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April 13, 2014 | by  | in Opinion V.C. Guilford |
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VC Guilford 7

“Jesus Bloody Christ! Put your foot down, Petersen!”

“You’re driving, sir.”

“Oh, so I am.”

The wheels screeched, smoke and rain and street lighting blending together in a haze that obscured the back of Guilford’s 2002 Nissan Lancer before being whirled away in gush as it shot out of the Hunter car park and onto the street.


THEME TUNE: ‘Wild Boys’ – Duran Duran

“Y’know Petersen,” said Guilford earlier that same day, “my father was a strange man; he bred cows and pigs, although he only had one of each so he never got very far. But he had persistence, he taught me to never give up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Never get distracted, he said, you never know when you might need to help ya swine give birth to a cow/pig hybrid. What’s on the agenda today, Petersen?”

“Your presence is required at the Council meeting, sir.”

Later, at the Council meeting:

“So, we’re agreed that we will have to cut some majors from our humanities programmes?”

“Now look here,” said Guilford. “All I’m sayin’ is we can’t afford to be tighter with the current budget, and if the Council would just give me a little bit more fundin’, off the books so to speak, then espionage would be so much—“. He stopped, for he had spotted some sausage rolls in a basket on the table.

“Oh,” he said, “who brought these in?”

“What? Oh. Those. Sharon I think.”


“Yes, Guilford?”

“Mind if I have a sausage roll?”

“What? Oh yeah that’s fine, help yourself. Just leave some for my son’s birthday party this evening.”

Guilford began tucking into the sausage roll.



“You were saying?”

“Oh yes, I guess we need more money for reconnaiss— bloody hell, Sharon, these are amazing! I’ll just grab a sneaky second one if you don’t mind.”

“The thing is, VC,” said the Chancellor, “we can’t condone this ‘infiltration’ business of yours any—“

“Ab-so-loot-ly phenomenal, Sharon! I’ll just grab a third; I didn’t have lunch, see, so—“

“Now where was I? We can’t tolerate this behaviour, Guilford. The Toga Party, soliciting students to conduct surveillance for you, hiding under bookshelves in the library? It’s unacceptable.”

“Theef are bluffy amathing.”

“Now really Guilford, I really did want to take some back home with me.”

“Guilford! Susan! Let me finish. Guilford, I’m not sure we can continue to have you on in your current capacity if you—“

Guilford put both hands into the basket and began stuffing his pockets with the rolls.

“Petersen! Run!”

They dashed out the door.

“He stole my sausage rolls!” screamed Susan, before fainting to the floor.

“After him!”

Guilford and Petersen ran down the staircase two at a time, out into the car park, and clambered into the Lancer.

“Why did you do that, sir?”

“When I was 17, I told my father that I’d lost my virginity – ‘Where’s the last place you remember having it?’ he said. The point being, the best way to get out of a sticky situation is with confusion. They were about to fire me, Petersen!”

“You planned the whole thing, from the first sausage roll?”

“Well no, at first I couldn’t help myself, but as soon as I realised what was happening, I had to set in motion some covert moves pretty quick, Petersen.”

Headlights all at once blinded Guilford. A green Ford Focus crashed into the side of the Nissan Lancer. Moderate-comfort-at-a-reasonable-price paint and glass was blasted across the road.

“Petersen! Are you okay?!”

“Yes, yes I think so, sir.”

“I dropped the fucking sausage rolls.”

The Ford Focus sat motionless a few metres away. Smoke was teeming out from under its bonnet, and its hazard lights were blinking.

“We better make sure they’re okay; come on, Petersen.”

Guilford tried opening his door, but the crash had wedged it shut.

“Try your side, Petersen.”

The Focus revved its engine, reversed, and raced towards them for a second time.

“What the hell? Go Petersen go!”

Petersen opened his door, and the two had just fallen to the ground when the Focus hit. Another moment passed before its driver door was opened and out stepped a sarcastic and spiteful-looking woman.

“I’ve got you now, Guilford,” she said.

“Who the fuck is that, Petersen?” Guilford whispered.

“Casey, she’s sarcastic.”

“Ah, Casey, of course, the sarcastic and spiteful woman.”

“From admissions,” said Petersen.

“What do you want Casey, you sarcastic and spiteful woman from admissions?”

“Well isn’t this just how I planned to spend my evening.” She cackled maniacally, and kicked off the driver’s door to the Focus which was hanging by a thread of metal.

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing, I’ve done it already. You thought you could admit Arcadia-Rae to Tourism behind my back. But once I heard the Council chasing you past my office, I went right ahead and had her removed from her courses.”

“Why’d you crash into our car then?”

“I think, sir, she did it out of spite.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

A black sedan pulled up beside the group, and the Chancellor stuck his head out the back window.

“You’re fired, Guilford.”

“Jesus Christ, god damn it to bloody hell Petersen, this is all your fault.”


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