Rupert Westerholme-Bullingdon-Rothschild-Smythe tells us why the Guardian’s proposals to herd up state school kids into separate colleges is long overdue

Friends, Romans, Oxford men: let me share with you my struggle. Today I have been surrounded by people of all different types of social background. This is the same as every other day. No matter how many evenings a week I spend at the Grid, or with the Stoics, or at Wine Circle, I cannot escape those who did not go to Harrow, or Eton, or even bloody Charters.  I mean, I have to sit with them, eat with them, talk to them, and even worse (reader, brace yourself) befriend them. And this, it is fair to say, has entirely ruined my experience of Oxford.

I will never forget, nay recover, from the moment I walked into my kitchen to find one of my ‘friends’ grating the Parmigiano-Reggiano that Pater had picked on a recent trip to Bibbiano onto his Pot Noodle. Or the time I watched an acquaintance down a bottle of 2010 Chateau Margaux (a first growth, I hope you know) that I’d brought for pres whilst everyone chanted “LAD LAD LAD” at him. Or the crewdate where a bunch of braying jackals forced me to eat an Arzoo’s bhuna out of my John Lobbs.

What I wish Hall was like every day

What I wish Hall was like every day

These incidents left me despondent. Night after night I would cry into my 1,500 thread count Egyptian sheets, wondering who – if anyone – would save me from having to continue to suffer at the hands of the cruel, cruel mistress that is social diversity. It is seldom that I agree with The Guardian, but on this occasion (like the Iron Duke and brave Copenhagen at the Battle of Waterloo) it has fearlessly ridden to my aid. I of course refer to this sterling article, where it has advocated setting up colleges that purely take state school pupils.

Well, this is probably the best thing I’ve heard since Jonty told me he had found us a new coke dealer. Why should I have to mix with those from state schools, and why on earth should they be permitted to mix with me? I’m ultimately glad that The Guardian has finally come to the conclusion that I and generations of Westerholme-Bullingdon-Rothschild-Smythes before me have reached.

Why would you bother wasting my tuition fees on improving access initiatives, going on outreach trips, and debunking myths about Oxford when you can just corral all of those rowdy state school kids into some shitty new college so that they can stay out of my way?

That’s not to say there isn’t a little bit of self interest here as well. Obviously, a person such as myself should have a job befitting such good stock. However, at the moment, both men of Harrow and men of Solihull Heath Comprehensive School can put the same university on their CV. But by separating the state schoolers out from men such as myself, a discerning recruiter at Lincoln’s Inn can instantly see that I am grade A Commercial Bar material.

Ultimately, one should separate the Wahoos of this world from the Cameras of this world. I am not alone. Me and Jonty did a straw-poll at the Grid, and they’re all for it too. And the revolution has spread across the public schools of this Sceptred Isle. From Paul’s to Fettes, what was once a whisper has now become an exclamation. The Guardian is right. The time is now. My bottle of 1988 Le Pin will not rest safe until we finally have colleges exclusively for state school pupils.

Disclaimer: Rupert Westerholme-Bullingdon-Rothschild-Smythe is not a real student at Oxford University, and is entirely fictional. Obviously.

This article has 5 comments

  1. Duke Fondlewet-Chikhmatov

    Do the agricultural colleges of this country not expressly cater to obnoxious middle class upstarts? If your family is younger than eight centuries, then it is quite understandable that your status anxiety would manifest itself in such a lack of levity in style, otherwise essential to all parody.

  2. Duke Fondlewet-Chikhmatov

    P.S. I still don’t understand why today’s Wine Circle tasting requires the penguin attire — my ancestors took their wine whenever they wanted from whatever peasants they encountered, and in whatever attire they thought befitting to that joyous occasion. But then, of course, I look totally dashing in a suit. Thanks so much, Darwin! x

  3. Hi guys, we like nothing more than a bit of great satire, so here’s this article we commissioned to make you LOL! Did you get it? It’s funny because, inbetween basic grammatical errors, it takes the mickey out of posh people at Oxford!!! And, to add to the hilarity, it randomly drops names of posh things and posh people – one’s cribbed straight from the Oxymoron, so it’s gotta be funny! Hope you guys enjoyed it – there’s more where it came from! Don’t forget: worn-out stereotypes will never not be funny!!!

  4. Bloody MPSIAs

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