Free 2008 - The Bearded Tit by Prefers to remain anonymous, Rory McGrath

in an unreal, cloistered world. They’re living out a perpetual adolescence, obsessed with in-fighting and petty rivalries. Undergraduates larking about don’t interest them in the slightest. They’re more concerned with who gets to sit next to the master at High Table. You should spit on that pillock Fletcher.’
    He was probably right, but that pillock Fletcher was making me decidedly uncomfortable as I rambled on about doves. ‘‘So turtles pair that never mean to part.’ Florizel to Perdita. The Winter’s Tale , sir.’
    No reaction.
    ‘You know. Shakespeare, sir.’
    ‘I know who wrote The Winter’s Tale , McGrath.’
    ‘Sorry, sir, with you being an engineer and all that, I—’
    ‘We’re not all illiterate morons in the Faculty of Engineering, you know,’ he snapped, adding, with a private sneer, ‘Though there are a quite a few, it has to be said.’
    I went on. ‘In heraldry, the dove, interestingly enough—’
    Fletcher cut in. ‘No, not interestingly enough. Quite dull, in fact. Now, listen, the Christian Union in the college—’
    Kramer interrupted. ‘Before you go any further, Mr Fletcher—’
    ‘It’s doctor.’
    ‘Sorry, Mr Doctor,’ Kramer replied, obviously thinking that chutzpah might be the best weapon against the academic. ‘The dove is deeply relevant in any matter of Christianity. The dove is the Holy Ghost. Do you know how many times the dove is mentioned in the Bible?’
    ‘No, Kramer.’
    ‘Tell him, Rory.’
    ‘Er…loads,’ I stammered, then I remembered a quote. ‘‘And Noah sent forth a dove from him to see if the waters were abated.’ That’s Genesis.’
    ‘Side one, track four,’ added Kramer.
    Dr Fletcher stood up and stared out of the window for a few moments, then suddenly spun round and barked, ‘Kramer and McGrath!’ This theatrical gesture was clearly calculated to make us jump. And, sadly, we both did.
    ‘Last Sunday, the Christian Union were preparing for a prayer breakfast and when they opened the fridge, a pigeon flew out.’
    ‘A miracle!’ Kramer exclaimed.
    ‘How do you explain this?’ asked Dr Fletcher.
    ‘We couldn’t get a live lamb into the fridge, sir,’ Kramer replied, persisting with his cheek even though it was falling on very stony ground.
    ‘This is a serious matter for a great number of reasons, and for a great number of reasons, punishment will ensue. Did neither of you dwell on the possible cruelty of enclosing a wild bird in a refrigerator?’
    ‘It wasn’t wild,’ I said quickly.
    ‘It wasn’t over the moon, though, was it?’ Kramer added.
    ‘It was only in there for a couple of minutes. Max. And the door was left slightly open.’
    ‘A pigeon is a pigeon,’ said Fletcher.
    ‘Very good, sir. You’re obviously a bit of an ornithologist, then, Dr Fletcher,’ Kramer smirked.
    ‘It was a feral pigeon,’ I continued. ‘That is, it was once domesticated but has become wild.’
    ‘I think Dr Fletcher knows what ‘feral’ means,’ said Kramer. ‘He does eat in the Engineering Department canteen.’
    Dr Fletcher rounded on Kramer. ‘Please do spare us the sub-Marx Brothers wisecracks, Kramer. Now, listen, it is within my gift to punish you severely for this. In one of several ways. You could be banned, for example, from the college bar.’
    Mmm, yes, that would be a punishment, but one we’d get over, I thought.
    ‘Or possibly, McGrath, I should ban you from Blackwaters bookshop.’
    This was a stab wound. The wily old don had rattled me. I wondered how much he actually knew.
    ‘Blackwaters?’ I asked, trying to sound baffled. ‘I hardly ever go there.’
    ‘Three times a day, every weekday?’ he smiled menacingly in my direction. This was deeply disturbing.
    ‘Otherwise, how could you have run up such a debt and be so over your account limit that they’ve written to me to see to it that you repay the debt immediately, and that you do not enter the shop until you have?’
    I wasn’t prepared for a