Travisty

Our Readers’ Letters

Dear Sir,

I recently arranged to get a drink with several good (now former) friends of mine, friends I thought I could place my trust in. However, after a considerable amount of waiting, they all arrived incredibly late, and from the general odour of refried beans and an overbearing miasma of guilt, it became apparent that the three of them had had tacos before I arrived, and despite several text exchanges, had neglected to mention it or invited me. I was more than heartbroken. I was devastated. I adore tacos. They really get me going. Just any food, really. But specifically tacos. So, I suppose this is a very long-winded way of asking — do you think we should re-introduce capital punishment?

Yours,

Not an editor

Dear Sir,

In light of the article in #139 (‘Trinity Dining Hall Converted Into Basketball Court After NBA Sponsorship Deal’), I wanted to offer my personal experience. I was born and raised in West Philadelphia, but growing up spent most of my time in the playground, also playing basketball. After an altercation with some gentlemen from my locale, my darling mother, concerned for my wellbeing, sent me off to live with my aunt, uncle and cousin in California. I never played basketball again. I was, however, heartened to hear that Trinity is making such efforts to support the beautiful game. To that I say: Godspeed, sir.

Smell you later,

The Pristine Marquess

Dear Sir,

I am writing to ask, er, maybe, if you, um, you know? No? I have been, er, you know, for a… wait, no, that’s not what I wanted to say. Wait, sorry, I swear I had notes written down somewhere… not in my pocket… nope. Sorry, just hold on a second… I guess, what I’m trying to say is… well, in other words — to put it another way — to sort of paraphrase it… To rephrase it more directly — nope, I forgot what I was going to say. Fuck.

Yours,

Uh, Mark, I think

Dear Sir,

Turn around.

Yours,

Right behind you

Our Readers’ Voices

We asked some members of the public to have their say about Sir David’s installation.

John, 34, roadkill chef: I appreciated the use of mink in the ceremonial robes but was disappointed by the lack of small, flattened mammals at the reception.

Chris, 25, didn’t do it: I didn’t do it! I swear to God! I swear on my mother! I wasn’t even there! I —

Count Bloodsuckovich, 192, vampire-in-residence: The knocking on the door to be let in was a nice touch. Bit peeved about all the stuff in the chapel though.

Jim, 3, stoat: Where’d all my friends go?

Sarah, 56, horse inspector: Didn’t see many horses.

Helen, 3, unemployed: Where’s my mummy?

Quentin, 63, writer/director: Weak sauce. I want another take, and this time, do it barefoot.

Corrections

Now that we have joined Ofcom we are apparently committed to fair, accurate and informative reporting. For this we apologise. To comply with Ofcom regulations we are obliged to mention the following mistakes in our previous edition, #139.

1. Every instance of the word ‘witnesses’ was inaccurate, and should instead read ‘Gary from round Pickerel’.

2. Due to a printing mistake, pages 52–67 were slightly damp to the touch. Just put your copy on the radiator, or, if you are reading the online edition, put some rice in your laptop.

3. You may have received your copy upside down. If so, please return it to the Travisty offices. We will return it to you the right way around.

4. Due to a recent lawsuit, which under the terms of our settlement we are forbidden to discuss, every verb in #139 should be prefaced with the word ‘allegedly’.

5. In fact, everything in #140 is completely and utterly wrong, too, including this correction.

Sorry. We have amended these errors online, but we would be much obliged if you would pen them into your physical edition yourself if you have the time.

Personals

In view of the plummeting number of romantic goings-on in college this year and the dire state of Hinge, we have decided to do our bit and allow students to write in and find their match.

1. Woman, 34, looking for the strong and silent type — protective yet gentle. Did I say gentle? I meant incredibly violent — sorry. And by silent, I mean ridiculously loud, and only able to speak about himself by shouting in the third person. Must also be a hundred feet tall and green, and share my passion for throwing cars, punching skyscrapers, and long walks on the beach.

2. Man, 47, avid taxidermist. Looking for someone to add to my collection — I mean, to help with my collection.

3. Woman, 342, undead. Looking for committed man who shares my point of view and can ideally pass through walls. Must enjoy scaring the stuffing out of the dons and hiding in paintings. Only looking for serious interest — had enough of people ghosting me.

4. Rat, 2, professional cook. Looking for an inept but charming chef. Must come with an open mind and a large hat.5. Stoat, 3, still looking for where his friends have gone. Ferrets are permitted to apply, but pine martens and mongeese can fuck right off.