L C McCarthy

On a recent sightseeing tour of a middle England town I stopped off for a pint close to the red brick university that carries that town’s name but very little else of note – apart from a very high pass rate for Media Studies. The tavern – ‘The Frog and Pessary’ – used to be a care home for elderly ladies facilitated by a former French Statesman. This form of charity is still an ongoing tradition, apparently.

While nursing a darkly aromatic glass of ‘Strumpet’s Fundament’ I spied a dishevelled mumbling elderly gentleman frantically going over some papers in the corner. My immediate thought was he gamely struggled with an enormous workload. However, spotting his University ID, I chuckled heartily and promptly dispelled such a foolish notion. Noting the stale beer smell creeping, miasma like, from his decrepit tweed jacket, pro Palestine badge and the worn soles hanging off his ancient suede shoes, I studied his bearded face expecting to identify one of the increasingly rare Corbyn acolytes. Before I could confirm or deny this he angrily tossed a balled up document onto the floor, knocked his drink back  and stomped out.

A member of staff came by picked up the paper ball, and placed it on my table. Cheek!

 However, as it was now public property I snatched the opportunity and read it. And now I share it with you….

Merit, like experience, is always disparaged by those who don’t have any.