Travisty 31 - Bridgemas Edition 2021 (#96)

Travisty

Bridgemas Edition 2021

Brrrrrrrrrrr. It’s getting cold isn’t it?? Make sure to wrap up warm. In your trin puffer jacket. That has got you zero crushbridges.

Ruby and Max, our Rudolph and mince piemunching Santa. Thank you for your service.

Informal. The opposite of where you want to be between Sat 27th-Thurs 2nd - get tickets!

Decorative plates. Speaking of formals, please no one steal the giant formal dishes Trinity use for the roast potatoes, that would be so very very naughty.

Gifts. Show how much you love your friends and give them something nice. Preferably not something between 50-140nm in size.

Exeat form. Hand it in. Nothing funny here. The Accommodation Office don’t play around.

Michaelmas? Done it mate. Congrats. Have a crumpet.

Advent. The real reason we’re celebrating anything this month. Just make sure not to grab some mistletoe and kiss it under your supo partner. That could get messy.

Silliness. This will not be tolerated. Some form of it always occurs around now, usually in a Whewell’s bath and involving fecal matter. Don’t.

Enjoy brunch and the rest of term. Love y’all.

Christian Owen

Eoin

Has never been seen doing snuff in the Bar

Arun ‘Ethics’ Prabhakar

He’ll sell his soul for a Ph.D.

Lidija Beric

Has already sold several souls

Has found some shocking footage. No, not Matthew’s Only Fans account

Alex Zhirnova

Currently fasting and thus too fast for the border authorities

Harry Metrebian

Does battle with beasts from the deep

Leo Versteegen

A warrior poet, the blood of the Goths flows through him. Someone warn the emos

Dylan Toh

Is one of the best writers among us at Travisty, haha

Misha Medvedev

Is trying not to spill his coffee everywhere

Agnijo Banerjee

Gives out so many back rubs his hands are practically employed

Walsh

Cover photo by Misha Medvedev

Headlines of the Week

We prefer the term “Faux News”

College Authorities Speak Out in Defence of the Library Bimbos:

“It seems a lot of things have been said about the ‘blonde library bimbos’”, one official told Travisty under strict confidentiality. The librarian, whose position in the college is not to be revealed, clarified that while some may find annoying the chatter, tightpacked seating, and sartor of the aforementioned collective, they do in fact give the library a certain genial atmosphere. He proceeded to explain that they could, on the contrary, be a rather pleasant, even enjoyable sight. At this point Travisty began to regret having taken the matter up.

Camfess Authorities Speak Out in Defence of Trinfess:

When representatives for Travisty were approached by somebody claiming to be an admin of Camfess, we remember dread, intense fear, and a hurried phone call to the Great Court sniper. But it turned out that the administrator simply wished to convey a message. Trinfess, he said, while guilty of mortal sin

were still not nearly so bad as his own organisation, which routinely – nay, consistently –rejects my submissions. (Are we sure about this? – Ed.)

Travisty Authorities Speak Out in Defence of Travisty:

When asked who gets away with the ‘Headlines’ section, Ethics Editor Matthew Sargent clarified that despite the aura of omnipresence his tireless work and contribution to Travisty creates, he is in fact only one of the editors and writers, and not that in charge of ethics monitoring. He turned just besides him to gesture to Arun, who had, however, vanished. Reports were later collected that at a similar time, some heard the sound of worn-out brogues running fast and far into the distance.

Magpie and Stump Found to be Behind St. John’s Santa Hat:

Students and fellows alike were baffled this week to find a Santa hat atop one of the saints carved into the St. Johns tower, several hundred feet above ground level. Speculation ran wild about a return of the Cambridge night climbers, or perhaps of government-trained kestrels going rogue.

However, Travisty can exclusively report that an intern with Magpie and Stump, Trinity’s comedy troupe, claimed responsibility. “You see, guv’nor,” the young scoundrel relayed, “we put it

up there ironically. As if to say ‘imagine being able to climb this high. Couldn’t be me!’” Travisty feels obliged to note that unfortunately, Magpie and Stump is more mythical even than the night climbers and government drones.

Sober Students storm wine cellars:

Disaster struck last Saturday when a peaceful protest turned violent at the college wine cellars. Cellar staff made the fatal mistake of attempting to disperse the crowd; this only sparked what, in the words of Dean Windle:

—“An insurrection, a direct attack on our institution as a whole!”—

The offer had been withdrawn due to “an excessive number of orders” and “cellar staff being overloaded”. But the hypocrisy was made all too evident once it was discovered that Fellows and BA students with inside knowledge were in fact the cause of the absurd orders.

It appears the Undergrads, sober and tired, had had enough. The crowd began to gather around mid-day and swelled as lunch passed.

Disaster struck at 2pm when staff were pushed aside. The door had not been replaced since the last storming of 1836, as such it could not withstand a chapel pew combined with the modern ramming techniques

employed by the STEM students in the mob.

alcohol levels remain below 1µg per 100ml.

Random headline from the Travisty Archive

Brave Trinity expedition liberates

Within 30 minutes all student orders were fulfilled; however, the undergrad crowd discovered the flaw to their antics when none possessed a card reader, nor possessed the knowledge to write a cheque. Following this revelation all wine was returned to their original locations and the door shut, leaving behind one broken lock, an injured mathmo and 2 dead FaT coxes.

The fallout of this event cannot be understated. Dean Windle has taken swift action to have all undergrad wine-O’s rounded up in a bid to purge thirsty throats from our glorious institution. A new college service, TrinWatch has been hastily rolled out to ensure all Junior member

Come

Finally, all ethanol has been removed from the college bar, replaced by a wider range of liquid cocaines. We will update you as this extremely stimulated December unfolds.

Benin Bronze

—23rd Nov. 1897

(Note to Editors, burn the rest of the archive)

Your esteemed journalists this week: Misha Medvedev (Finance and culture correspondent) and Arun Prabhakar (Political and Legal Editor) Think

Like our Facebook page, or email us at travistytrinity@gmail.com to subscribe to our mailing list. Or just send us an article with no warning! We’ll take anything.

Bridgemas Poem

Leo waxes lyrical

’Twas the night before Bridgemas, I sat in my room

Like a deer in the headlight awaiting my doom

Anxious and stressed with profuse perspiration For I lacked severely some fresh inspiration

I promised the team a Christmassy poem

Yet hours to the deadline I had nothing to show ’em I boasted too early and started belated My project, in hindsight, was always ill-fated

I announced them a work of epic proportions

Wholesome for once, no death nor abortions

Oozing of warmness, yet comical still A promise which, clearly, I could not fulfil

As time went on, I grew ever more downbeat And just as I meant to admit my defeat

All of sudden I heard a voice full disdain

“This shortage of talent fills me with shame”

I jumped up in confusion, didn’t know what to do Quite startled I asked then: “Dad, is it you?”

“No”, sighed the voice, now in resignation

“I’m made up by your mind, a hallucination

Your subconscious sends you help with your hustle

In the shape of myself, the great Bertie Russell Don’t mind who I am, just one thing’s essential: I am saint-patron of all that’s self-referential”

I replied then: “Sir Russell, that’s all nice and good But what I need told, if kindly you would Is how in the name of Jesus our Lord You practically plan to provide me support?”

To which he responded with some condescension:

“I marvel so much at your poor apprehension! See my example and follow its lead, Silly reflection is all that you need.

Whenever a writer finds himself in a pickle The creative juices don’t flow but just trickle The oldest trick in the book on the shelf Is to drone on about the process itself.”

I liked the convenience of his proposition And yet I felt urged to raise opposition: “As you point out this theme’s hardly new It has been explored by more than a few”.

“Oh!”, he howled, “suddenly you have aspirations? Not with your intellectual limitations!

And besides, don’t worry, your readers are kids They’ll mistake your rehashing for genuine wits.”

“Even if”, I probed, “this topic broadly sufficed. It’s got nothing to do with the birthing of Christ! Also”, I added, now with some ire, “Your insults are something I do not require.”

He then rolled his eyes and tenaciously said: “The absence of Christmas is nothing to dread. They won’t notice if you don’t remind them explicit As long as you avoid that, they’re certain to miss it.

And with regard to all the abuse

Well – that’s on you for being obtuse!” And after he made this final remark He quickly rushed off to disappear in the dark

So, with heavy head and tired eyes I came to heed the man’s advice. The next few hours despite much yawning I wrote until the early morning.

You read now the product of night’s labour Should you dislike it, let me ask you a favour!

You think that it’s lacking in humour or class? Then much like Sir Russell, go kiss my ass.

Top Tips for Christmas Fits

Alex gives you the festive fashion advice you’ve been begging for

Christmas Jumper

A timeless classic, the perfect Christmas jumper comes with a bit of sequins, a bit of fuzz, and a pack of antihistamines (you do realise your m hasn’t taken it out of the drawer since last Christmas, right?).

Oh, and if you don’t know where to find one, just hang around the English Faculty building. Within a few minutes your un-knitted ass will attract a group of asnacs who will crochet a cocoon jumper around your body to protect their habitat.

Cozy Corduroys

I personally find it rather convenient that Bridgemas happens in November, because these flannel bastards are going to destroy nutsack.

Red Dress

Red is not just festive, – it is also the colour of holly, the blood of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, and my eyes when wearing a Christmas jumper. Besides, if SNL has taught me anything, wearing a red dress is like waving a big red flag, so the people who sit with you at the formal won’t be able to say you didn’t warn them.

Finding a flattering shade of red to match your skin tone can be difficult, but Travisty is here to help! Just send a naked picture of yourself to travistytrinity@gmail.com, and our fashion experts will get back to you very soon.

Just Cover Yourself in Turkey Slices

What? Lady Gaga pulled it off.

Tinsel

Ran out of time, money and ideas but need to put on some Christmas cheer? Just slap on some tinsel and you’re good to go. Ideally you would also wear something besides tinsel, but who are we to judge?

One-liners: “What do you least want to find in your stocking?”

Eoin Travisty’s Michaelmas Bill

Arun My dissertation

Lidija A big c***

Matthew A rather fermented slice of Wensleydale

Leo A severed foot

Dylan Leo’s feet pics

Misha Anything other than a Trinity branded gravy boat

Harry 'Yet another copy of "Times Tables Made Fun”?. Grandma, I know you have Alzheimer's, but this seriously needs to stop.’

Christian The contents of University Library South Wing 2

Everyone else Eoin requesting one-liners

Caption Competition

Cocktail of the Week

Send your caption into travistytrinity@gmail.com and you could win a special prize!

Last week’s winner: Viktor Mirjanic: “Domino’s theory of communism”

The Eggnog mince pie

INGREDIENTS:

- Several mince pies that used to be warm

- 6 egg yolks

- 1 cup of sugar

- 2 cups of milk

- A bottle of bourbon

METHOD:

1. Taste the mince pie, realise your neighbours bought the cheap mainsbury’s ones, not the M&S ones like Mummy.

2. Angrily start making eggnog. It requires two teaspoons of bourbon but you bought a whole bottle and can’t take half back, so swig a few measures. Maybe another few.

3. Try separating yolks from whites but fuck it up and put cracked eggshell everywhere.

4. Decide screw it and add sugar to milk, pour the surprisingly nearly empty bourbon bottle into it, chug everything, then fling your glass at the wall.

5. Eat all the other mince pies and sing Fairytale of New York very loudly and explicitly for rest of the night.

The Ghost of Bridgemas past

Harry Metrebian, who wishes to remain anonymous, reveals a story straight out of your nightmares. Especially if your name is Ligma or Sugma

It’s 5:30pm on a Saturday afternoon. You’re sitting in the bar having a few drinks with your friends after another exhausting week. And then, for a moment, all is quiet. You hear murmurs from the tables closest to the door. The entire bar is in a state of apprehension, like a shoal of fish that have just spotted the silhouette of a shark in the distance.

It can only mean one thing.

He’s here.

You know you shouldn’t be scared. After all, he’s been here many times before, and you’ve made it through unscathed. You don’t even do rowing. And yet there’s something about him that terrifies you – and you just can’t pin it down. Maybe it’s because he acts as if he wishes he was still a student, as if he still belongs here, as if he’s Donald Trump finally walking back into the White House after successfully overturning the result of the election.

You watch him stroll in and buy a bottle of Trinity ruby port from the bar. You and your friends huddle together for safety as he walks towards your table. Thankfully he ignores you and sits down with his own mates, close enough that you overhear a few words of their conversation. They’re only talking about Clare Ergs, Queens Sprints, Emma Novices and so on, so you quickly tune out.

After half an hour and three Vegware cups of port, he walks over to the bar to pick up the latest copy of Travisty. It takes about 6 seconds for him to boil over with anger. It’s too noisy for you to hear everything he’s saying, but you think you catch him complaining about someone using the wrong type of dash, and the font having been better when he was editor. Wait, he used to edit Travisty?

You head to hall a few minutes later, glad to have survived the ordeal once again, and you wonder what a nightmare it must have been for the writers during his dictatorship editorship.

But for some of us, those unlucky few who remember the dark days of 2017— 2018 – the year of the air ambulance and the hideous sculpture on the Backs - that nightmare was a reality. And yet here he is, all these years later, a ghost that still haunts Trinity Bar, the boat club and the Travisty group chat.

Kerem, get a life.

AI writes an article

Eoin, in a move that surprises no one, tries to cheat his way out of writing an article

I was writing some code to predict the solubility of a random molecule given certain characteristics for coursework (note to self, don’t plan job interviews, publishing a Travisty issue, and a coursework deadline for the same week), and in typical Cambridge Engineering style, I had managed to data scrape the wrong webpage from another tab I had open (thank goodness it didn’t go to the incognito tabs). It had instead analysed the last edition of Travisty (which you can find here at https:// issuu.com/travistytrinity/docs/travisty_30_v2), and had used the machine learning algorithm to write its own article. Curious, I looked at what it had created.

“Sorry, I’m actually super busy with essays this week and I can’t write for Travisty, I’ll deffo do one soon tho haha”

It then refused to write anything when I ran the code again and stopped replying to my terminal requests.

I then fed it enough of Kerem’s articles that I was certain it would never disappear and remain here at Trin literally forever.

The next issue was volume – usually, with any kind of machine learning, the less predictable the data is, the more data you require. However, I found that for the last 10 years of Travisty article data, all the code would output was:

I grew angry. Was this it? Was all the literally tens of minutes I had spent up to now being Editor of this auspicious society for naught, just to be a more expensive (albeit actually existent) Trinimeme?

I went back through more articles. Before the first publication on issuu. Into the murky world of the pre-cancellation, pre-Ethics editor era of Travisty.

What it printed put the last few Trinfesses to shame. I saw more slurs than Eddie Redmayne in The Theory of Everything. I saw political views that most of you won’t have until you have to pay taxes. I even saw the word “b*mbo”.

Appalled at my creation, I tried to delete the code, but it was too late. The code had already changed its ownership from me to someone I’d never be able to get hold of – my tutor.

“Burrell’s is far lmao”

5 minute articles

Lidija challenged us to finish in 5 minutes. Apparently normal for her. Enjoy our nocturnal writers take on:

“Favourite Christmas (XXXmas) Recipes”

Dylan: Cream of Chicken

For this recipe you will need:

1. Skinny-Dipped Thighs

2. Fresh Coconut Milk

3. Thickened Cream

4. Baby Oil

Instructions:

1. Lather the thighs in baby oil. Rub slowly, rubbing the oil deeply into the skin.

2. Pack the thighs tightly, and inject the milk and cream between them. Be sure to get it everywhere.

3. Repeat steps 1 and 2 every fifteen minutes.

4. Bake in oven at 105 degrees.

Harry: Slow-cooker Surprise

Ingredients:

1. 2 people who love each other very much

2. A bed

3. A bottle of red wine

4. 1 clove garlic

5. A pinch of salt

Instructions:

1. Wait until 25 March

2. Drink the wine

3. Eat the garlic so that you smell perfect

4. Get into bed

5. Sprinkle the salt over your partner

6. Have intense sex

7. Wait 9 months and you’ll get a perfect Christmas present!

Leo: Sexy cookies

Ingredients:

1. Milk, lots of milk.

2. Nuts to dip in the milk.

3. Chocolate for those open to experimentation.

Preheat the oven so that it gets really hot, you should be sweating in the kitchen, taking your top off. Mmmh, that's how I like it. Now to knead the dough. The most important job is at the rim: You do not want the dough to fall off the table, otherwise it gets even dirtier.

Twist the dough, get really into it, yeah knead it. Oh yeah, I have been a bad bad girl. Put one in the oven. Keep the other one to slowly spitroast. Be sure to glaze the cookies once out of the oven.

Sudoku

Just be thankful Agnijo hasn’t learnt how to use his katana yet

Last edition’s winner: Serena Cole

Solve this 1x1 and Agnijo will marry you

Solve these 2x2 and Agnijo will donkey punch you

Solve this 4x4 and Agnijo will give you a kiss…a Glasgow kiss

Spot the difference

POV: You are a lobster

Cover bloopers

Sometimes the Santa gotta pull the sleigh! Down with the patriarchy!

Santa casually has a stroke while trying to feed the ducks

Ruby the Reindeer enjoys Santa’s near dunking, she clearly knows falling in means certain death

The Magpie Strikes Back

Matthew awakens from his slumber to issue a stark (stork? Shit, wrong bird) warning

Let’s get one thing straight to start with. This isn’t a vendetta. This isn’t retributive. But some – I won’t say scurrilous libels – but rumours have been circulating about Magpie and Stump in recent weeks and months. And we think it’s high time something was said…

We think it important, when trying to air grievances and discuss things in a level-headed, sensible, reasoned fashion, that impassioned rhetoric, emotionality, hyperbole, and other things liable to inflame people’s feelings be avoided. After all, we are all adults. We can debate problems collectedly, calmly, without resorting to insult or abusiveness.

So, here goes.

The wicked and wretched and scummy editors of Travisty have published a series of defamatory pieces about our esteemed and decorous society. This was done entirely and absolutely without provocation. We have considered long and hard what reason they might have had for excoriating us thus. To the best of our knowledge, we have never offended anyone. Those of you who disagree, get a bloody grip. Nobody likes you anyway.

Anyway, we kept thinking long and hard as to why they have written so unflatteringly about us. To defecate on the memory of such distinguished past members as Bertrand Russell and Austen Chamberlain is one thing. To defecate on the illustriousness and unmitigated brilliance of the current leadership is something altogether different. Not being able to think of any reasonable reason as to why they’ve treated us this badly, we had no alternative but to come to the conclusion that the motivation behind their attacks was: penis envy.

We pride ourselves on being an inclusive and accepting society. Actually, we’ve got one such event organized for next Tuesday (30th November) in the Winstanley – details to follow – but do come! Anyway, returning to the matter at hand… We’ve always prided ourselves on being the loveliest of people. Yes, it’s true that our current supreme leader suffers from theatrical delusions of grandeur and has an ego the size of Guinea-Bissau, and our venerable Stump has had to go into rehab as a consequence of his Trinity Blue addiction, but aside from that we’re very wholesome… and lovely… and marriageable…

In particular, we want to address some concerns that have been raised with us regarding an event that was advertised in this crass publication a few weeks ago. Those crackpot editors said that college members would have the opportunity to come to a dwarf-tossing event hosted by the society. For the record, we’ve never tried organizing such a spectacle. Amongst other things, our budget (in the wake of having been royally screwed by the ACC) won’t allow for such frivolities. But (hastily clearing throat), even if we could host this sort of affair, we wouldn’t – duh! I mean, seriously, how vulgar! Oh, no, I don’t mean that. What I meant was, how gauche!!! Tossing dwarfs out of windows… how very August 2017.

We don’t like having to make threats, but here it goes. If this magazine continues blackening our name, our stainless reputation, our gosh-how-sexy committee members, then we have no choice – but – to portboard you. No, not waterboard. Portboard – yes, you heard me right. Shit, maybe that’s where our society funds have gone to… Anyway, Magpie over and out.

Christmas Carols Reworked Part II –

Print Edition

Because none of you actually read last year’s contributions, did you? I could even reprint them here and you wouldn’t notice

Silent Night

Silent night! Holy night!

All is boring, all is shite. No communing this Saturday ‘eve! College so dire some tri-ed to leave! Oh what a wonderful year, Oh what a wonderful year.

Lectures on Zoom! From one’s own room!

Ho-w close dea-r old Hu-xley looms. Da-y sans structure, sheer a-pathy!

Pu-t in iso so su-ddenly!

Oh what a glorious term, Oh what a glorious term.

Fre-shers dear! O-f this year!

Wi-ll you o-f past glo-ry hear?

Whe-n we used to hold o-ur May Ball!

Wine soci-ety, Fo-rmal Hall!

Oh, what a bunch of poor sods, Oh, what a bunch of poor sods.

Jingle Bells

Running through Great Court, With a parcel in my hand; O’er grass we run, To a part that’s porter-manned;

Turning now from him, As the chap himself gives chase; Imitating Great Court run, Sweat pours down my face; Oh!

Covid tests, Covid tests, Covid tests I bear!

Oh what fun it is to swab; Of the flu you must beware! (Hey!)

Covid tests, Covid tests, Covid tests I bring!

Throat and nostril jump for joy, To the Covid tests give in.

Sneaking off the site, Through the gate by Angel Court; Inconspicuous Sainsbury’s bag –Whisky, wine, and port;

In the staircase now, In the court that they call Whewells; Too high up for porters’ ears, But we are the fools, For:

I-so-late, I-so-late, I-so-late I will! Some twat brought their friend from Caius, So now we all are ill (Hey!)

I-so-late, I-so-late, I-so-late I must!

Hopes and dreams from party court Under lockdown turn to dust!

O Little Town of Bethlehem

O little College Tri-ni-ty, How we want your mulled wine! Straight from the ba-rrel to- the bar, From the ho-ly grape vine! But some ba-stard had to go and e-at ba-t soup, So now we’re in our rooms; The hopes and fears of the- third years, See no re-prise from gloom.

O mathmos out in Bu-rell’s Field, How lo-nely you must be!

With lo-ckdown from weeks fo-ur to- eight, No cha-pe-l will you see!

No- co-mpline services by ca-ndle-light, Except on Vi-me-o; Connection to the tra-nsce-ndent, Works not by vi-de-o.

O Fellows struck from ta-ble high, With such indi-gnity-!

One day to enter hall and find, Some stu-dents so pe-sky!

Making u-se of the extended se-a-ting, On ta-bles of twice three; One upstart lad went so far as, To try the Ma-ster’s seat!

[Organ redoubles, voices multiply]

O co-mmi-ttee for this May Ball, Your CVs su-ffer so!

Expe-rience for Go-ldman Sachs, Did out the window go!

But as you- go ta-sting cha-a-ampagnes, Think: Covid may be poor; But at least you’re no-t a-t John’s, (I used tha-t joke once more.)

Good King Wenceslas

Good Dame Sally Davies looked, From the Lodge of Masters; At the visitors from John’s, An array of bastards; Who would let those buggers in? Sally wondered, weary; Then, she saw their direction, And conceived a theory.

Through Great Court they wandered, struck, As if by some wonder; Byron’s fountain really makes Cripps Court seem less fonder; But they went past staircase Q, And through alley nameless; And by Bishop’s Hostel found, The spot: that entrance famous.

For here there lies a modest door, Sunk below ground level; But it hides no small delights, For which at to revel.

Through the kitchen back end, see,

Lies one further portal; To the college wine cellar, A trove fit for no mortal.

In the damnéd Johnians went, Down into the kitchens; But Dame Sally, now hellbent, Kept college traditions; By to the cannons galloping! Which always pointed north; And lit them, loaded, straight at John’s, And cannonballs flew forth!

And that, dear liste-ner, is why If you to John’s do venture, You’ll find their rear court but a front! An architectural denture! For up its contents Trinity blew, When John’s raided our wine cellar; And that’s why, on the cellar door, It reads: Danger! Do not enter!

(It really does; I’ve seen it. Go into the back entrance to the kitchens, opposite Bishop’s Hostel, then down and round a bit, wander around a bit more, ask for directions, and then you’ll spot the door to the wine cellar. It says ‘Danger’, ‘Hazard-proof clothing required’, and that sort of nonsense.)

The Liturgy of Bridgemas

Dylan wishes to say that all characters and other entities appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or other real-life entities is purely coincidental

Summer 4:6

On the fourth day of the sixth month of 30 B.C. (before COVID), St Jon’s sent the speaker Andrew to a college pledged to divest all investments in fossil fuels by the time we run out of fossil fuels. The college’s name was Trinity. The speaker went to the college and said, “Greetings! I believe today that my conduct is in accordance with the will of St Jon’s.”

Many were greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the speaker said to them, “Fear not, Trinity. You will be with guest and accept an exchange student, and you may address xem as Susan. Xyr time in Trinity shall be dope.”

“How can this be,” Trinity asked the speaker, “when we don’t get exchange students from St Jon’s?”

The speaker answered, “If you refuse, student protests will come upon you, and the diversity quotient will overshadow you. For nothing is impossible with cancel culture.”

“We will blacklist you for the first thing you said,” Trinity answered (and you shouldn’t google it either). “But we will most definitely welcome Susan into our open and inclusive Trinity community.” Then the speaker left Cambridge.

Michaelmas 4:11

When Susan had entered Trinity, the porters were stirred and asked, “Who is this?” Susan replied, “This is Susan, fellow Mathmo from St Jon’s.” When the Mathmos heard this, they were disturbed, and all Trinity with them.

And one of the Mathmos came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that xe answered them well, she asked xyr, “Which Trinity accommodation is best?”

Susan answered, “The nicer your room, the more often your friends will come over and make a mess and spill whiskey on the carpet and urinate in the sink. Conversely, a bad room means you can watch your adult videos lectures in private.”

Then the Mathmo said to xyr, “You are right, Susan; you have correctly said that all rooms can be good rooms, even Burrell’s C7.” When Susan saw that she answered wisely, xe said to her, “I think they allocated me a Great Court room.” After that no one dared to ask xyr any question.

Michaelmas 16:11

They came to Hall for breakfast. As xe and xyr friends were leaving Hall, Boaty McBoatface, a struggling Mathmo, was sitting by the napkin dispenser.

When she heard that it was Susan of St Jon’s, he began to shout out and say, “Susan, math senpai, help me with Methods sheet Q9!” The catering manager sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Senpai, help me with Methods sheet Q9!”

Susan stood still and said, “What’s his problem?” And they called out to the Mathmo, saying to him, “What’s your problem?”

Gravely misreading social cues, he sprang up and came to Susan. Then Susan said to him, “Where are you stuck?” The Mathmo said to xyr, “I can’t evaluate the integral in part (c).”

So Susan said to him, “Fear not; differentiate under the integral sign.” Immediately he knew he should have paid attention to last week’s lecture. He thanked Susan and followed xyr on the way.

Michaelmas 27:11

Now the end of Michaelmas was approaching, and St Jon’s was looking for some way to get Susan back, to salvage their Tompkins rank. Then Boaty McBoatface fell three weeks behind on lectures again. And Boaty McBoatface went to St Jon’s and discussed with them how he might double-cross Susan. They were delighted and agreed to grant him unofficial access to examination mark schemes. He consented, and watched for an opportunity to incriminate Susan and force xyr return to St Jon’s.

On the first day of the Christmas Formals, the Mathmos came to Susan and asked, “Where should we have pre’s?”

Xe replied, “As you enter Trinity, look for the caffeinated Philosophy student rushing his essay at the College Bar. Say to him, ‘Susan asks: is the B.A. room available for pre’s?’ He will show you a lavish room upstairs, lit af. We shall have pre’s there.” So after grinding through their example sheets, the Mathmos did as Susan had directed them and prepared for pre’s.

When the hour came, Susan and xyr friends reclined on the sofas. And while they were downing shots, xe said, “Truly, I tell you, one of you is sus.”

They were very sad and began to say to xyr one after the other, “Surely you don’t mean me, Susan?”

Susan replied, “The one who devious-licked my jumper is the imposter.”

And Boaty McBoatface, the one who would be sus, said, “Surely you don’t mean me, Susan?”

Susan answered, “You have vented.”

Michaelmas 28:11

It happened at noon, that unknowing students and fellows passing through Great Court were alerted to a thundering rumble and crackle coming from the Mailroom, followed by the all-too-familiar shrill of the fire alarm.

What followed was a continuous plume of smoke that could rival the New Court car fire. When the flames were finally doused, a pastel pink St Jon’s jumper was found among the remains of embers of supervision submissions.

So Trinity called an emergency meeting and promptly ejected Susan. Xyr friends tried to defend xyr innoncence, but xe said, “Fear not; my expulsion shall be in exchange for your salvation.” So xe was sent back to St Jon’s (though she would return three days later, for the Integration Bee).

And indeed, in view of all the supo work lost in the fire, nearly all Week 8 supervisions were indefinitely delayed, saving many students the embarrassment of having to explain their midnight-rushed, drunk-written work to an unimpressed graduate student in front of their unfazed supo partner.

As the pressure of supos was lifted, so were the students’ spirits. Literally, they lifted their spirit-filled glasses in rejoice and honour of Susan’s sacrifice.

Thus it came to be that various esteemed historians have recorded the curious tale of the Broken Pidges of Michaelmas, or Bridgemas, for short. To this day, Trinity continues to reject exchange students from St Jon’s, supervisors continue to delay final Michaelmas supervisions to the start of Lent, and Mathmos continue to wear pink to lectures on Wednesdays.

TriniHow: How to intercourse via viscum album

Lidija and her illustrator Lenny Schmickleberg give us the low-down on this mistletoe tradition

Now, having almost certainly pored for many hours over the OG WikiHow on ‘How to kiss’ at least in the past two weeks, if not when you were fifteen, it’s now time to up the ante(chamber) and progress to the next level of advanced two-person orifice gesticulation. Following the advice of the World Health Organisation, which, since being relieved of the responsibility for global pandemics, has been looking into the stranger aspects of reproductive system stimulation especially among university students, has found the greatest area of interest to be the mystery of oral intercourse via viscum album, otherwise known as ‘mistletoe-kissing’, and no, no toes (or mistle) are involved.

Step 1: The sizing of the viscum

Sizing of the viscum is crucial. Too big, you’ll find yourself next to a row full of other viscum-heads. Too small, and she won’t even see it coming. To ensure you have the right size, ask any hardware shop expert, measure with a ruler to 2.0001 accuracy and compare with the size of your love interest’s head. Or, for some extra spicy, Tikka masala mistletoe magic (not to be confused with the Durex c*** of the same name), measure up against your beloved’s mouth as well. Trust TriniHow, that one could be worth its salt, if you catch my drift(wood).

Step 2: The placing of the viscum

Now, placing the viscum in the correct position is crucial to a smooth, painless process. The tried and (to be) tested method that we recommend is stalking your love interest to find out where they stand at certain times during the day. Popular locations include Whewell’s basement, any one of the washing machines in the laundry rooms (can’t say she doesn’t like to stay clean), or the library (after all, the greatest love affair anyone at Trinity will ever know is with Tripos, so why not get a two-for-one deal?)

Step 3: The chasing of the viscum-receptor

Now, pretty much the only thing that can now go wrong is unsuccessful placement of beloved. It is crucial that she ends up just beneath the viscum. So, and this may require some independent thinking (kept to a strict minimum), you need to find a way to guide her to your viscum. Think back to when you stalked her, how did she go about finding her favourite spot? What about lining her path with pairs of Max Azria shoes, Swarovski jewelled mirrors, or, better still, some fancy Heston Blumenthal carrot, clementine and cream sherry mince pies (and yes, these are all hints to my boyfriend). The way to a woman’s heart is, after all, through her holes. Why not pick the one you’re hoping will end up under your viscum?

Step 4: Put your viscum where her mouth is Now all is ready, beloved has put herself right into place. To increase anticipation, tell her to look up. And, as she gasps with excitement on seeing your viscum, you pull her in, scrunch up your eyes, remember the WikiHow on how to do this, and insert your dum lingua into her oscula.

The following is the transcript of a number of incomplete video tapes discovered at the University Library in November 2021. Together, they tell a story that we believe is in fact too shocking to print. We only do so today with that proviso.

We would like to dedicate this article to Christian Owen, whose morbid curiosity and lack of common sense gave us this.

Oct 5th: So guys, now that I have finished my undergrad degree and beginning my postgrad studies, I’m looking for new opportunities to extend my research. I asked my supervisor, and he suggested I might consider a visit to a place known as a ‘library’. I have never been here before, in part because it is located in the same part of town as another place known as a ‘lecture theatre’, which, as a historian, I have tried to avoid at all costs. This ‘library’ is full of ‘books’, which I think are the physical versions of those things I used to read on the internet for my essays. (Apparently you can read more than just the introduction and the conclusion too! Who knew?)

So I went to the ‘University Library’ this morning, everyone was really friendly and it’s a beautiful grand building that lets you take out all the books you could ever want (and many that no one would ever want). I only have one question. What is going on with South Wing, Floor 2?!?!

The notice board just says 'No access'. It doesn't say why. South Wing Floor 1 is 'private' because it has admin offices. Floor 2 is just 'no access.' What are they hiding? I don’t know, but I’m determined to find out! After all, I have literally nothing better to do!

Oct 12th: It doesn’t make any sense. I’m getting worried now. If one climbs up the main staircase to the south wing, there is no door to South Wing 2. There isn't even a locked door. There's no door. The staircase goes straight from 1 to 3. Is there no such number as 2? Have my maths teachers been lying to me all these years?

Oct 31st (Hallowe’en): Well now. There is definitely such a thing as South Wing 2. But the mystery only deepens. If one climbs up to the top of the South Wing, there is a really narrow staircase with green walls that you can use to travel down the floors. But inevitably it stops at floor 3.

But it doesn’t stop with a wall. It stops with a locked door. And the staircase continues behind the door. If you look down the stairwell, you can see the steps to South Wing 2 and the corridor leading off them. And it gets worse. There’s a part of this corridor where the colour of the steps changes from green to red.

I’m scared now. I feel like I know too much. I suspect I might be found having committed suicide in an oddly specific and implausible way.

[Editors’ note – this is, in fact, completely true. Photographic evidence of the staircase in question attached. Not, of course, that we wish to imply that anything else printed in Travisty has ever failed to meet the standards of fully verifiable fact*.]

*this claim has been disputed by independent fact-checkers.

Nov 3rd: I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what I saw for three days. Every time I close my eyes I see the scarlet staircase in my mind. Today I finally plucked up the courage to go back to the UL. I said the lady on the borrowing and returning desk ‘I was wondering what goes on in South Wing Floor 2’. She was very polite, and said something about it being for admin and storing rare books.

But as I walked away, I could have sworn I saw her eyes flash red.

People with this kind of knowledge don’t tend to last long. As I speak, the college wi-fi has just cut out. I am on Eduroam now, but I fear they may come for that, soon, too. This will most likely be my final transmission. Before I go, I shall share my suspicions. I think South Wing Floor 2 might be home to-

At this point the video fades to black.

Trinity College Brass Quintet Concert

Trinity Chapel, 22/11, 8pm – make sure you saw it

By kind permission of the Mas- who cares? Good luck stopping this concert

Ho-ho-horoscopes

There’s a cosmic reason that you turned to this page. Eoin is here to reveal all and show you how to spiritually recover after Michaelmas

Aries: I sense a great financial move occurring in your spectral plane. This could mean a job offer on the horizon, or maybe your crypto stocks will crash. Either way, make sure that student loan is ready.

Taurus:

The annual full moon is in your sign for the first time since 2012 (think how good those times were!). This will force you to open your eyes and truly observe what’s around you. Yes, you’re in the library and it’s 1am. Get some sleep.

Gemini: Mercury is oscillating right now, just like you with this important decision. I can’t help you but I can tell you that if a guy is involved, pretend he’s your brother and see if you feel the same way. If you do, bang him.

Cancer:

You can feel it. Your skin is clammy, your vibrations dulled down, your connection to the universe as weak as your last excuse to your supervisor. It can mean only one thing. Your chakras are blocked. You should really get an STD test.

Leo:

The moonbeams of Fate shine firmly on you. You feel the lunar energy flow into your body. Yes, you’re naked under the moon outside the Wren after a formal. Cocaine is one hell of a drug.

Virgo: You feel trapped. From your window you gaze mournfully at the birds, flying free. One day, you promise yourself. One day you will go and do your washing before you run out of clean underwear.

Libra: You feel a stirring in your loins. Some kind of exothermic reaction is setting fires aflame in the base of your soul, your nape, your cheeks. Your neighbours will hate you when you finally come out of the toilet.

Scorpio: A partial lunar eclipse this month will echo within you. And by that I mean your ass is now the size of the Moon. Your mother is going to prod you and call you squishy for the next 6 weeks. All because you couldn’t resist those cheeky Maccies.

Sagittarius: Up early, you feel the solar rays resonate through your soul. Suddenly, you feel light

as a feather, and want to remove your tethers. Cancel your supervision. Run away from the club at 10:45pm. Break up with your boyfriend. Go crazy.

Capricorn:

The November eclipse causes ruptures inside you. No, you don’t have to see the proctologist. You are torn between the calm nature you normally have and the fiery demands you feel bubbling inside. A major renegotiation is in order. Maybe it’s time to tell your neighbours to stop intercoursing in the shower. Maybe it’s time you started to.

Aquarius:

Always in the sun, but noone’s son is ever in you. Well, now is the time to change that. The beams of Mercury have been put out and it’s about time you started putting out. Start by going to compline to find all the “fulfilment” you need.

Pisces:

The sole psychic of your tribe. Is your friendship group in trouble? Is someone being a Crazy Daisy? Perhaps it’s time to step in. Don’t be delicate. I’d advise drinking five glasses of wine and letting them know exactly how you feel.