It's Not Me, It's You: I Founded St Andrews’ New High-Flying Society

It's Not Me, It's You: I Founded St Andrews’ New High-Flying Society I was sitting in my living room on Queen’s Gardens the other day, shouting abuse at my valet, Leonard, when a thought occurred to me. Leonard, a local schoolboy of demonstrable eagerness, poured me a glass of sherry. “I’ve not had the easiest ride,” I thought. I’m balding at nineteen. Is Geography too stressful? It looks like someone has torn the hair from my scalp like VELCRO. I struck a glance at Vicious, my hideous, snivelling, rat-faced terrier of such microscopic size I could take him for a walk at the end of a piece of string wrapped around my thumb. Should I get a toupée? Would my tutor notice?  Somewhere between the third and tenth glass of sherry, I took stock of my shortcomings. Having been rejected from the Rifle team — owing to the tough competition put up by the Americans — I decided sport was not for me. I tried my hand at improv acting, but my recurring impersonation of Jacob Rees-Mogg seemed to dampen what I thought was a very promising career. I needed something else to make me feel at home. My business ambitions were halted when I was kicked out of Mercury Capital Management for trying to orchestrate a hostile takeover of the Kate Kennedy Club, and the Northern Society was not impressed when, halfway through their Lancashire hotpot social, they discovered I was putting on my Scouse accent. Vicious yapped pathetically at my feet, yanking me out of my preoccupation. Faced with the terrifying, void-like hell of my own inadequacy, I realised I was destined to create rather than conform. Like Van Gogh, my genius was tortured, but through the veil would momentarily shine piercing rays of inspiration. My divine calling was to deliver the fruits of my art to the world. To hell with what my tutor thinks! He’s not exactly blessed when it comes to his cranial decoration. My intelligence alarmed me. St Andrews, with all of its splendour, was missing something vital. I am therefore excited to declare the creation of the University of St Andrews Parakeet Stretching Society. That such a pastime has never had any representation in St Andrews has undoubtedly bewildered us all. I have very fond memories, as I’m sure we all do, of growing up at home, stretching parakeets in the garden until mother called me in for dinner. Such activities are the bedrock of what makes Britain great. Now we are well on the way to Union affiliation. Despite various hitches — what with the Union's discriminatory rules that not only refuse to count parakeets amongst a society's membership, but also bar them from running for Rector — we aim to have our first EGM in the coming weeks. I shall serve as president this year, and the rest of the executive committee will be filled with my close friends. Several roles will be up for grabs, including Freshers’ Representative, Junior Parakeet Handler, and Hydraulic Press Officer. Previous experience is essential for the more technical roles. Everyone is welcome. Whether you’re an experienced stretcher or looking to start, our first Parrot Psaturday social is next week in Aikman’s cellar. Stop by to meet the committee and the parakeets — maybe buy them a drink, although they can be prone to disorderly flight and serious physical violence. Nevertheless, stretched and braised, they’ll make an excellent End of Semester Dinner. Illustration by Maggie Carmone