Issuu

IT’S BACK!

TR AVISTY Issue #1

Sunday 29 January 2017

MALLARD RETURNS DUCK ROOSTS AGA IN IN H A LL

floreat pica

kin—he flew in one morning to judge the souls before him. Attempts to find any twoleg aiders have also failed. This week’s Short Introducer Adrian Poole, when consulted, responded only with a vacation automessage, and a promise to get back to the author later. Sleuthing among the younger members of the college also proved futile, Ubiquitous Nerdy Fresher (UNF) and Ubiquitous Fresher Who Went To A Single Sex School And Tries Too Hard (UNSSSTTH) reporting that they too saw nothing. Ubiquitous Inaccurately Titled ‘Fresher’ who Never Discovered Lynx as a Teenager (URGH) heard whispers around the college about ‘life in plastic, it’s fantastic’, but thought everyone had discovered his sexual awakening and didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Attempts to consult the College Rat (the Fellowship moved the College Cats out last year, so we now have a College Rat living under the Fountain instead—life will find a way, suckers) proved similarly futile. So shrouded in total mystery though his life is— although his email address is trinitymallard@ outlook.com—let us raise a glass, and an eye, to The Mallard, cousin of His Majesty the Bird, Lord of Hall and the Undergraduates. And to celebrate, a verse from none other than ex-Trinitarian Lord Byron, who turned his mighty penis (oh lord, a Freudian slip) to the Noble Drake in centuries yonder:

t was on a frosty morning in, let us call it Lent – for as the author has realised, are we not all living on borrowed time? – that, and not for the first time in these hallowed halls, a discovery was made. Shocking as a blow beneath an apple tree, the apprehension of the double helix, or the knowledge that more people had probably been fingered under that bench than the author has in the past year, it struck this writer, like piss on a urinal on an English student who’s just realised that their subject can be boiled down to ‘we like sex and death and unlike the French don’t have the decency to call it all a mass orgasm with free wine occasionally provided’. Thus, reader, it struck. And if one were to sit at the far side of hall, one too might see it. For were one to pause, mid-meal, fork raised halfway to the mouth, non-descript hall meal sliding, plopping gently back into the primordial ooze from whence it came, it is possible that one may have discovered one of Trinity’s lesser known secrets. That, second beam from the end, second triangle from the right, the Mallard has returned.

seated at the right hand of God. Some say the Mallard has a narcissistic personality disorder, and its body —plastic, not wood—is the result of extensive surgery undergone in Los Angeles during the early two-thousands. When it comes to the Mallard, we all are become proverbial Jon Snows, lost in a thousand winters of discontent, struggling blindly in a metaphor with a thousand thousand doors revolving wildly on a hill in a storm.

But who, one asks, is this Mallard? A mysterious figure, certainly, silhouetted in black, tail raised in jaunty defiance to the beams above. Even the Wikipedia article is scant. Yet over the years, rumour has grown as to its origins. When Isaac Newton discovered gravity, some say the Mallard pushed the apple. Some even say that the Mallard orchestrated gravity itself,

A NEW ERA FOR BIRDWATCHING IN COLLEGE

CO-CONSPIRATORS STILL AT LARGE

HOW? ASKS MASTER Yet some things, Khaleesi, are known. We know that the Mallard has been in Trinity for decades, put up in the rafters by daring students, and occasionally blown down again by gusts of wind—or, in 1996, a pigeon. He is famous enough to have his own section in Trinity’s Wikipedia page, and infamous enough to have disappeared entirely for two decades, until 2016 when he was reinstated, by persons and forces unknown, noticed hereafter by the author of this piece. How the Mallard got there, in his lofty perch, the author does not know, but speculates that—like his featherier

He squawks in beauty, like the night, As up above in Hall he flies, And in his nest of beam and light, Shits on your curry from the skies.

Travisty has heard whisperings in Whewell’s, murmurs in the master’s lodge, squawks in S staircase, that the Fellowship is becoming concerned about the rise of avian influence in college. Sources say that a key complaint that led to the tragicousting of the college cats last year was their disrespect for college lawn rules. Ironically, their absence has emboldened the Cambridge geese to flock to Great Court, to waddle (and shit) about undisturbed. Upon hearing this news our patron, His Majesty The Bird, remained especially motionless.

COLLEGE WELCOMES BACK BELOVED NEWSPAPER This Sunday marks the return of an institution: Travisty, Trinity’s very own student-run, student-written, student-stapled newspaper. Launched in 2007, Travisty has weathered changes in format, college scandals, and unscrupulous editors, in the name of quality student reporting writing words on a page. At times a newspaper, at times a magazine, at times a bold experiment in the nature of print journalism, Travisty must admit that Travisty has not always enjoyed the most

"WE HAD A NEWSPAPER?" FRESHERS ASK stellar of reputations. Revived after a hiatus and placed under the guidance of the Magpie and Stump, aiming to realise a bold vision of a Travisty that is funny, informative, and—most importantly—yours. Turn to page 2 to read this week’s Letter from the Editors, in which they outline their pledge to Make Travisty Fun Again.

TRAVISTY

Contents Kate Pfeffer

cover story Mallard returns

Jovan Powar

Travisty returns

Kate Pfeffer Jovan Powar

Letter from the Editors

Toby Henley-Smith

cocktail of the week Trinity Formal

Jovan Powar

Bar Repaints!

Jovan Powar

Memebridge Hegemony

Edison Rragami

Edith Franklin

Kate Pfeffer Tom Rychlik

James Riseley

Toby Henley-Smith

Travisty Writers

Edith Franklin

advice How to Survive Lent digested read Introduction to Tragedy by Adrian Poole a day in the life Donald J. Trump

Letter from the Editors Kate and Jovan explain Travisty’s return (and why you should care)

uess who’s back? Back again? Travisty’s back. With a new editorial vision. Since we’ve been at Trinity—too long—Travisty has always been there, and not always in a good way. At its best, Travisty has been a reliable laugh to share with your friends at brunch, at its worst it’s been... bitchy, unfunny, slut-shamy, there are a lot of ways to describe it. Needless to say, we only intend to maintain some of the old Travisty’s qualities. We’ve put the bins out, so the Nosy Bedder can never come in again. Good riddance. We’ve entered into a symbiotic relationship with Magpie and Stump (long live His Majesty the Bird) to help ensure Travisty stays funny and editorially divorced from cliques, personal vendettas, and the rise of nationalist populism.

We’re aiming to put out three issues a term, and we want as much engagement from all of you as we can! This week we’ve got the start of regular features that anyone can submit writing for: Cocktail of the Week, What’s on in Cambridge, and (starting next week) How-To. We’re also looking to publish humorous reporting with a Trinity or Cambridge bent (see Bar Repaints, page 2), or satirical or funny fake news (see Memebridge Hegemony, page 2). Yes, that’s right, a new newspaper for a new world, and fake news will be at the heart of it. It’s going to be tremendous. We have the best words. If you’ve got writing that’s not like anything we’ve mentioned but you think it’d be a good read over brunch for your fellow students, drop us a line; we’re very pleased this week to present the beginning of a slashfic story by James Riseley that we’re serialising over the course of this term. (That can’t backfire at all.) We hope you enjoy the new Travisty. We’ve put a lot of stuff work into it, and we’re excited to share it with you. Happy reading! Kate Pfeffer and Jovan Powar

fiction Trinity Affinity A serialised Harry/Draco love story what’s on in cambridge one-liners New Year’s Resolutions

This week’s writers: Kate, Jovan, Edith, James Toby, Tom, Edison

horoscopes

cocktail of the week

Trinity Formal

Introduced at Trinity College Undergraduate Formal Hall in 2016, The Formal’s metallic finish will leave you wanting more.

Ingredients

1 shot of the cheapest potable wine you can find A splash of whatever you had in your glass before

Method

Shake over your mouth to get the last few drops out

Sunday 29 January 2017

BAR I

SOCIETIES STRUGGLE TO MAINTAIN RELEVANCE IN ERA OF

MEMEBRIDGE HEGEMONY

REPAINTS! A

n a disquieting turn of events, the bar has painted the alcoves that house their (worryingly modern) televisions a fresh coat of blue. What shade?—I hear you ask. Trinity blue? Royal blue? TARDIS blue? Aquamarine? Landmarine? Shut up—I respond. This is serious. Changes to the bar have reached a blistering pace, leaving many members of college with feelings of displacement, disorientation, and disapparation.

“I mean, I barely recognise it anymore” gasped one BA upon entering the premises. “They’ve even gotten rid of the ‘art’ on the wall!” The BA gestured towards the wall that until recently was home to a monstrous canvas of questionable artistic quality. Through an anonymous source who is Catering Manager Ian Reinhardt, Travisty has learned that, contrary to the wishes of much the student body, the canvas (valued in the region of £20,000) will not be set ablaze, but will find a home elsewhere in college.

The recent spate of changes was foreshadowed, of course. Campaigns for TCSU presidencies, vice-presidencies, and junior stewardships for years made bar reform a centrepiece of their hustings rhetoric. At Hustings 2014, a brave young mathmo, Cameron Ford, railed against the—until then, unsuccessful—proposals. “Essentially I worry that if you actually make the bar nice, other people will want to come here who aren’t just me and my friends.” How prophetic his words sound today.

But the most upsetting change came at the beginning of last Michaelmas; the pool table was brutally torn from its place of pride in the bar. Bar Manager Sarah remarked “we might need to find a new name for this place.” Indeed, it is a café in all but name now. In the drama, we must not forget the true victims, the ever-growing numbers of bar staff, forced to interact with us sorry lot. Travisty reached out to barman Endrigo Martins for comment, but his eyes could not be torn from his phone. Whatever helps him withstand this awful onslaught of change, we wish him luck.

new age has dawned in Cambridge. The dominant cultural force is Memebridge, a pseudonymously authored Facebook page, serving up the spiciest and dankest of Cantabrigian humour. The year is 2017, and the zeitgeist is memery.

Some academics argue that the current craze is not a fad, but the culmination of years of society shifting to a digital-first culture. Indeed, the long term trends in the University bear out this hypothesis. Event attendances are dropping, questions at lectures are infused with humour, sales of signet rings and tweed are at an all time low; Cambridge is changing. Not to be outpaced by the new culture and left irrelevant, sitting at the back of Clare Cellars as everyone around them raves to We Are Number One, societies are repositioning themselves to fit their audience.

The Union has co-opted an official “Shitposting Officer”, whose role it is to manage incessant posting of increasingly less well-produced Union posts on Facebook pages. Travisty spoke to a Union representative. “While we’re sorry to loosen our strict principle of never spamming our members, we believe this is our only option to maintain our position as a bastion of inclusivity at the centre of university culture.” When asked if debates would see any alterations in format, the representative simply replied “no, it’s my turn to talk. If you want to say something, you must raise your hand and say ‘point of information’.” On the whole, societies’ embrace of meme culture has been well met by the student body. IndiaSoc has reported record interest in their 2017 Ball, after they announced the theme: Spicy Memes. Trinity College’s own Magpie and Stump have announced that they are exploring setting up a symposium, to be held annually at the end of each Lent Term, with a portfolio of invited speakers lecturing on light, humorous, or unusual topics; the first on the slate is mathmo Dan Littlewood, with a talk entitled

Danktastic Memes and Where to Find Them. Travisty spoke to Mr Littlewood, Trinity’s foremost expert on memes. “It’s good to see influential societies getting involved with memes, but there has to be investment to back it up. For generations parents have been passing memes to children in secret, but no more. We can have a memaissance in Cambridge today.”

But not all societies are leveraging memes for students’ benefit. CU Yoga Society has published a revised Lent termcard, replacing a popular Hot Yoga course with “Dank Yoga”. Every Wednesday night, members can look forward to two hours of stretching in a chilly, poorly lit basement, walls slick with spring water specially imported from the Himalayas.

“To my astonishment, Cambridge had really taken to Hot Yoga. I was expecting everyone to drop out two sessions in. Hopefully these meme kids will be less dedicated and I can return to being smug about my devotion to handstands”, said an anonymous CU Yoga Society President, who wished to remain anonymous. Societies are not the only part of Cambridge forced to adapt, either. The University Communications Office recently released a new set of branding guidelines, including a change of the official University font, to Impact Sans. If you’re looking for a new experience you can have so much fun on the water haha - i got used to the early mornings after one week and it’s a great opportunity to make friends, improve your organisation, and get fit

“what are spicy memes?” - Kate, Editor

TRAVISTY digested read

Tragedy: A Very Short Introduction by Adrian Poole, Professor Emeritus Publisher: Oxford University Press

three appear quite unannounced. So it goes. Yes, none of us can escape it. Tragedy happens even, if not especially, to good people, like me, or you, or even the kindly Fellows. Though, I hasten to add, this is not a threat.

Price to pay: High

“I tax not you, you common readers, with unkindness; I never gave you reading lists, call’d you students, You owe me no subscription: then let fall Your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave, A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man”

Where have all the good men gone And where are all the gods? Where’s the street-wise Hercules To fight the rising odds?

Do not fear. That was only King Lear. This will actually be a light read. I am not in the habit of darkening common people’s lives with the deep, dark, deepest darknesses of the academic quibble. Rather, I will sketch the terrain of this interminable word ‘Tragedy’ for you. Trust me when I say that this is very short. Very short indeed. I could go on. But I can’t go on.

Quite. Well put. But it is not only Bonnie Tyler’s love life which suffers the need for a hero. The Tragedies themselves require a dashing Fellow to save them. A hero of Tragedy scholarship comes around once in a lifetime, and yet, despite this pool of academic heroes being so very small, there are still not enough Tragedies to go round. It is a terrible thing to see the greatest minds of our generation fester in minor questions of ‘sad’ or ‘glum’ while their personal lives pass by without a single instance of inadvertent incest, and the general public neglect to be afflicted by any suspicious sphinx-related plagues. Fortunately for Tragic scholarship the tide is, as it so often does, turning, and Tragedy is once again in our midst…

But, as Beckett said, I must. I go on (a bit). I was just reflecting upon Mel Brooks’ humorous quip: ‘Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die’. Heartless enough to make us forget our own puny, mortal hearts for a much needed moment. But, alas, never for long. Never never never never never for long.

Yes it is indeed a rare and special thing for a scholar to know, in their very bones, what is truly Tragic, and not merely his sissy little sister ‘sad’ who cries at the slightest good humoured jape at high table. No, Tragedy can take a joke. He knows full well that laughter is but an occasional episode in a general drama of pain.

The purpose of an English Literature academic is shadowy, filled to the depth with the utmost mystery. Yet, occasionally, flashlights blink into our burrows and we know that the time is nigh. We smell the air, and recognise the (to you) unfamiliar whiff of something Tragic. Slowly and with great care we take arms against a sea of troubles, shielding ourselves with the most impenetrable critical vocabulary, and set upon the wearying and noble task of determining, once, many times, for a well received book, a well-catered academic conference, and for all, what isn’t, and what is, Tragic.

Not unlike a Tragic protagonist, I myself have laid my own trap, using the pronoun ‘He’ when of what I speak is surely, as I have amply hitherto argued, universal. Sue me. People often accuse Tragedy of being a masculinist genre, written by, about, and for that beastly creature Man. But it is not true. Tragic things happen to women too. Such as being subjected to the mandatory gender-biased Tragedy paper in the Cambridge English Tripos! Sorry not sorry! Like Sisyphus, they are doomed to failure. But I take comfort in knowing that wonderful line from Marx: the tripos repeats itself, first as Tragedy, second as farce. The first Tragedy paper was set, I remember, in 1919. And by now, almost a century on, it’s become positively hysterical.

Tragedy is the critical moment when words fail. Except, needless to say, the words of fearlessly verbose academics. We bravely pour forth many words in the face of (un)speakable atrocities. The pen is mightier than the sword and the cited footnote more consolation than the feeble tear, I think we will agree. It is an irksome but deeply necessary toil to insist, day in and day out, that Tragedy is for everyone. I know of countless outreach programmes which have sought to convey to the dispossessed and needy, that they too can share in this Great Tradition, much as they are so humbly unaware of it. And one only has to switch on the inter web to read countless accounts of once deified celebrities who have ‘let themselves go’. Like Icarus, they have flown too close to the sun, or to be more literal for my bemused readers, the tanning bed. Such articles are, fittingly, difficult to close. For when one clicks the X, another two or

This path is not without its perils. Not infrequently am I cruelly mocked by the lyrics of the Bee Gees or, much worse, the Steps cover version. These are the kinds of outrageous slings and arrows that a Tragic scholar suffers. One feels as though they can’t go on. And though it’s hard to bear, and the point may be going nowhere —blast! O! O! ‘tis foul! Digested read, digested: The worst is not. So long as Adrian Poole can say, ‘This is the worst’.

Sunday 29 January 2017

TRAVISTY fiction

Trinity Affinity a

Harry/Draco

love story

Harry’s story begins with a very strange Sorting ceremony

“Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin.” Harry repeated to himself, desperately not wanting to be put into his least favourite College House – Slytherin.

“How can you do this? I’m a fucking orphan!” pleaded Harry. “Look, boy, at least I didn’t send you to Durham,” pointed out the Sorting Hat. “Or worse—St. John’s.”

“What? ‘Not Slytherin?’” asked the Sorting Hat. “I’m sick of this. You’re so pretentious that you’d write off an entire College House because of a bunch of ill-informed stereotypes? How old are you, 20? I mean, you’re definitely over 18. Definitely,” said the Sorting Hat, breaking the fourth wall to make sure readers understood that all the characters in this piece of erotica were adults. “But you’re still basically a teenager,” the Hat continued. Harry sat there, feeling deeply uncomfortable. He had never had an enchanted hat yell at him before.

“What’s wrong with St. John’s?” Harry inquired. “They’re as bad as Slytherin,” the Sorting Hat said, thus aggressively missing the point. Then some plot happened for a few pages. Finally, only gay Gandalf Dumbledore and the Hat were left in the room together.

“‘Not Slytherin’…” the hat muttered. “Wait. I know where you’d fit right in. There’s only one place where people want to go because they think they’re better than everyone else. You’re sorted into….TRINITY!”

“I don’t understand. What are you playing at, Sorting Hat?”

“Wait, what?” asked Harry. “That’s not a College House, is it?”

“All will be revealed in time, gay Gandalf Dumbledore. For you see, I am not really just “the Sorting Hat”. I am actually “the Sorting Hat of Love”. And it is at Trinity that Harry will learn to lube love.”

“It is. It’s a Muggle House.” “Wait, what? Does this mean I won’t learn to be a Wizard?”

Harry’s story continues in the next issue of Travisty...

“You will, in time,” replied the Hat. “But first, you need to learn some humility. And also, like, our students spend all of their time fighting vampires and shit, so they have been doing pretty badly in their exams. We decided to make Wizardry into a post-graduate course…Only after graduation can you return to Hogwarts”.

Think you can do better?

WRITE FOR TRAVISTY Submissions are always welcome! Find the Travisty Writers group on Facebook, get in contact with any of the writers, or email an editor at jsp50@cam.ac.uk We hold writers’ groups to discuss ideas every week in the JCR, where we provide samples of the current Cocktail of the Week.

“YOU MONSTER!” shouted Harry. “The NUS will never stand for this!” “THE NUS HAS NO POWER HERE, LIKE EVERYWHERE ELSE, WHERE THEY ALSO HAVE NO POWER.”

Get involved.

Sunday 29 January 2017

this week

the advice column

What’s on in Cambridge

How

Survive

Upon the beginning of Lent Term, Edison Rragami imparts wisdom ramblings gained from long years studying the Mathematical Tripos

Toby Henley Smith’s roundup of the best of the ‘ bridge

Cambridge University Tiddlywinks Club proudly presents

The Grand ‘Winks Cuppers Tournament Register by 31st January

No prior experience required. First prize is 4 bottles of gin worth £140. Get your wink tiddled.

Magpie and Stump

The Presidential Games Tuesday 31st January, evening

The day before TCSU Hustings, Magpie and Stump abduct the candidates for President and bust out their best Caesar Flickerman impressions. Candidates will be subjected to games, interviews, and fun questions you won’t hear at hustings. May the odds be ever in their favour.

TCSU Hustings

Wednesday 1st February, 19:45 – 23:30

The fighting pits are reopened for the annual parade of first years with high non-academic ambition, second years desperately trying to get something on their CV before they need to apply for jobs, and finalists having a good laugh at it all. Free drinks are promised, bring your own heckles.

Love Art After Dark Thursday 2nd February, 18:30-20:30

Exclusive for students, the Fitz Museum Society are putting on their biggest event of the year absolutely FREE. Go and get some culture and fascination inside you before Cambridge sucks it out again. “It’s an art gallery, full of dark corners, for doing... dark deeds” – Mia, Love Actually (2003).

ambridge is hard isn’t it? Isn’t it wide eyed fresher? No flying brooms or talking portraits is it. No. All the portraits here stand stock still and judge you from a hundred years ago. Its fair to say you can get properly slapped around in this place but I think I might have figured out how to survive and thats to become a complete masochist. You have to want work. You have to WANT IT. You like it don’t you. You like it when you haven’t slept in three days and drinking coffee has become a natural bodily function like breathing. You LIKE it when people come up to you with a concerned face and whisper quietly in your ear “Edi, you’ve been standing by the water dispenser for three minutes and haven’t done anything. Are you ok” and you grab them and, yellowed teeth bared, assert forcefully, a bit too close: “I have never felt so alive.” You like it when your supervisor asks you why you only handed in half a sheet and you say “I don’t know. I really don’t know.” YOU LIKE THE DISAPPROVAL OH YES COME ON HARDER. GIVE IT TO ME FUCKING HARDER. TELL ME I’M SHIT. TELL ME I CAN FUCKING HANDLE IT. I AM ALIVE. Throat now clasped between your two little sweaty hands, ink stained nails, you yell harder I WILL NEVER REALLY UNDERSTAND HOMOLOGY. NEVER. LOOK ME IN THE EYES. I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND. you have to love it, kids. you have to love the pain. because it makes you, baby. Oh baby, it makes you.

Darwin College Lecture Series:

Extremes 2017: Extreme Rowing Friday 10th February, 17:30-18:30

2am outings? Upside-down ergs? Gangs of boaties pulling blades on each other outside Gardies? Nah this is a talk by Roz SaVaGe MBE, who spent 5 months alone at sea in a 23-foot rowboat. You won’t learn how to survive a BCD, but tips on dealing with sharks will be provided.

Edison Rragami is Travisty’s Advice Columnist. His door is always open if you need a chat, and the Editors’ doors are always open if you’re worried about him or what he might do.

TRAVISTY

Horoscopes

one liners

Disquietedith It was the philosopher Theodore Adorno who said that in a [Cambridge college] in which “every one knows of the billions of galaxies, the cosmic insignificance of the earth and the mechanical laws governing the movements of the stellar systems, astrology is utterly anachronistic.” So here goes! Wish me luck.

Aries

I have been thinking about you a lot recently, and I hate to break it to you but all your suspicions are true. The cosmic order is genuinely skewed against you. Weird. But hey, I don’t make the rules.

Taurus

We live in a meritocracy - you get out what you put in - so it’s frankly absurd of you to seek mystical advice from a selfprofessed charlatan. But you see, that is exactly your problem. You are always looking for trouble. Stay in and think about what you’ve done.

Gemini

As Leslie Gore put it, ‘it’s your party and you will cry if you want to.’ And you WILL want to.

Cancer

You are haunted by doubts of your delusions of grandeur. Do not heed them. Everything your imaginary friend says is true.

Leo

‘Only dull people are brilliant at brunch’ - said some aphoristic so and so once. So if you are reading this at brunch and you think that you might like to indulge in a quip - please refrain. Pretty simple that one.

Virgo Libra

Remember to cherish your loved ones. Reflect, but don’t ruminate. You are gonna’ win so big! You will be showered with glory, and everyone will fancy you. Your dreams will come true. And yet, you will not be truly fulfilled. Not until you see to it that everyone else suffers equally and oppositely to your meteoric rise. I was genuinely disquieted to read your stars. This one goes out to everyone who knows a Libra. Watch out.

Scorpio

You have lost the plot. Quite literally, your writing is incoherent and facile. It is imperative that you stop writing. Focus on the small things, like putting down your pencil. Or, if you must take up your pencil, write some apology letters.

Sagittarius

Be the change you want to see in the world! Unless that change is climate change. Think about that.

Capricorn

Stop gaslighting her. They are paranoid enough as it is. Pick on someone your own size!

Aquarius

You will meet a stranger in the night. You will exchange glances. You will wander in the night. What were the chances? (Answer: probable. You are quite routinely creeping about the place.)

Pisces

New Year’s Resolutions Weekly hot takes from Travisty’s writers — This week: our New Year’s Resolutions —

Kitty Pfeffer

I resolve to stop lying so much. Use alternative facts instead. 2017, making the truth 100% more malleable.

Jovan Powar

I resolve to always get out of bed in the morning.

Ben Sillence

I resolve to not flinch as I stare into the crushing existential darkness of the void

Edison Rragami

I resolve to help others

Edith Franklin

I resolve to love and be loved in return

James Riseley

I resolve to write the best modern romance of the 21st century.

Toby Henley-Smith

I resolve to spend less time fantasising about people calling me “Mr President”.

Think you can do better?

I’m onto you. Lay low is my advice. Lay low.