It’s been a dull auld summer. There’s not much going on around here. I’m looking forward to Freshers’ Fortnight when all those juicy, green little Freshers from Ballygobackwards (and even a few GB students, so precious to the university statistics) turn up full of hope and enthusiasm. They’ll be full of money, then full of drink, then full of regrets.
Meanwhile, the rest of the SU is just full of wind; it’s been a dull auld summer so far, with the main signs of activity being the appearance of a big hole where The Speakeasy used to be and the steps are ripped to bits at the front. I don’t see a lot of work going on, but I do see a lot of supervisors, a microcosm for the University in general. I’ve been told that to celebrate the opening of the new and improved front steps of the Union, El Presidente is to don top hat and tails to perform a song and dance number during Freshers’ Week every day at 2:00pm sharp, and every Wednesday at 1:00pm for the remainder of the academic year. It will be the duty of the other officers to alternate as his dance partner, and stop futureless humanities students pelting him with cabbages.
Talking of the rest of the sabbs, the three new ones took up their seats in their office alongside the other four quietly. This being partly because they all ran on the same ticket, and partly because they’re the usual homogenous non-controversial bunch of flickering ideas and big smiles that have been elected every year since forever. Joanne O’Neill (Well Fair Officer) and Jessica Kirk (Equality and Diversity) have been welcomed with open arms, mainly because their ‘J’ initials please Jason O’Neill’s consistent branding efforts enormously. My spies tell me that he’s approached all the other officers asking them to change their first name to something beginning with ‘J’, which strikes me as being another desperate attempt to appear busy. There’s no one to keep an eye on him in his lonely little office afterall, but all sabbs must at least keep up appearances.
Looking forward to Welcome Week then, we can expect to see dead-eyed PR teams from Belfast’s various drinking houses standing outside the union in a shameless display of capitalist whoredom, blocking the roads and destroying the forests. I know several society heads will be fuming that they don’t have the budget to shamelessly shove paper at all passers by. But lest these new officers rest too prematurely on their laurels, All they need to know is that I’ll be watching them, and laughing, and touching myself.