Please Baby No More Parties In 11A
A Letter From The Editors/ Committee/Komittee “Of us, take the Micky, For sure, is what they’ll tr y; To humour, I’m allergic, From anaphylaxis I’ll die.”
And beware! the Red Army So fashionably gown’d, Whose harbour patrol Wreaks terror renown’d.
Thus the words of our Nibblers When they read out aghast Their absurdities and vanities To them shown at last.
All hail the 601 Ball! Or 602, 3 or 4? Of anniversaries I’m sick. Do we need any more?
But please! Understand now We mean no offence. Our job: simply to comment On current events.
Does the Tab Writer’s shoulder So burden’d with chips Come served with fish battered, Whence illiterate grease drips?
Please see us, instead, A saviour from above, Of all those in danger Of tragic self-love.
From where came this town Aglow with such oddities, That ties, clubs and committees Are social commodities?
Lest this chap forget, Esteem prized above life, That he’s only a big name Of a small town in Fife.
On this fair ytale cloud Of organised play Where a ball in a barn Is fun’s stubborn stay.
The dweeb, reinvented, Feels safe with a mask, But to seem not a prat: The impossible task.
Or that underground box Ringing, ‘What do you mean?’ The sweaty Bieber bunker: The school disco dream.
Lest the Totty from Tonbridge, Ever speaketh she dare, “Just call me Goosy, After this coat that I wear.”
To speak not convention Or to tr y something new? In a town like St Andrews, Unheaed of to do.
How many Veuve Cliquots Can the fair Scando spray? He says that he’s clumsy But ‘tis really for play.
This, the pantomime fishbowl Above which we wait Dangling for Nibblers The most enticing of bait
Now, See! What comes next, If you like, call it trite, But in good humour take it, Lest you take a bite!
An Ode To The Reinventor Oh, what confident smiles he exudes - What names his friends include!
How daintily do cheek bones C omplement that tie he owns. Alas! how ruby and grey Bring light and purpose to his day. To which like minds drip and, to their chairs, Grip, gawping, transfixed, Yes - they’d like a sip! Oh, Chris, Nick, Ross - what a ledge. Sure, never a loose mask, do they dread. For the past is now up in their arse. Those testicles, once kicked in times of old Now thrice gilded (squeak sqeak) with gold. Once for a thrashing made to bend, Now that school bully, Austin (-tatious) is a friend. How big and tall now, yet once puny. forget the wedgies, suckers, now I’m at uni! “Yo, dude! T’was the wildest party in years” Shut up mate, you’re not Snoop Dogg, or the ‘convener of beers.’
He thinks he’s a self-styled Captain Jack Sparrow, Yeah, and his black pearl Was moored at Harrow. Mum said Vitamin C in his OJ Didn’t quite do it? Vitamin T in the DJ. So all in all, he’s a pretty sick guy Deny it? See his Facebook likes - nice try! Look, he’s just changed, He’s not deranged. A 30 minute mirror sesh Ain’t nothin spesh. A cheeky line of coke, An addiction to smoke Lest he choke On the shards of his identity, Which he broke.
Oops, I’m due back on stage, “You’re a bloody good bloke.”
Clandestine Warfare Twas the night of Clan Warfare And all through the town Not a normal student was stirring, But instead every gown. When out of the window, there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I ﬂew like a ﬂash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of a few lines of ‘snow’, Gave a lustre of midday to objects below. When what to my wondering eyes did appear, A big group of people, spewing out endless cheer. With red lines on their faces, and wearing red shawls, I knew in a moment it must be Sallies Hall. More rapid than eagles ‘Sallies Select’ they came, And whistled and bantered And cried without shame: Sallies till we die! Sallies till we die! Sallies till we die! To the top of the abbey, to the top of the walls! Now kill, now kill, now kill the other halls! So down to the Union The coursers they ﬂew, Laden with weapons, but all grinning too -
And then, in a twinkling, I heard such a cry A poor Mackintosh boy had been stabbed in the eye. At the sight of this crime, all were aghast, DRA stood their ground, but Blackadder ran fast. Sallies Select marched on, as their objective was clear, To kill everyone there, and be crowned Most exclusive Whatsapp Group of the Year. All hell was let loose when they reached the sky bar, They chinned all the pablos, and lit some cigars. Huddled in the corner, with quivering legs, Was a group of young n00bs, all from St Regs. With a tilt of the head and a wink of an eye, The Sallies Select then chuckled “ha ha, bye-bye!” Shots were ﬁred and blood was spilled, And Sallies were triumphant, bearing no guilt.
As I looked out of my window, the town was bleak, At least clandestine warfare was over, ‘til next freshers week.
www.cromars.co.uk 01334 475 555
The Name Game How to play: 1. Roll a dice; the number you get denotes a name. 2. Repeat twice again. 3. Construct your own authentic double-barreled name. 4. Drop name into a number of social climbing scenarios. If male, tell ‘friend’ in blazer and tie that you most deﬁnitely got with said name. If female, tag said name in Buzzfeed article about avocados. For Example: 4, 1, 6 = Betsy Van-Mastercard
De Bourgeois 2 Huntingdon - 2 Delloite the 3rd
Godwin Moleskine 4 4 Plantagenet
5 Overtly -
6 Ah’nastasia 6
5 Middleton 6 Mastercard
An Ode To The Canada Goose Alas! To be a Canada Goose! Once airborne, Next, by bullet torn, Plucked, and used for a Canada Goose. Bought as accessory for Oktoberfest? Tight jeans, dead face, and the rest Of that darling daughter, With Daddy’s Amex loose. Thus, clothing for the bourgeois As well as, for them, fois gras. How decadent t’as become t’be a Canada goose! Birds of prey, hunters, piss oﬀ! I’m a bloody Canada goose, and I’m oﬀ! My end product far too buﬀ To beﬁt a duvet stuﬀ! Haughty golden eagles ﬂy smug But not as a banker’s son snug. Swans sail with ostentation But nothing to a scando’s jubilation. Wearing the Canada Goose! Alas! A bloody Canada Goose! Yet, may we not forget my friend, the fox; The feather duster on the hood it stocks. Or was it a racoon, ferret or mink That imbued their chat with such a stink? A squirrel’s plume one day As garb swaggers the same way, Jerking from side to side in the air Caressing blond sassy hair. From winter, spring, t’summer, fall, Forget me not at Welly ball. Caressing egos so obtuse, Look at me, a bloody Canada Goose!
News Blake and Parry Lawyers set to sue bar’s tropical house ‘DJ’ for excessive remixing of Jerusalem Scotland’s premier restaurant and bar chain, G-Spot group, are to be taken to court by the lawyers of 19th and 20th Century MCs, William Blake and Sir Hubert Parry. The issue arose after reports of frequent unauthorised tropical house remixing of ‘Jerusalem,’ a track from the duo’s ‘Milton a Poem’ EP. The incidents are said to have occurred at the
Popular Scandinavian student actually cardboard cut out Sven Dœfanëra, a third year Swedish general degree student has been revealed to actually be a cardboard cutout of a young Leonardo DiCaprio. Fellow socialites were shocked when at the annual Oktoberadvent Schtiznelviking Don’t-poker breakfast club dinner/brunch Finale Sven folded consecutively every round.
popular DIC Café where students frequently flock to question reality. Resident Tropical House Disc Jockeys Todd McAlister and Austin Squares deny any wrongdoing. When approached on the subject Squares retorted, “what do you mean?” and McAlister added that he couldn’t feel his face before enquiring as to whether it was “too late now to say sorry?”
Used to his cool and quiet, yet brooding, presence, they thought nothing untoward until Hilda Wilton, a half Norwegian, quarter Lebanese, eighth Dutch, eighth Venezuelan student from Connecticut, noticed part of Sven’s neck had been severed by a rogue sausage. Paramedics quickly rushed to The One Over bar but were shocked to find that Sven was in fact made of cardboard. One ambulance member commented, “It was very obvious that Sven was not a normal 3 dimensional human.” An internal enquiry is currently underway to find out how a fake student could in fact attend this university for 3 years. His tutor has initially spoken on the issue stating, “His course literally has no contact hours,” and has since added, “We all just assumed that he couldn’t speak English.”
Large chip to be surgically removed from Tab writer’s shoulder A 2nd year student has been rushed to Ninewells hospital after a large growth on her shoulder seemed to be giving her much discontent in her day to day life. The 19 yr old, who regularly contributes to the St Andrews branch of the Tab – The Stab, is due to undergo surgery within the next few days. On reviewing her medical records consultants were surprised at the repeated incidence of past injuries. These included frequent splitting of her infinitives and tendency to splice her commas severly. Upon closer inspection the chip has been identified as possibly being ‘cheesy’ and further analysis will determine whether the tuber will need to be removed immediately in order to save the student from succumbing to a permanent vegetative state.
Other News The Lionsden Club’s annual Covert Horticultural Disco is surprisingly a flop Archaeology week to replace Refreshers week after students are left searching the ground for fun J.P. Morgan changes Facebook name in order to avoid insufferable interns
An Interview with Alistair Baghdadi Head of the so-called Investment SSociety
The Nibble: Hi Alistair, thanks for taking the time out of your contact hours to come round and talk to us today. Alistair: Firstly, you can call me Al and secondly I study IR so I only ha… The Nibble: Cool, so what to does the so-called IS actually do? Al: Well, we are a small group of students who invest in various diﬀerent markets across the globe. Currently our focus is investing in oil in North Africa, however our main ventures are in the Middle East. The Nibble: And am I right in thinking that you’ve changed your name a few times? Al: Yes, that’s right. Initially we named ourselves the Investment Society of International Lads (ISIL) but since the Kate Kensington Club began admitting females against their will we decided to become the more accepting Investment Society of International Socialites (ISIS).
However, at that stage some members of the Student Union had begun to derogatorily refer to us as ‘Dervish’ so eventually the Investment Society (IS) stuck. We felt that it best conveyed our will to spread our form of Investment across the globe. The Nibble: And how much funding do you receive from the Student Union? Al: Well throughout our society’s history we’ve been funded on and oﬀ by the Student Union but currently for some reason they won’t recognise us as a legitimate society. The Nibble: And ﬁnally, are you aﬃliated with G.I.G. in any way? Al: No, we believe their form of militant Investment far surpasses our ideological viewpoint. They don’t even represent Capitalism anymore but something far more dangerous– more average Black Tie events The Nibble: God save us all.
AGA BALL Guest writer from the Tab Andrew Gown-Andrews sweated it out at this year’s newest must-attend event and here is what he had to say... Waiting for the buses outside Madras on South Street in the bitter cold and rain was not how I had planned to start my evening of debauchery but thank the heavens I had my trusty Canada Goose (more on this later) to keep me warm and there were plenty of other birds around to do the same - if you know what I mean! Anyway, at 8pm we poured into our chariots destined for the Scotland’s 4th most expensive light entertainment venue - this was only after the bouncers poured out all of the bloody craft gin from my hipflask! Lashless and feeling somewhat defeated already, I sulked in my seat as we set off however it had come to my attention that quite the plethora of fitties (woof) were present this particular evening. I had a good old chinwag with what appeared to be the main contingency of the Oxford Brookes Team for the AGA Hunt, which traditionally precedes the Ball itself. The interdisciplinary event usually takes place about 30 minutes North of St Andrews, with teams entering from a number of low to
middle placed Russell Group universities. The girls I was accompanied by had won the day’s competition for the 9th year in a row, once again entering under the veil of Brookes College, Oxford. They informed me that a strong team had been entered by St Andrews, many of the competitors I knew well from my Social Anthropology module. We arrived in a flurry of sleet and schweffing (obviously) and were greeted by the obligatory albino chap piping us into the converted abattoir. The reception of maybe Champagne but probably Prosecco but actually Cava was really quite the ice-breaking opportunity. The lights, the girls, the AGAs, it was like no other event at Qu’un Quelle Byre. Having smashed the ice well and truly to a bloody climate change debate issue, I made my way to my table in the middle of what was once Fife’s largest slaughterhouse. I certainly planned to return it to its former glory by doing a fair bit of slaying myself, if you know what I mean! Our table was truly a melange of colours with no guest putting the black tie/AGA theme on the back burner! The girl to the left of me sported a classic ball gown
resembling a green AGA’s warming oven whilst the student on my right wore lederhosen. The food eventually arrived and we each tucked into three designated ‘roast’ potatoes and a glass of ‘fine’ wine. As the booze began to flow conversation moved from my seasons in Val D and Peli to social anthropology, with the noise from around the main hall, and the less important people in the marquee outside, beginning to drown out our intellects; AGA ball had really begun to pick up steam. The cover band had started to whip out the classics as the after-party n00bs arrived, with the bar becoming more inaccessible than it already was. Rock’n’roll dancing accompanied Wagon Wheel after Wagon Wheel, with Drake or Bieber providing the interludes to yet more Wagon Wheels. This, however, didn’t stop me from getting into the spirit of things as I began to reel. As the evening drew to a close, half an hour early, a stampede towards the exits occurred with people eager to reclaim their Canada Geese, as was I, before heading into the blizzard outside. Unfortunately the birds had flown, with RSPB tags later signalling that by that stage they were already migrating North West to the Arctic Circle, where they would then journey on before eventually landing on Ebay. Overall, the night claimed the birds and I didn’t, if you know what I mean but [EDITORIAL NOTE – Hi Andrew, this is really starting to piss me off. Could you take out all of the times you say this please, we understand this is what The Tab usually looks for but our readers don’t need their jokes repeatedly explained to them] The night really distinguished itself from other events with the venue, the theme, the covers band and the food all adding something a little different to other such balls. I’d stick AGA Ball right in the top oven as it really fired on all cylinders. [This too please]
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How To Become A St Andrews Roadman
SchweffEss 2016 A review What could possibly be more exciting than a fashion show? Featuring animate models, with their banter almost palpable, costumes that we all want to wear, and a light-hearted, carefree atmosphere. Furthermore, with the engrossing entertainment of a catwalk, we were all treated to the luxury of not having to socialise. First, we heard from Ghoulio Van De Gherkin, modull, who gave us an exclusive insight into the training program for the event: “It was all made very clear to us at the start of our journey that this is the most serious event at the University. “Having become ‘the chosen ones’ for Don’t Wank and Schweff-Ess, it was announced to us that none of us took ourselves seriously enough, and that our journey to the Catwalk would entail a strict, lowhumility diet. This forbade the consumption of any indulgences such as ‘banter biscuits,’ ‘irony icecream,’ or worse, ‘self-deprecation doughnuts.’” After overcoming these temptations, we were enlightened with an epiphany that confirmed that we were a very big deal. Thence, we took ourselves very, very seriously. It was warned that so much as a smile on the Catwalk could lower the atmosphere of the whole event.” Next we spoke to Claudie Aga, a 1st Year Art History Student in charge of creativity for the night: ‘I read about Don’t Wank and SchweffEss whilst reading Teen Tatler in the girls’ common room at school; I never knew that all of these years later I’d be the creative powerhouse of such a big, important thing.” Miss Aga continued, “My 3 months of Study at the John Hall History of Art course in Venice gave me indispensible knowledge when picking out interesting fashion combinations such as
Chinos, brown Suede, a shirt and a jumper; this costume was inspired by all the handsome boys from Radley who did the course with me. The idea to pick red chinos as opposed to blue ones came at a moment of artistic genius.” Thomas Le-Cheque-Grande, a French semester abroad student, treasurer for the event, stated, “we are over-the-moon that our £20,000 budget successfully turned a bunch of St Andrews students into catwalk models professionally depicting St Andrews students.” Le-Cheque-Grande continued, “we were not without problems; unfortunately, over-expenditure on chinos consumed our refreshment budget for Veuve Cliquot on tables.” “Thankfully, we were able to land a much more affordable deal with Tesco’s Echo Falls, Gallo Family and Biere D’Or for refreshments, however, under the contract of these deals, we were legally obliged to heavily advertise their brands.” Claudie Aga then proceeded to explain how they had become contractually obliged to incorporate Echo Falls, Gallo Family and Biere D’Or brands into outfits for the fashion show, including the ‘Biere Boxers,’ and the ‘Gallo Gown.’ Todd McAlister, DJ for the evening, elaborated on how their contract with Biere D’Or stipulated playing a plethora of songs by The Doors, tropically remixed (obviously).
But how did the punters feel the event went? Aladdin Sociale, (1st Year): “the event was ever such fun, I really had such a lovely time talking to older years.” The Nibble: “did you talk to anyone else?” Alladin: “No” *** Barnie (2nd year): “I had a good time, and even better, I came home with a WellAdvo belFest Ball table from the auction.” The Nibble: “Barnie, is it true you spent £8O,OOO on that table? Were you blackout?” Barnie: “yeah, no, I mean, yeah I did spend that but I wasn’t really that incoherent; anyhow, for that much cash I reckon the table must be Mahogany or Teak; it’ll make for real nice dinner parties next year in the house my parents bought me.”
The Nibble: “Barnie, you do realise that it’s not a physical table; it’s just an allocation for an event.” Barnie: “uh, yeah… F-.. yeah I mean I pretty much knew that…” *** Ben from Surrey (2nd Year): “I paid the £75 in order to be in an artificial situation whereby it wouldn’t be awkward to ask a girl home for sex.” The Nibble: “Have you ever just thought about trying to find a girlfriend normally? Ben (From Surrey): “no.”
An Ode To The Red Gown Oh! How fashionable the gown paraded, Swagger Swagger, through town. How long, I ask, a-la-mode T’will be to wield the ketchup robe? For the matador, distraction from stomp. For the St Andrean, what else, if not pomp? “No! But ‘tis cosy in bloody felt sheathed Lest we feel the coldest the North Sea e’er breathed. To dress normal wouldn’t battle any storm” - Alas! What decadent means of warmth! “But should not past mores be upheld lest traditions perish like trees felled?” Thus no pomp does history stomp. Cocks of old prance like cocks still told. For with gown to prance is naught but Romance: The dream of a cloak worn From J.K’s pages is torn. ‘Ron, Hermione, where’s potions?’ The Hogwarts dream they put in motion. But no! Thy crimson cloth outdates Potter Rowling never mentioned a Sunday pier-trotter! For activities this much mundane are reserved solely for the insane; To live life pointless by tradition aids our town to block all intuition.
Rummage is the Antique shop with a difference. A vintage retro curiosity shop with stylish, chic, new and old household pieces, vintage clothes, jewellery and inspirational gifts.
138 South Street (West Port end) St Andrews KY16 9EQ Tel: 01334478625
Monday - Saturday : 10.30am - 5.30pm Sunday: 1pm - 4pm firstname.lastname@example.org
6 Cask Ales, Over 100 Malt Whiskies, Free Wiﬁ, Great Coﬀee, Great Atmosphere & Live Music Every Thursday Night.
The Criterion St Andrews
Opening Hours Mon - Wed 10 am - 12 am Thurs - Sat 10 am - 1 am Sun 10 am - 12 am
99 South Street
The Chopper’s Send Off Play time’s over, lads Lights off now, lads. Boys gotta play. Girls to slay today.
Sad we can’t chill? Don’t cry, Just bigger Fish to fry.
But thanks for your time - In fact, no, Thank me for mine! Don’t try me by text. Tab, Yik Yak best. Find me there, Chat to me, don’t dare.
I’m the greatest shark In this pond. You’re nothing but frog spawn. My head’s the ﬁshbowl, I lead the shoal.
Pat Francis and Gus Lock
Graphics, Layout and Adverts: Pat Francis
Sponsorship: Gus Lock
Other contributions: Lorna St Clifton
The award-winning adamson restaurant and bar have an excellent reputation for being a chic, contemporary & vibrant place to eat, drink and socialise. It is a winning combination. Tailor your own bespoke event at the Adamson Bar. Please contact us for further details.