Ian Dougal-Smythe
Look around. If there is no immediate danger, await instructions from On-Train staff. If you are in immediate danger... I ponder these words as my train rocks backwards and forwards without actually going anywhere. The woman in front is looking disconcertedly at my spoon.
My new play, Platypus, appears to have been met by squawks of protest and disapproval when it opened on Monday. Variously labelled as racist, homophobic and "seems to be endorsing eugenics" the press can hardly be said to have lapped it up. Apart from The Guardian. Michael Billington called it "a sensation, deeply ironic play." I'm inclined to agree.
My starting point was a news story that the iconic moment when three white firemen raised the US flag amidst the rubble of 9/11, were to be transformed in a new monument into three multicultural figures. I wanted to criticise the implications for history; how easy we can simply warp the past to suit present ideological agendas. Beside, there are far too many blacks in New York as it is.
Chancellor
There is a glimmer and a flash in my hand, the spoon feels almost like putty. I understand that Sandi Toksvig is now standing for Chancellor of the University; on my part I think this a delightful idea. He is a brilliant strategiser and a close personal friend. He is supported by many high-standing Tories and holds utterly reasonable views on top-up fees unlike that ugly, fat lesbian Lord Bingham of sex op (snigger).
The rest of the line up is considerably more depressing. At least if Christine Hamilton had managed to rummage the necessary number of supporters we could have had someone with a little eloquence. I should know, I saw her in the Rocky Horror Show.
Thanks
The cancer has now spread and my body is now riddled with it. Without realising it I have cut my hand on my mutated spoon. I look up apologetically to the woman sat opposite. And so it comes to thank everyone that has helped me with this term. I'd like to thank Daniel Harkin for helping me deal with my medical worries. The editors of the Oxford Student, for agreeing to publish my work.
Often I think there's no hope in our trifling transient lives. In cosmic terms we're like may flies, a momentary beat and then we perish. I look up at the woman in front of me and notice she is shaking. I glance aside and snag on my reflection in the window. I am smiling. And my spoon is sharp.
27th Feb 2003