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The Broadsheet Hilary Term Edition #1

Rott a ranker...

Feb 2012


Revelations can creep up on you. Having spent the past few weeks mired in a directorial slough (my main duty consisting of teaching Andy Butler to put his hand between a girl’s legs – hey, I was hired for a reason) I hadn’t taken the time to step back and have any earth-shattering realisations about my life. The moment finally came when, in a moment of heated theatrical debate, Liv Ouwehand tore my script in two. As I stood clutching two scant handfuls of pages and gazing into the severed space between them, you might have imagined I was fighting the urge to paper-cut her to death. Not so. Because it had just hit home – it was mid-Hilary of my second year, and I was now halfway through my university career. I’d entered the second half. Had I, too, become torn in two? There was some deep fucking symbolism at play, I’ll tell you that. The most pressing question seemed to me to be ‘Had I been a good student?’ I hadn’t conformed to any of the stereotypes. I hadn’t sat in my boxers at 3pm on a Tuesday eating Pot Noodle and playing Tony Hawks Pro-Skater. I’d never had a Wetherspoons breakfast , or seen a whole Trisha, or slept with a local girl in Curry house toilet. But in retrospect, the criteria seems a little unfair. The real question was, ‘Had I been a good Trinity student?’ It was a tough one. There was evidence for the proposal; I’d become needlessly pedantic about tourists walking on the lawns, for instance. I’d spent a good portion of my time going to dinners dressed up like a midget black-jack dealer. I’d developed a penchant for casual racism. True, I hadn’t quite managed a Damien Conyhngam-Hynes and drunkenly wandered into the library at 3am, picked up the Domesday Book, said ‘It’s the Domesday Book’ before putting it down and leaving, but I had become sufficiently attached to see the lights go off and then come back on again/seen ACB both leave and return like a cockerel in chinos more than once occasion. But there were minuses too. I still couldn’t stand Camera, or Bridge, or One Direction. I’d never been inside Maude Morrison’s fort. I actually quite liked Balliol. Was I a true Trinitarian after all? Redemption finally came in the form of George Dickinson and Finnlo Crellin, who saw fit to give me the closing mention in their Halfway Hall speech. It was at that moment I realised; it didn’t matter if I hadn’t been a perfect college representative. As long as people were calling me a c**t in the speech, I was doing my job. Enjoy the issue, and stay funky, Trinity. I wouldn’t change you for the world. Rory P x Thanks to Alastair Johnson, Austin Wellbelove, Ellie Corbett, Howard Coase, Jack Levy, Kate Legh, Lucy Dean, Maude Morrison, Phoebe Bragg, Rob Gray and Ryan Sarsfield x

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Trinity College, Oxford

I know a cracking Owl Sanctuary! Record: Fatima – “Follow You EP” “Follow You” sees Swedish/British soul queen Fatima collaborating with Floating Points – one of the most original and interesting producers out there at the moment. The result is jazzy and minimal, with elements of Hip-Hop, Slow Jam and House present across four, quite different tracks. Think deserted London streets in the early hours of the morning. The standout track is the opener, “Cinnamon”, which fades in with a nauseating vocal loop, eventually giving way to a wall-shaking beat and loosesynth bassline. Music to get lost in. For fans of Massive Attack, Four Tet, The xx. www.myspace.com/fatimaworldwide

Gig: Little Dragon / O2 Academy / Sun 26th Feb Continuing the Swedish theme, Gothenburg-ers (?) Little Dragon are heading to Oxford later this month. Singer Yukimi Nagano’s beautifully brittle voice is heard on the Gorillaz track “Empire Ants” (Plastic Beach, 2010) as well as SBTRKT’s “Wildfire” (SBTRKT, 2011). If that doesn’t mean a great deal to you, they’ve also had songs feature in Gossip Girl and Grey’s Anatomy, (the young female’s sacred duo.) After the success of their 2011 album, Ritual Union, the electronic quintet set out to tour the UK. Support from Holy Other. www.o2academyoxford.co.uk

Night: Phat Sessions / The Cellar / Every Other Wednesday The concept is pretty simple, really: Lots of instruments, an audience and a blackboard. Stick your name and instrument down, down some Dutch courage, and flaunt your musical prowess in front of a selection of trendy students/aromatic, middle-aged hippies. The result is always impressive, so it’s worth heading down just for a boogie, if nothing else. www.cellaroxford.co.uk

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Up BarSoc – like LawSoc but with a chance of

actually getting in Babylove – the long awaited venue for the midterm bop, and infinitely less scary than usual – there’s no chance of bumping into Alex Manning’s brother hanging around like a new-romantic vampire Christianity – A surprise appearance at Open Mic Night, a week of gigs at the Town Hall, we hear the O2 academy might be next… Freshers sneaking into rooms in Garden Quad – and no, not just to see

Stevo, they’re checking out their rooms for next year Our Funds – now that we’ve done the supportive friend thing @W;t, The Hothouse and Messiah Man, our purses are finally starting to recover. Down The Availability of Phoebe Bragg –

she’s only gone and got herself a boyf. College cooking and socialising or just College’s respect for the JCR as a whole… FIFA aka where have all the boys gone…? Ellie and Kate x


Being a huge twitter fan myself, and having failed on my attempt to get fellow Trinitarians tweeting I feel that you are all missing out on a valuable element of popular culture.. Forget @BBCBreakingNews, forget @StephenFry, forget @Wayne_Rooney, It’s all about Rob Gray’s twitter account (@RDMGray if you’re interested). Here are the reasons why:

Rob Gray on Current Affairs: Rob Gray @rdmgray-‘The rules is not them.’ Rob Gray @rdmgray- @panizg Yeah, I'm currently writing my own magazine, and it's all about my balls. Rob Gray @rdmgray- ‘Surely the 10s decade includes 2010?’ Rob Gray @rdmgray- ‘@shiriny yes! Kindle is awesome. What free books are you reading?’ Rob Gray on Retail: Rob Gray @rdmgray- ‘Queue for jack wills stretching to the the other side of the bentall centre. Lol.’ Rob Gray @rdmgray- ‘Hollister even. Bit embarrassing’ Rob Gray @rdmgray- Why do Tesco only sell drawing pins in packs of 400s??

Rob Gray on music: Rob Gray @rdmgray- ‘I quite like Olly Murs. #xmas’ Rob Gray on Film: Rob Gray @rdmgray- ‘The Social Network is really good.’ Rob Gray on being a #unilad: Rob Gray @rdmgray- I don't think free shots would ever fail to make me happy. Rob Gray @rdmgray- Just put whisky in my coffee in a feeble attempt at hair of the dog Rob Gray @rdmgray- Fuck I just realised I'm at the University of Oxford. Rock on Rob Gray @rdmgray- Feeling really rough. Seriously considering the cardinal sin of not drinking tonight.

Rob Gray on Food: Rob Gray on Rob Gray: Rob Gray @rdmgray- ‘CAULIFLOWER IS Rob Gray @rdmgray- ‘Dreamt that I accidentally went to TRADITIONAL!’ Uruguay when I was meant to go to Exeter. Classic mixRob Gray @rdmgray- ‘According to the green pie charts I up’ just ate 2 servings of bacon, 3 of cheese and onion deli Rob Gray @rdmgray- ‘JUST miss my dad's call, call back filling and 2 of pepsi. Bastards.’ straightway and...voicemail. what?’ Rob Gray @rdmgray- Thanks, Sainsbury's pack of Royal Rob Gray @rdmgray- ‘Shreddies are plainly not knitted by Galas, but do I look like I have cheese and coleslaw to add nanas. It doesn't even make vague sense.’ ...And if that doesn’t convince you I don’t know what will. PHEEBZ x sliced apples to?

EXCLUSIVE: SIR IVOR’S SYRIA INVASION PLANS to crack a code which enabled us to gain a little more information about Sir Ivor’s campaign. If you rearrange the letters of “pandora’s box”, you are able to spell “A Sandbox Pro”. We believe that this confirms that a sandy area such as Palmyra is the planned location for the centre of Sir Ivor’s campaign and, cunningly he has managed to fit his new role as Sandbox Pro of The College of the Holy and Undivided Trinity in the University of Oxford, of the The Broadsheet can exclusively report that Sir foundation of Sir Thomas Pope, knight, and Syria into this Ivor Roberts, our beloved Dear Leader, has plans to cryptic message. Speculation is rife as some have invade Syria as part of a wider scheme to expand Trinity suggested that the first ever sandcastle-building cuppers College’s property portfolio. Whilst details are still a little shall take place when Trinity College troops manage to rough around the edges, our sources inform us that Sir secure the city. Ivor intends to make the ancient ruins at Palmyra the Furthermore, if you take Sir Ivor’s name, add a country’s new capital city and to base new third and few letters, remove a few letters and add some fourth year accommodation there. Plans also include a punctuation it spells “I am going to invade Syria… that’s new JCR complex to situate the JCR and JCR kitchen to one up on Balliol”. Coincidence? We think not. Cynics may dismiss our claims as “conspiracy theory” but, as further avoid future closes due to mess. The announcement comes as an article by Sir Ivor proof, we have included a picture of Sir Ivor visiting Syria, appeared in the Irish newspaper, The Independent on in a hat. Not even Photoshop could do that. Sir Ivor’s original article can be found at Sunday on Sunday 12th February in which he claims that http://www.independent.ie/opinion/analysis/ivor-roberts“Attacking Syria and Iran would open a Pandora's box”. Whilst it’s rather cryptic, our code-breakers have managed attacking-syria-and-iran-would-open-a-pandoras-box3017011.htm. Your Humble Correspondent A.W.

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HOWARD’S END

Back by no popular demand whatsoever! Members of the College respond online to the major issue of the day: “OXFORD CITY COUNCIL TO RENAME ALL GINGERBREAD MEN AS GINGERBREAD PEOPLE” They are clearly men - they are not wearing skirts. - 1poohead_mcmuffin no, this has happened before gingerbread men became people and went back to men + there was also a case in wales were a pudding was renamed spotted richard though it quickly went back to its real name: v. silly - 11swelshman This is a relief and a step in the right direction. Thank god that we’re stripping away prejudice + hatred in our society. - CMoranFan153 right, now this country has gone to the dogs im glad i have a home abroad - Staircase3

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obvs a rabid feminist demanded they gender-neutralize the men, they bowed to her demands – i hope she has since moved to greener fields and the normal, sane people in the council office will be having a sigh of relief, now they can use common sense once again as she has gone: that’s what u get 4 women-only promotions in councils. - blondebigot everyone is equal, this is to be welcomed - BelovedRev i get my MEN elsewhere anyway lol - unholy_trinity18 both words are only words and so meaningless. - libraryllama “Run run as fast as you can you can't catch me I'm the ginger bread person”: it doesn’t work - Love2Read_54 this is not anti-feminist but pro-language: ‘men/man’ can include people of both

genders + some women are so insecure to not understand the English language. there is no reason to corrupt it - the_thoughtful_smoker hope the men have grown some balls, they can smell the defeat of feminism as the money runs out!!! Well at least the gingerbread men are wearing trousers, even if the men in the council do NOT - Romney_2012 It is just silly really; the gingerbread man has been around for years. You can't discriminate against a biscuit. - theannex the snowmen will be next - concernedClassicist311 I did once wear a skirt, but it was too breezy for my liking. - 1poohead_mcmuffin


Set your pulses to ‘racing’ ladies! It’s time for THE SARSFIELD REPORT

I’ve been depressed for the past five days. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that I’ve had a cold for the past two weeks, or that I’m paranoid I’m going anaemic from spending too much time in the library, or even that I’m going to spend Valentine’s Day alone and bitter. No, if that was the problem then the prospect of Welfare Laser Quest on Thursday would solve everything. The problem is more profound, more deep rooted, and ultimately unchangeable. I am depressed Trinity because last week brought with it the revelation that I am, like many others in second year, halfway through my degree. I cannot help but foresee the inevitable bursting of the bubble, the Oxford bubble, and it’s making me so bloody sad. Running back from the Burton Taylor Studio after an (almost) sold-out performance of ‘Wit’ (‘All in all, top class’ **** Cherwell… If you didn’t see it then you’re a mug, and that’s not me being arrogant about my single line, that’s the authority of the reviewers speaking ) I couldn’t help but wish that I did a proper degree. By ‘proper’ I mean a 4 year degree: one with numbers and diagrams and graphs, or better, one where you get a year holiday part way through. But then I remembered that I have the numerical acuity of an amoeba and the kind of degree where they give you a pen and paper on your first day, lock you in a library, and let you out three years later when you’ve gone bold, lost your teeth, and have repetitive strain injury is much more my kind of thing. You see if I did a proper degree then I would only be nearly 5/12 of my way through and right now that’s appealing. The sad fact of the matter is that Five-Twelfths-of-the-Way-Through Hall doesn’t have the same ring to it as Halfway Hall, and I do English, so on Thursday night it was to Halfway Hall I went. Well, now I’ve set the scene, I suppose I better stop moping and tell you what actually went on. We had some food, did some sconces and then George Dickinson and Finnlo Crelin did a fantastic speech reminding us all how amazing we are. The second years were there and the rest of you probably couldn’t give a toss about second year in-jokes so I won’t go into detail, but I do feel it is my duty to report that George still has an unhealthy obsession with asking Lucy Dean if she shaves her arsehole. I then missed THE Halfway Hall picture by going to the toilet during which I bumped into my college son Richard Porteous and decided it was an opportune moment to give him a talk about women and the birds and the bees. So although I’ll look back at my time at Trinity and forget that I ever went to Halfway Hall dinner, at least I can sleep sound in the knowledge that I’ve ensured that Richard will never get any sex. After that we went down to the Beer Cellar and some people went outside for a black tie snowball fight where Thomas Olver found out that two hands are needed to avoid an excess of bollock on camera (see Facebook if you’re interested ladies). By the time we got to Bridge I’d become less of a fly on the wall and more of a cockroach flailing wildly on its back (Bridge has that effect on me) so, contrary to anything Nick Fanthorpe will tell you, I made the responsible decision to take myself home for a night time brew and bed. If you want a more reliable view of the night I suggest you look at Facebook, the photographic evidence is fairly extensive. Ryan ‘Soon To Be Giving Up His Hopes And Dreams To Become A Bloody Lawyer’ Sarsfield x 7


Trinity Tropes # 1

TeaChic In a new feature, we take a look at the college’s most pervasive cultural movements. This week: an obsession is brewing...

Here’s a neat trick you can try at home. Take a handful of dried leaves of Eastern Asian origin (handily available at all good retailers). Place them in a cup. Add boiled water. Infuse with milk. And there. Congratulations. You’ve just created mankind’s most precious substance. Now you can go out and buy the t-shirt. It’s hard to say precisely when Tea replaced God as Oxford’s most preeminent obsession, but in the current climate of Wittard’s gift boxes and Cath Kidson saucers and winsome ‘KEEP CALM AND DRINK TEA’ variants, Yahweh just can’t cut it. Ever see anyone with a ‘KEEP CALM AND FOLLOW CHRIST’ poster? Of course not. What help would he be during a period of mass international warfare, or its contemporary equivalent, your essay crisis? It might not have been tea that staved off the Hun, but it sure is providing an invaluable companion to your 2,000 line Plutarch translation. Go for the mint infusion every time. TeaChic is everywhere. In comparison to its swarthy brother Coffee, which is usually reserved as an aid to intense productivity and is thus negatively associated with crushing deadlines and inevitably protracted bathroom visits, tea is a comfort. It’s social, it’s safe. Tea is the centrepiece for college’s inclusion events; JCR tea, LGBT tea. You couldn’t have JCR coffee. It’d seem mental and intense. Who would speak to Alex Duffy if she stood their smelling of a Doctor’s waiting room and shaking like a shitting dog? Maybe Nick Fanthorpe, but he speaks to everyone. It wouldn’t work. Tea has been elevated to the point where it’s not even a drink anymore. It’s a phenomenon. Where we once

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collected Pokémon cards, we now collect Twinings blends. Where our tshirts once proclaimed our love for Bullet for My Valentine, now they display our devotion to the ‘WHEN IN DOUBT, MAKE TEA’ creed. Remember all those ‘THE FIRST RULE OF FIGHT CLUB...’ posters? How about ‘THE FIRST RULE OF TEA CLUB’? Oh, Oxford. What a wonderland of whimsy we live in. What does this worship of what is, essentially, hot water and bits of dead weed say about us? On one level it seems to be an enactment of old childhood fancies. Grown ups drank tea, and now that we’re similarly big and sophisticated we should too. Maybe it’s also a non-controversial display of patriotism. The Union Jack and St. George’s Day flag have been forever tainted by clueless nutters, but here in the resting place of pomp and ceremony Tea has been reclaimed as an icon of our fair and pleasant land. But isn’t it also a form of sanctuary? An example of the way that, in the face of harsh reality, we turn inwards and end up venerating symbols of comfort and antiquity? As we are pressed down upon on all sides by the horrors of the real world, with its mass unemployment and its disenfranchised youth and its halitosis, we shut our eyes and picture the only thing that makes sense to us; lovely tea, simple tea, conventionalist tea. We’re like the prisoners gazing at shadows on the cave wall. Shadows with handles and spouts. A celebration of tea is a celebration of frivolity. Why venerate movements or ideas? Ideas are scary. Tea is easy. And it tastes better.


The Broadsheet Fables The Grey Squirrel & the Red Squirrel He was tall and slender, with a thick tail and a little curl of hair on the tip of each ear. She was puzzled, and at the same time several weeks of carefully practiced chirruping and dousing her flattered, by his interest in her. She shook his hand politely. fur in walnut oil to give it an extra sheen, she had been “Look,” he said, “Do you fancy some of my bilberry wine? accepted into the prestigious Red Tail Conservation Park. Her They‟re only serving bargain-bin shite tonight, I‟ve got my own entire family – all eight-hundred and sixteen of them – fell over supply. You‟ll like it, it‟s vintage.” themselves in offering their congratulations. On the morning of He led her over to the hollow of a tree, which held a clutch of her first day, they all gathered at the edge of the perimeter to brimming cupules. She had to admit to herself she couldn‟t see her off. notice any difference, but by now the taste was ceasing to “Find yourself a rich husband!” cried her sister. matter, and she found herself slipping easily into conversation. “Yes,” shouted her uncle, “But don‟t go forgetting where He was charming, in a way, though his conversation topic left you‟ve come from. I don‟t want you coming back with any something to be desired. He went on for almost half-an-hour high-minded poncey ideas” about a recent trip he‟d taken to the Forest of Dean (“F‟ahking “Make sure you write every week,” her mother whispered to spectacular. The nightlife there is just, it‟s off the f‟ahking her, gently ushering her over the boundary. By the time the chart”) and about the exploits of his home friends, Crispin and Grey Squirrel had scaled the nearest tree and looked back, they Monty (“They‟re f‟ahking mentalists. It‟s a tragedy; they got had disappeared into the undergrowth. pooled to Knowsley Safari Park of all places, but they‟re so The first few days were spent participating in introductory f‟ahking mental it‟s probably for the best”), and about his views events; tours to the wood-pile and the lake-side, bonding games on how the park was run (“Free entry for under-fives. It‟s like guess-the-tail and pass-the acorn, and the first sessions of f‟aking ridiculous. Any bit of scum could get in”). But he was instruction; how to eat out of visitor‟s hands, how to look cute handsome, and when her reached across and ran his paw along in order to receive more nuts and so on. The Grey Squirrel the length of her tail she felt a warm shiver coarse through her spent much of the time in a kind of daze. How imposing it all entire body. As the fug of the wine seeped into her brain, she was; the fifty-foot high oaks, the towering piles of lush, red barely even noticed him wrapping his arms around her. It felt leaves, the glorious vista of the lake in sunshine. In all her years like the most natural thing in the world. spent home – the weed-ridden back-lot of a squatter‟s She woke the next morning lying next to him in to hollow. bungalow - she had never seen anything to compare with it. Gently prising herself away from him, she turned at the And all the red squirrels! They converged here in their entrance to see him sitting propped up on his elbow and thousands. Every five minutes she would see two recognise looking at her. She looked back for a moment, and couldn‟t each-other, shout „Darling!‟ and rush over to embrace and kiss think of a single thing to say. the other on the cheek. With their lithe figures and shining “Bye,” she managed, eventually. coats they looked like they were born to be there. And they “Y‟ah, Bye,” he said. seemed to fit in so much better; knowing instinctively the And so, life went on. She was the subject of much childish proper way to hold a pine-cone or pose for the humans‟ gossip over the ensuing few days, but once the higher-profile cameras. They terrified her. She spoke to none of them. couplings emerged to eclipse it she faded back into ignominy The first week ended, as per tradition, with a ceremonial dance again. Instead, she devoted time to her duties, and to making in the central clearing. It was the convention at these events to friends, and soon forgot the incident almost entirely. Though serve bilberry wine in acorn cupules, and though the others she occasionally passed Jeremy on her way through the forest, seemed to take great pleasure in it, the Grey Squirrel had never he never spoke to her. When she thought about it, it was funny been persuaded to try any. Tonight, however, feeling really. She had had all three millimetres of his leathery squirrel thoroughly homesick and tired of the awkwardness of social dick inside of her and now he couldn‟t even look her in the eye. interaction, she decided to put her reservations aside. She was just finishing her third thimbleful when a red squirrel sidled up to her. “Hi,” he said, holding out a paw, “The name‟s Jeremy. I went to Formby. Pleased to meet you.”

The Grey Squirrel was very pleased one day to hear that, after

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Affinity Gates Welcome back, my rollicking little love bunnies, it‟s been FAR too long. Have a good Valentines? Seal the deal with any frisky freshers giving you the eye across the beer cellar? Or did you spend it alone in Rawley staring up at the damp patch on your ceiling? However you fared, don‟t fret – feel free to live vicariously through this latest bunch of Trinity Toungetusslers. First off the bat; this Gorgeous Ginger was spotted repeatoffending with a Yorkshire Lad and an Old Etonian – though she might be tempted to tuck these couplings under the carpet they were by no means isolated cases, although it must be said she treated them fair and (st)evenly. One of her conquests was also spotted locking lips with a Magnetic Materialist, though we‟re not quite sure whether he hit a brick wal or made it into all the way into port; whilst the other made waves with a Gorgeous Graduate – reportedly his bull‟dozing tactics paid off. A Gurning Guitarist and an Eager E&M’er were also seen having a taste of their respective faces - once she hovered into his (sars)field of vision, he endeavoured to persuade her to luce‟en up. After a protracted simmering, this Bilingual Boxer and Charming Charity-Rep finally hit it off – once it was established they both felt keenlegh about one another they ACROSS 1. Sailors on a given day (4,4) 4. Losing will scupper hopes of altar (7) 5. Common boundary (4,3) 7. Gives a picture of Oxford in a dark room (6) 8. Backward torture (6) 10. A friend will boast (6,5) 12. Babe gets a catcall (3,3,7) 15. A sweeping venue (5,6) 16. Braved for Sinai (3,10) 18. The Pope's gaze is hidden in the ambries (5,3,4) 19. Searching all by myself (4) 20. Has sanitation at the bottom of priorities (7) DOWN 2. Hidden around the durable library are fragments of an old hamlet. (6,4) 3. Leading granddaughter and grandmother (8) 6. Failed acquisitions of limited knowledge (11) 9. One should piss for drinks (9,4) 11. A compact caboose with no room for tables or chairs (7) 13. Underground porter available here (4,6) 14. Much adored lefty (6) 17. No angel but a bitch (4) (Good Luck! Answers to be posted to the Fresher’s page in a few days time x)

couldn‟t levy‟achother alone. Meanwhile two Cherubic Christians also cemented their mutual affection – as Jesus himself said, „Let those who are sarahious about one another proceed gaily in the eyes of the Lord‟ (The Book of Bullshit, 13:17). A Hunky Historian and a Lascivious Lawyer breached the inter-year gulf – after revealing she was after a new man they resolved to cause as much Catterall damage as possible. Elsewhere, an Enlightening Englishman and Edible Engineer have reportedly been making sparks – our sources say both feel rich‟ar for the experience. This Aspiring Actor left his impression on a Scottish Scalliwag; rumour has it she was attracted by his looks ann‟a certain stateleighness about him. And finally, this Cuddly Chemist and this Phlirtatious Physicist were unable to cl(a)ud their relationship in mystery any longer after being outed at Halfway Hall – to which most diners reliped “wait, wat kiss?!” And just to round things off, it seems as though Maude Morrison is finally laying down some roots. See you next time, honey-pies!

The Trinity Broadsheet  

Too good to be true.

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