm NOT about to say are
unworthy in comparison)
often find it hard to discern
who and where they are. Why,
damn it, if the welsh wench
with the voice of an angel has
not been scavenging from our
supply, reportedly bagging Ed
Foy from St Peter's, we should
be able to find some ourselves.
Yeah, well anyone can spark
romance in a tropical location
with the carrot of a soon to
be accessed trust fund
dangling tantalisingly near.
Not that impressive. The
point is, Oxford damsels
clearly need to guard the
fish in this proverbial sea
from fisherwomen (very much
including Miss Charlotte
Church) and the first thing to
do is identify the specimens.
We have all seen the beautiful
student peering through the
fronds of his artistically messy
hair as he bends over Keats in
the Rad Cam. It would indeed
take heroic quantities of
courage to approach him,
though I have fantasies about
surreptiously slipping a note in
his book and seeing if it’s ever
recovered. Perhaps, though, we
WHISKAS
You know you’ve
missed it, really.
Hugh’s Hunk of the Month
Meet the man who’s escaped
your notice in the bar thus far.
Who wouldn’t let him meet the
parents?
should start nearer to home and
not get ahead of ourselves by
venturing south into Oxford.
And why would we want to
anyway? Who needs Cowley
when there is a wealth of talent
that lurks un-sourced between
St Margaret's and Canterbury
Road. Yes, it is time to appreciate
just what a lot St Hugh's
has to offer. Who or what is
lurking beneath that hoody as
you hurry to Bon Appetite in
the drizzle?
A few pointers are necessary,
and who better to start with
than “the-best-looking-geographer
- in - Oxford”:
Mark Hollington.
Mark is a third year who lives
in the fortress that is MTB. He
has many appealing qualities;
his blonde hair, blue eyes and
easily tanning skin make him
more than easy on the eye, and
his dedication to the training
regime of university athletics
has given him quite a six pack.
At his 21st last term he donned
a pair of blue and red
fishnet
tights (don't ask) and
there was many an
appreciative gasp from
the ladies in the vicinity.
Not only does he fulfil
the ideal level of
manliness (tights aside) he is
reportedly quite a whiz in the
kitchen, praised as the 'most
experimental' chef in
Maplethorpe. And you know
what they say, experimental in
the kitchen…. Mark also has a
keen sense of social justice,
'borrowing' 20 pences from the
washing machines for the better
good of his communal kitchen
buddies' diet. He is in touch
with nature; not averse to peeing
off his balcony, and is a
Michaelmas madness and the best of
the rest...knives are out for chemist after having
head turned...shakespeare preferred to sleeping
lyons...ex-president hits the kirb...do venetians prefer
baths or showers?...did dixie pull her arch
enemy?...hannah dreams of a gorilla salad...third years
are boring...darts tart blue balls...repatriated nut feels
strong at home, but he’s no ƒÕscort for her...dunnilin-
guist returns to get biochemical....see a penny knock it BAck, get escorTed Home like a
spack...brown nosed fresher sucks up to auntie...mother’s daughter is best for ppeace..jersey milk
deposited in booth...defenestration is the norm back on this side of the pond...northern island goes
down under...rugby player cracks the reigns at staircase, then bax again to get his dix on...page
(re)turned, mott again...where have all the freshers gone?... english flower prefers to be
french...Mairianne has a small phag...leader with castrated cock-foul...four balls and one new hat
in bed, what a drunken blur...two men do maths x maths does two men = 3 men3 (do the
maths)...gardeners arms closed at hughs, but legend lives on in pub...lad reaches haighs of sex to
be disturbed by kane and then unable...cluster entzed up in oil slick madness...clergymen sees red
for first time in history...gutten tag, ole, music to her ears..capering Pres gets on top of charitable
affairs...returning Princess dares to repeatedly hitch on the Haighway...indecent abbot eats vomit
sprayed by diminutive female centurion...staircase two’s Madame Bovary targeted with military
precision by incomer... Quick brown fox busts open portae... The louist blow...
great advocate of naturalism
flashing two lucky scouts in his
St Hugh's career and proudly
sunbathing naked on a wolfson
balcony in his second year. We
like a man who is content with
the gifts god has bestowed, yet
at the same time one who is
always ready to laugh at himself.
That should be enough to
break the ice with, good luck
ladies, he is quite a catch. Oh
and he has a minibus driving
license which is always useful.........
Any ideas for next month's eligible
bachelor: email
hughsnews@hotmail.com to
cast your vote: sexier than Idol
Michelle in a swimsuit contest
Wally’s
Winner
We’ve asked the most
important man in college,
who he’d choose as his
belle to the Wonderland
ball...and there’s no arguing
with Wally’s winner:
The lucky lady is Miss Ella
Kirby...
It's often said that returning
linguists keep themselves to
themselves, don't get out much
and are unknown outside of
Maplethorpe. That's not the
case with curvaceous Kirby,
who confirmed her reputation
as a good-time-gal in OFS last
term, when she outshone the
Queen of Page 3, Miss Jordan
(Does anyone actually know
her surname?). Even Lionel
Vinyl's gold jumpsuit suddenly
got a bit too tight, when Jordan
lent down to sign her 32DD
chest. Now if only we could
find the pictures...!

4 features
“Er, condom?” Paxman stumps sex
obsessed Hughsies
Would you take on
this man...?
NO doubt all the readers of
this illustrious rag are well
informed when it comes to
the glittering, intoxicating
world of show business. I certainly
am ever since I discovered
Heat magazine, in which
I learn such gems as the news
that Ozzy Osbourne is writing
a musical about Rasputin. By
the by, I'm reliably informed
by the same organ that
Posh'n'Becks - and my spell
checker isn't the only thing in
the vicinity which objects to
that particular phrase - have
taken steps to rejuvenate their
marriage. I'm sure I speak for
all of us when I say that it's a
great relief.
Imagine my excitement,
therefore, when I discovered
that I was to be a member of
St Hugh's University
Challenge team, and that we
were to parade ourselves on
the small screen for the
nation's dubious pleasure.
The tests were rigorous: I had
overcome the metaphorical
snake pit of ignorance, the
imaginary ten foot wall of
guesswork, and my own (all
too real) indolence. The final
preparations, too, were arduous.
The night before I had a
ritual haircut, and even took
the unprecedented step of
using conditioner. Like an
arming scene in a classical
poem I was prepared by a pair
of willing grooms. They shall
remain nameless, because the
end result was that my hair
made me look like the bastard
lovechild of a monk and a village
idiot. After the addition
of some very strange wax, I
smelt of fudge, too.* The next
day, our noble band of brothers
were to be thrust like a
purgative enema into the
bloated colon of television:
BBC2 - and my hairstyle
would never be the same
again.
But who were they, these
mighty intellectual wrestlers
who the college sent forth to
grapple with the infinite possibilities
of general knowledge?
Allow me, dear reader,
to enlighten you. Our erst-
while leader has these
days forsworn the
ring of champions in
order to rise to the
lofty heights of the
JCR president. In the
far away days of last
June, however, Dom 'The
Dominator" Curran was
feared and renowned as the
man who could force opponents
into merciless submission
with his knowledge of
16th century Dutch politics.
"Raging" Rufus Willett
pounded antagonists into the
ground with his razor sharp
mathematical ripostes.
Beneath the feminine wiles of
Natasha "The Gnasher"
Proietto there bubbled a mind
which was at once fearsomely
crazed yet chillingly
focussed. And finally, there
was me. These days you may
know me as a mild mannered
eccentric in the Clark Kent
sense - you know, retiring yet
handsome etc etc (look, I'm
writing this, OK?) - but in
those glorious days I was
simply Liam "The Body"
Brooker, capable of crushing
all comers beneath a mass of
completely pointless factoids.
Mighty as this team may
sound, however, it was
insignificant compared to the
awesome, barely suppressed
power of one man - "Jake the
Snake" Paxman. On television,
of course, he only ever
appears behind a desk, so let
me go on the record and confirm
that he has two legs, both
of which are fully functional
and well trousered. On those
occasions when he spake unto
his disciples, he displayed a
great deal of professionally
tuned affability. It was obvious,
however, when we saw
him in the canteen shortly
before our epic test, that his
mind disports itself on loftier
planes; the role of the
“the noblest
form of combat
since duels
became illegial”
Hegelian
dialectic in
a post
communist
society;
Kant's 5th
proof of the
existence of God; whether the
fat boy with the fudge hair
had taken the last bottle of Dr
Pepper. Leaving that eminent
individual to his musings, we
proceeded to the make up
department. Whilst the team's
three males were given a
quick wipe down with a
chammy and a bottle of Mr
Sheen, Natasha was undergoing
an hour long transformation
into an 18th century
madam. Finally, however, following
a pep talk from Dom
that would have made Henry
V weep with joy, it was
time to engage in the
noblest form of combat
since duels became
illegal.
To be honest, I don't remember
much about the game.
They did have very elegant
water glasses, though, in contrast
to the cardboard and
plastic set, and I was made to
sit on a cushion - apparently
I'm too stumpy to be a megastar.
Oh well. Oh yes, and we
lost. To a team of postgrads
from Strathclyde.
No comment.
Somehow, however, we made
it back thanks to a respectable
score. Sadly, the mighty Vias,
who in the first match had
acted as bearer of the sacred
Mr T shirt, was indisposed in
a hammock somewhere in
Cyprus. Still, our support was
indomitable, thanks partly to
a team of mysterious cheerleading
honeys. Despite this,
we lost again, this time to
Reading, my home town.
Well, I never liked the place
much anyway. At this point a
word of thanks should go to
all those who braved the railway
and turned up in
Manchester to cheer us along,
especially since they had to
endure a highly irritating
wannabe Butlins redcoat trying
to jolly them along.
Anyone who 'jollies" is bad
news.
So we your representatives
returned to our homes: bettered,
battered but still magnificent
in defeat, glorious in
appearance, and smelling of
fudge.
*But I'm still very grateful
9 sport...well, as far as i would go
From the sublime to
the ridiculous
Pete Lavarack and James Hadley receive
an offer they can’t refuse. And it’s not what
you think...
Dear Peter,
My good friend James Hadley
(Harvard, Class of '87) and I
would like to sponsor the St
Hugh's 2nd VIII rowing team
in some small way and for
obvious reasons.
James spent the summer after
his freshman year living on a
river barge on the Isis just outside
Oxford. He was repairing
the old college rowing barges
for St John's, Oriel, and a few
others. My last run-in with an
Oxford Eight was a collision
with my punt in the days
when, with friends, I would
drive up from London for an
afternoon on the river. I used
to go to Henley annually during
the early 1990's but have
let that drop since I moved to
New York.
I wonder whether a hundred
pounds for celebratory booze
money might provide the
incentive for the eight to do
well during the season. A
cheque drawn on my British
bank is in the post if you and
Mr. Hadley agree to account
fairly for its intended purpose.
Give me your postal address
and the promise of a jpeg
photo of you all raising the
victors' glass and the money is
yours. If you do well there is
more, within reason. James
and I would consider modest
equipment purchase or some
such, if you wanted.
Do let James and I know how
we can follow your progress -
is there a website that gives an
ongoing report?
You are the third Peter
Laverack I know of... there is
one who runs a successful film
post-production enterprise in
South East Asia. I am an art
dealer here in New York but
my family is entirely of
Yorkshire stock from the
Humber estuary area. In New
York I frequently go to gigs
where Thomas Laverack performs
his soulful blues ballads
- he's the US branch of the
family and you can download
his songs at MP3.com I dare
say your James Hadley knows
many isonomes.
To be honest with you, I
wouldn't normally bother with
this kind of thing but my
James Hadley and I agreed
that the chances of this fortuity
were so slender that we
ought to commemorate it with
our offer of patronage that will
escalate to match your success.
What are you reading Peter?
I'm Art History, my father was
Philosophy, mother's an economist
(Leeds and Oxford 1949
or so) and before that we are
all farmers.
Reply when you have a
moment.
yours,
Peter Laverack
Who needs Jonny Wilkinson when you have
Hughs new freshers...? James Hadley
I don't think the rugby team
has been mentioned in
Hugh's News for some time.
This isn't very surprising as
we hadn't won a game in 2
years; until last term. A huge
intake of freshers has resurrected
the team and while the
past few games have left us
evading glory, victory has
been achieved on a large
scale. You'll be pleased to
hear Wadham were hammered,
Christ Church
pounded, Lincoln demolished
and Hertford thrashed.
St Hugh's has struck out at
the central colleges with
unabating vigour and shown
them the power of our northern
resolve. To the cheers of
his legions of female fans
Stuart Bax actually made
sure one Hertford bastard
felt the full brunt of that
power on his nose!
Others, too, though perhaps
with a less committed fanbase,
played their part. Alex
Gregory consistently searded
down the wing, while Ed
Botcherby boshed through
the centre supported by the
indestructible Will
Hardyment. Leo Pyrah led
the pack to dominance on the
field aided by, amongst others,
the enormous strength of
Dan Shorter and the grit of
Tim Sambrook (a man not to
be messed with, particularly
when he's lost his shoe!).
Praise too must go to Nick
Wilson for giving up his arm
in the pursuit of victory and
Andrew Hutchinson his leg.
Rugby is not just a tough
man's game though, as the
rugby curry was to prove.
The activities of two particular
gentlemen (one Welsh
and the other hopefully with
his shoe on this time) left
Jamals worried and first
year's shocked that this
might be some sort of custom!
Jamasl certainly
became a bit more than worried
when Stu Gordon decided
it would be wiser not to
visit the toilet and far better
to stay in his seat when it all
become a bit too much for
him. At least there were no
Stuart Bax: sports
personality of the
year?
ambulances needed or police
called this year at any rate.
Hazelwood would not have
been proud.
If you'd like to get involved
with college rugby please
email hughsrugby@hotmail.com
or if you'd like to
come and see us have a word
with our fantastic chief supporter,
Marianne.
Next week exclusive: Hutton fingers Dyke!
Think you could do better...Go on, be a gossip...email hughsnnews@hottmail..com to see
your name in flashing lights.*
* Trip to Amsterdam not included in prize
Rugga Buggers Get
Gay

8 odds ‘n’ ends...
Drunken Disasters
It’s not big, it’s not clever...but it’s sure as hell funny. Finalists may be boring now, but an
insight into their misspent youth shows us some of them were reckless as they come
A warning to all you younf
whippersnappers out there:
alcohol seriously impairs your
ability to function as a normal
human being...
Omar Salem was very proud
of his new pair of shoes. He
showed them off to everybody
at a bop. Later that night, and
several Pina Coladas, later
Omar was found in a drunken
wreck, minus his brand spanking
new shoes. The drunken
Salem had been convinced to
give up his shoes to an
unknown assailant. They were
never recovered.
Chloe Dunbar had one too
many glasses of wine at a bop.
Later that night she was found
wondering around RTB in
only her knickers. The poor
girl had gone sleep walking
with her baps out and locked
herself out of her room. She
was escorted back to her room
by a passer by.
Peter Laverack asked Julia
Cordy if she had a good night
out in town the previous night.
Cordy replied that she did.
Laverack asked where she
went. Cordy replied, in a surprised
tone, that she had been
to the Bridge. Laverack and
Cordy had pulled each other
that night, but Laverack had
been too pissed to remember.
Mike Pope returned from a
night out in town. His room
was a long way from the front
gate where he entered college.
Pope used his initiative and
looked for a comfortable place
near by. After trying several
doors, he saw that the door to
the Principle's Office was
unlocked. Pope entered the
office and curled up on the
Principle's sofa. He was found
the next morning by a scout.
Robin Hughes-Jones & rowing
coach Henry Hirsch
entered into some high jinx
after another legendary Black
Cygnet's cocktail evening.
Hughes-Jones collected the
contents all the half-empty
cups lying around the Mordan
Hall and transferred their contents
into a large container. He
and Hirsch proceeded to
match each other cup-for-cup
of the nasty concoction; in
doing so they consumed cigarette
butts, ash and gallons of
saliva that were floating in the
slop.
Fiona McDonald became
intoxicated at Formal Hall
after polishing off a bottle of
wine before the end of the first
course. After the Principle had
made his speech, McDonald
wanted the limelight for herself.
She tapped her wine
glass to silence the dining
hall, stood up and exclaimed
'Porn! Everybody should
watch more porn!' When the
meal ended, McDonald ran
out of the dining hall and
headed for the bar. On the way
to the bar she stormed into a
late night Geography class
which resulted in her being
chased around the corridor by
an irate tutor.
Toby Nott & Chris Materson
spotted an unguarded power
drill at the end of the Trinity
Ball. Scotsman Materson
grabbed the power tool and
concealed it in the sporran of
his kilt. On the walk back to
Hugh's, Nott and Materson
took great joy in drilling holes
in various objects around
Oxford City. (The above
names have been changed for
legal reasons).
Fiona McDonald & Chloe
Dunbar were invited back to a
fellow Hughsie's house after a
night out in town. Their host
was wrongly under the
impression that the girls wanted
more than a night-cap. The
girls popped to the en suite.
Meanwhile their host stripped
naked and lay on the bed in all
his glory waiting for their
return. The sight put the girls
off their cocoa and they fled
the house, making their
escape on a passing milk float.
St Hugh's Football Club
stopped at the Eagle & Child
pub on a beard themed pubcrawl.
After a few beers the
lads thought that it would be a
good idea to steal the pub's
public telephone. The phone
was ripped from the wall and
smuggled out of the pub. The
boys thought that their beard
disguises would prevent them
getting caught. However, the
chanting of St Hugh's football
songs immediately before the
theft gave away their real
identities. The Dean was contacted
and the phone was
returned the next day.
St Hugh's Rugby Club's annual
curry turned into carnage
last year when a battered Ali
Laird tripped and fell down
the stairs of the India Garden
curry house, cracking open his
head in the process. Leo
Pyrah's beer goggles prevented
him from seeing the drunk
Laird strewn across the stairwell.
Leo then tripped over
Laird and landed face first on
the hard pavement below,
which broke his nose. A concerned
Tim Sambrooke
escorted Pyrah back to college.
Pyrah thanked
Sambrooke by tripping over a
curb, dragging Sambrooke to
the ground leading to
Sambrooke breaking his nose
too. Meanwhile, the rest of the
rugby club decided to ascend
Castle Mount. After they
reached the top, a drunk Jamie
Inglis fell off and rolled down
the sheer edge. Luckily the
rolling Inglis stopped short of
the edge of the wall at the foot
of the Mount and survived the
experience!
Quote of the day
And they can’t even
use the excuse
above
‘Pulls at DTMs don’t
count. It’s so underground,
it’s hell, really.”
Marianne Reardon
justifying her college
flings
‘Well...you said it’.
Toby Mott’s answer to
everything.
“The clock is ticking.
And I mean the academic
clock. Not the
biological one.”
Mary Page’s tutor
reminds her she is a
finalist - and a woman.
“I mean, I just don’t
understand. Why is she
called Hattie Brown
when her hair is
blonde?”
Tessa Pudge shows
us why she’s a physicist
“When you wake up
you’ll have that feeling
in your stomach and
you’ll just know whether
to run away or wait for
breakfast...”
And I’ll leave it to you
to decide whether you
should trust sex
advice from Jazzman.
Send your inane
quotes to the usual
address.
5 the silly stuff
Who needs the Priory? Kenyon’s the new place for celebs to hide away from the pressures
of the paparazzi...until Pete Lavarek investigated.
Sam Porter Charlie Busted
Charlie often has pieces of underwear
thrown at him after he has performed and
once pissed himself on TV, since leaving
Radley this no longer happens to Sam due
to the discontinuation of the fagging
system at Oxford University.
Sam Philip ‘Pop-star Parks’
These two have more in common than
their boyish looks. They are both Cornish
and both fancy girls. Have you ever seen
them in the same room together? Thought
not. Just don't tell Catherine that her
boyfriend is a lesbian.
Chris Abbott Action man
The similarities between Army Chris and
Action Man are striking. Like action man
Chris has revealed his private parts to ten
of thousands of unsuspecting boys all over
the world. Unlike Action Man, Chris was
made in RAF Brise-Norton, not China.
Alice Robinson Susie Robinson
Alice's look-a-like comes in the form of
her identical twin sister. Alice has been
known to impersonate Susie at Ali's Kebab
van in an attempt to steal chips and blame
it on her sibling. You can often tell the
twins apart by the smidgen of special
sauce around Alice's chops.
De Ja Hugh?
Jack Haighton Orvil’s mate-Cuddles
Jack not only looks like this rubber primate,
he also enjoys similar pastimes to
Cuddles. There's nothing nicer for Jack
than a middle-aged man's arm up his arse
and playing with birds still in nappies. Jack
is also a great fan of Paxo, which he uses
as rolling tobacco.
Joe Taylor Justin Timberlake
Stud pop star Justin TrouserSnake has
gained a reputation for being a bit of a
ladies man. Not many can boost breakingin
Britney and settling down with
Cameron all by age of 22. However, it is
rumoured that Joe has gone one above
Justice, but Cuddles strongly denies the
allegation.
Jay Gerlis-Adams Uncle Fester
Jay first found fame in the USA in the
1960 cult TV show the Adam's Family.
Uncle Fester joined St Hugh's in October,
he's reading PPE and enjoys a good game
of darts. He isn't as scary as he looks, just
don't stick your fingers in the cage.
James True Mark ‘pop idol’
Mark lost Pop Idol 2 to that fat Scottish
bird, apparently because he couldn't sing,
was boring and smelt of cheese. James, on
the other hand, was famous at Eton for his
angelic singing in a thick brummie accent.
He also plays the tambourine and has
never been to Belgium.
Mark Hollington Prince William
Not only are these two blonds both
Geographers, but they both have connections
with Wales. Mark lives in Cardiff
(known to locals as 'Cardiff') and William
lives in England, which is connected to
Wales due to his ancestors' order to invade
the country.
Dom Curran Frank Spencer - ooh!
Teen heart-throb Dominic 'the stud' Curran
has little but his voice in common with
Frank Spencer. Dom's daily workout of
weights, rowing and mountain climbing
ensure that he remains a muscle-glad
Adonis. He will be representing Britain in
power lifting at the Beijing Olympics.
Toby Donovan Myra Hindley
I know he's graduated, but I just couldn't
resist this one. At the cross-dressing bop
Toby was mistaken for Myra by a hoard of
angry Northerners. However, the mistaken
identity became apparent when Toby lifted
his skirt. This caused cries of disgust when
it was revealed that even his underwear
matched the bop theme.
George Davies’ pre-
Valentines poetry
for Alex ...
“Like snow, or a bird of prey
My love is like a winter’s day
A corruscating wind, a bale of hay
Perm my hair, in the middle of May
Where there is a will there is a way
Be my Valentine this and every other
Day”

6 world news...
Hurrah, Hurrah, Hurrah for Old Nassau
Tom Rafferty on how he coped with Princeton’s scantily clad soriority girls, free
beer...oh, and “the Hattie wave”!
Snow doesn’t arouse mass hysteria in
Princeton
Princeton University is a funny
old place. Firstly, nothing ever
really happens in the 'orange
bubble.' It makes Oxford look
like a hotbed of seething radicalism.
Secondly, the kids say
nonsensical things. Talk of
"bickering," "wasps," "eating
clubs," "fraternities" (er, Phi
Kappa Sigma anyone?) and
"hooking up" leaves an
Englishman flustered and
bewildered. But I was soon
'Americanised.' I now have the
continual urge to premise every
sentence with 'Dude' and a particular
penchant for the double
cheeseburger from the Ali's
substitute, Howard's Grill. This,
I reassure you, is an enlightened
thing.
Judging by Princeton,
Americans are all tremendously
fit creatures rather than the
obese obstructions one is led to
imagine. The chicks jogged
around in flip flops and orange
hot pants with 'Princeton'
emblazoned across their finely
toned butt cheeks. Devilish.
Dudes have that healthy all-
American thing going: tall,
tanned and toned. Hattie was in
heaven. The gym was a horrendous
sight for those preferring
the
benefits of a more decadent
lifestyle. Outside they all stride
around in the faux aristocratic
finery of Ralph Lauren. Pearls
and twin-sets for the girls.
Yellow shirts, Nantucket red
shorts and upturned collars are
requisite for chaps.
It was soon clear that some
stereotypes of Americans were
true. Parties, too, had a sort of
naked inhibition familiar to
those who have seen 'Animal
House' or 'Old School' which
we were made to watch on
repeat, projected onto the wall
of a dormitory. Unlimited free
alcohol abounded. There were
typically rallying cries of
"chug, chug, chug" followed by
downing of the dirtiest beer
imaginable. Then the inevitable
'50 cent' track came on and
sweatiness followed.
Aggressive grinding on the
dance floor was a must; it was
essentially the equivalent to the
English handshake. Princeton
girls certainly exhibit more vigorous
gyrating skills than their
Oxford counterparts. A heavily
bruised penis was occasionally
the result.
Drinking and partying occasionally
led to trouble. There
were the inevitably regrettable
'hook ups.' There was also the
double court appearance I had
after being caught clasping an
open can of beer in public,
oblivious to the bored patrol
officers who wait along
Princeton's main strip, 'the
street,' which boasts the eleven
mansions known as eating
clubs. Lined up in court on 'university
day' with fellow miscreants
(drinking/pissing in public),
I pleaded English ignorance
to no effect. And I always
presumed an English accent
would take you very far in
America.
The three and a half months I
spent there were punctuated by
a series of notable incidents.
Travelling around the northeast
offered an insight into the
pleasingly proletarian
Greyhound buses. Those
behind me tended to be
unashamedly humping or violently
vomiting. In Boston
without accommodation a
friend and I just about avoided
getting raped by a peculiar
Harvard post-grad eager to lavish
hundreds of dollars on us in
order to make us dangerously
uncoordinated. After a stable
diet of bagels and cream cheese
though, posh dinners weren't
too scoffed over. During
Thanksgiving break, I became
perturbed on realizing that a
trip to an apparently quaint area
of rural Maryland was in fact
Ku Klux Klan central. At winter
formals Hattie managed to get
first degree burns on her legs
without realizing. She then
obstinately (and drunkenly)
refused to go to the health centre
when her skin started to bubble
vociferously. Perhaps it was
in order to make the splintered
speech she eventually delivered
to the whole of Tower eating
club, some confusion greeting
this peculiar English girl floundering
her arms around in an
attempt to express her ardent
love for those largely unknown
people assembled. [Ed - slander,
Raffs, slander…! And they
still gave me a Tower sweatshirt...]
Trips to New York were equally
memorable. One Sunday morning
was spent crammed in a
dive of a bar on 3rd avenue to
watch United vs. Arsenal.
“Soccer” surrounded by
American accents is a strange
experience. There were
moments of decided uncertainty
sitting in bars far too chic for
any self - respecting student in
the Meatpacking District. There
was the time Hattie told me to
"fuck off" on my 21st birthday
as we wandered streets in Soho.
That wasn't even to do with the
infamous 'Hattie wave' debacle.
The final weekend was spent
ice skating in a snowy Central
Park, allowing pleasant sentimental
wallowing in New
York's romantic iconography. I
was getting all Gershwin and
'Manhattan.' Until I bruised
myself again.
It can all only be summed up in
a single word, rarely better
used: awesome.. The place has
a liberating effect. It makes one
quite willing to indulge in the
university song, 'Old Nassau,'
like any good Princetonian;
hands are flung skywards from
chest, as the singing grows into
a roaring crescendo of "hurrah,
hurrah, hurrah!" That, dudes,
briefly sums up Princeton. In
the true American pronunciation,
aeeewsome.
Crap beer fuels the
American college elite
7 ...we’re an exotic bunch, really
It's always the same, isn't it?
You always hear the warnings,
but never heed them. Warnings
like, 'Whatever you do, don't
go into Lima!'
But, after arriving at Lima
International Airport, and finding
no available planes going
to our destination, we decided
to "Take the bull by the horns",
and go into Lima itself (which,
incidentally, is the 5th most
dangerous city in the world).
That was the first mistake.
Taking out the trusty 'Lonely
Planet', we found a suitable
(cheap) hostel, and took a taxi
to the central square. The taxi
ride in itself should have convinced
us to get our
arses back to the
airport…. Yep,
we saw not
one, but two
gunfights in
the suburbs;
the police
standing idly
by, occasionally
blowing their whistles.
When we did arrive in the
Plaza de Armas, there was a
riot in progress. Which is
Lost in Lemur
Well, more buggered really. Ross 'Indiana' Burley exclusively tells his true, harrowing
story of how he narrowly avoided Peruvian policemen using his arse as a truncheon
rack….
Lima: full of lemurs
always nice. Dodging the
sprays of the water cannon, we
ran into our hostel… the family
inside seemingly unfazed by
the chaos outside their barred
windows.
An hour later, the riot had
been dispersed, and we got a
taxi to Miraflores - supposedly
the respectable part of Lima.
After lunch, we ambled our
merry way to the beach (second
mistake), chatting to a few
surfer dudes - the only signs of
life, besides the occasional car
that rumbled past. We continued
walking… and felt very
suddenly exposed - looming
cliffs to our left, and the
Pacific to our right,
thus completely
trapped.
The muggers
descended on
us with a terrible
efficiency.
Two
men with machetes
emerged from a public toilet
in front of us; two cars
veered off the road behind us,
the four balaclava clad muggers
emerging armed with
Uzi's and handguns. We were
outnumbered and outgunned.
They went for my friend, Dan,
and took all his belongings,
save his passport
that was hidden
in a secret
pocket. The bastards
didn't mug
me, though one
of them kept his
gun trained on me
as they concentrated
on Dan. They left in the
cars, screaming onto the highway,
the lead attacker giving
us the finger. The whole attack
took less than five seconds.
Surprisingly, we were shaken,
but not too stirred. We decided
the first thing to do would be
to notify the police and cancel
the credit cards. We sprinted
back to the nearest police
station which was
the third mistake.
Herded into the
4x4, we
realised with
horror the
worst was yet to
come. The police
in the front, kept
insisting in Spanish,
that 'petrol was expensive', and
demanded money. We claimed
ignorance, and grimly awaited
our fate. Thus began the
five hour ordeal.
When we
arrived in the
cop station, in
downtown
Lima, we were
confronted with
the two men with
the machetes. It was
a very surreal moment -
your muggers, asking you to
forgive them, because they
needed to 'feed their children'.
One of the policemen, an ugly
looking son of a bitch, called
Huarachi, took us into another
4x4. Inside, to our surprise and
even relief, all of Dan's
belongings were sitting on the
seat.
It was then, that we realised
we had been set up by the
police. We were right. The
police demanded money, for
'recompense'. We were put in a
bare room. Our passports were
taken, along with our fingerprints.
Twice, I tried use a
phone outside to let the
Embassy know what the hell
was going on, but either
Huarachi, or his partner in
crime Diaz, who kept on eyeing
up Dan, put their finger on
the hook, telling me 'no
phone'.
Around 6pm the
darkness
approached.
This was the
lowest point -
the only two
people left in
the police station,
while the
police smoked cheap
cigarettes, occasionally telling
each other crude jokes. We
seriously contemplated making
a dash.
I tried one last time to phone
for aid, desperate to hear
another English voice. Diaz
approached, and I literally saw
red: I demanded an explanation
as to why passports had
been taken; trying to convince
him he was breaking international
law, as I understood it. It
was colonialism in reverse,
and this corrupt man was
clearly enjoying seeing an
Englishman squirm. My anger
continued to grow, as I squared
up to Diaz. His sly grin began
to disappear, as he slowly
brought his fattened hand
down to his gun….
TO BE CONTINUED…