Arun Prabhakar

Letters to the Editors

You may not be writing any love letters, but you can write a different sort of letter – to me.

Dear Editors,

Roses are red, Violets are blue, You must have cocked up, For Travisty’s overdue.

The ghost of Lord Byron

Dear Mr. of Lord Byron: your frustration is understandable, for losing one’s Lent term hash browns is one thing, but not having a Travisty over which to chortle with them is quite another. Fortunately there is a simple solution. It goes like this:

Croci are purple, Lilies are white; Write an article, You lazy shi–

Sorry, this is editor number two here. We apologise for the effluence of emotion; editor number one has just been working on his dissertation and in doing so has lost all capacity to communicate with other people like a normal human bei–

What do you think you’re playing at, editor number two! (Which one’s number two, anyway?) As we were:

–te. To the humble typesetters, I really must find out who this Mr. ‘Editorial’ you speak of is. He writes the most thigh-smacking articles, but he only seems to have one name, and a curious one at that; and no photograph. If you could put him in contact with me, I may have a proposition that he might on the off-chance find appealing: to fund an MPhil, in Philosophy, for the academic year 2021-2. Sincerely, Sebastian Hedge-Fünde

Dear Mr. Hedge-Fünde, You see, every now and then our editorial team gets together to crack out a smacker of an article, if you catch my drift. We call these ‘editorials’, for they are written by our editorial team. Best, The Editorial Team

What’s diced, whole, and peppered all over, and also mashed, shaped, and put on a plate – not to mention fried, sliced, and awfully nice?

Ooh, ooh, I know this one! Is it… the potatoes in hall?

To whom it may concern, Now I’ve never been a believer in astrology – I prefer the I Ching myself – but I was gosh-darn shocked out of my socks to find that my horoscope from your Bridgemas Travisty came absolutely true! I’m now a devotee; I go to Compline almost every (other) week, and everything. Even better, it’s not just the port I go for. The incense is nice, too. And so I just wanted to thank your estimable publication.

To His Editorship,

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and intelligent; New Court blossoms with the break of May, And still, your time is in library spent. Oh, what sharp humour through those veins must run! And such fine scotch your room must hold, For tho’ TCS and the Tab dearth fun, Your jokes, it seems, will never grow old. Over TrinPhilSoc you rule august, A true Isaac Newton of our time, It seems that soon I really must Think up more words that vaguely rhym-

Jeez, just write a Crushbridge, okay?

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