August 9th, 2007

Well paint me magenta and call me a magenta painted weasel (part 94)

Victoria Blake, a crime writer who I had never heard of, is featured in the education bit of today's Indy (http://education.independent.co.uk/careers_advice/article2844568.ece - may disappear into the Indy's pay toilet at any time, who knows). She was one of my contemporaries at St. Badger's College, University of Upminster. Her father was Lord High Goomba of The Yes That's 'The' Don't Forgot The 'The' Queen's Did I Mention The 'The' College (The). Apparently 'Her novels feature a female private detective whose father was, like hers, head of an Oxford college'. Write what you know.

I have to say that I think that I, and my fellow St. Badgerian, Mr J F Cat of this parish, have aged better (me better than him, obviously, due to my regular cold showers and paying tramps to flagellate me with birch twigs). Although you won't be able to see the piccie in the on-line version of the Indy, you will just have to take my word for it.

Life everyone who went to Oxford who becomes a writer, she sighs that she didn't actually dislike it that much. I think it is compulsory.

I have located her on my fresher's photo, taken on the day of matriculation, when we were blindfolded and dropped onto the west-bound District line tracks. There were few casualties our year.

I have to say I don't remember her at all, my combination of painful shyness and disdain for humanity means that I didn't particularly have much to do with people in the college.