Cuffing season is baring down fast and after being ejected from Wadham’s Queerfest for having the fashion sense of your Brexit uncle, a lonely Rordon has resorted to submitting OxCrushes about himself. All around us election season corruption is turning JCRs into CCPs, yet the means of central heating will not be distributed. Stay Roasting!


‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through Tesco, the baby formula is locked up to prevent the poors pinching it. The cold winter descends on Oxford and shoplifters are trying out for the Magdalen Street Sainsbury’s ‘frequent pilferer’ loyalty scheme. Rordon was just searching the aisle for something to bust the suspicious microwave crust when, to his disbelief, he saw a guy half-inch a £4 bottle of tile grout bleach. One can only imagine a scene of desperation as mum cradles her starving screaming baby, but the catch is that baby will only eat if the grouting is the colour of Katie Price’s teeth. A true Dickensian vision. A changed man, Rordon dropped a bottle of grout reviver into the food bank collection bin. Just doing his part.


After endlessly scrolling through Instagram reels for six hours, Rordon became inspired. If bored Scandinavian women can knit up a storm, then so can he! Taken by the heat of the moment, Rordon raided the Lovecrafts website. Caught up in a blurry haze, Rordon suddenly found himself at the checkout with about a month’s rent worth of wool and needles (he bought exactly one ball of mohair wool and bamboo needles). He couldn’t help but buy it (and pay for next day delivery). When the package arrived, he tore it open in a frenzy of excitement. After emailing all of his tutors to let them know that he has suddenly been taken by a violent attack of ‘food poisoning’, he sat down to start. Rordon wants to make a jumper. He knit and he knat and he clicked and he clacked. Dusk and dawn and dusk and dawn passed and passed again. Rordon’s eyes were red-rimmed and sore, his hand curled up and cramped. Yet, after all these hours dedicated to his craft, he could not do it! The ability to purl escaped him, he kept dropping stitches. ‘I……I give up…’ he finally croaked. The scene was dreadful. Rordon was tied up with string, fingers lay scattered on the ground around him, and a singular needle protruded from his eye.


Rordon’s finding out the hard way that generally accepted practices aren’t as generally accepted as they generally seem after all. Like a frog in the frying pan, he’s found himself facing disciplinary action after highly dubious photos were found on his work issued laptop. What is the nature of these images? Pictures of the inside of the All Souls library of course. If only he’d not forgotten to remove the access privileges of his terminally do-gooder colleagues who ratted him out to the higher-ups. “You will not share pictures of the Codrington library via Google Drive”, said the big man on the screen. Pure fascism! Rordon pleads the 5th and throws himself on the floor. Fret not though! The ‘it’s just a prank bro’ defence is sure to exonerate all involved.


The show opened on a wet and windy Wednesday night. Rordon could feel the excitement pulsating through the air. The air around him seemed to him and buzz. ‘Is it true?’ he heard someone whisper, ‘is it true that they are really showing us puppy play?’. Silence fell as the first sounds spilled out from the stage. Rordon couldn’t believe his eyes. It was true! The actor playing Marley, Munty III, was dressed in the most dazzling furry suit he has ever seen! What a spectacle! The acting throughout the evening stunned our lucky little Rordon. He was especially struck by the final monologue. As the fatal injection was being administered to Marley, his handler owner, played by mini-dame Esme Lucretia Streep (English student at ChCh), delivered her winning monologue. There was not an eye left dry in the whole theatre. Thunderous applause ripped through the crowd. Never had Rordon seen anything so spectacular!