The Pirates! in an Adventure with the Romantics by Gideon Defoe Page A

soaking the head in vinegar and then leaving it out in the sun for a while, like a conker. And Babbage thought you should either use a macaque’s head in the first place, or simply remove the skull and then bury the skin in hot sand, because he was the only one who had bothered to read the museum’s information card. Before anybody could test their various theories out on one of the cabin boys, the tinkling of the café’s bell and a sudden strong smell of drains alerted them to Shelley’s return.
    ‘Hello, Percy,’ said Byron. ‘Any joy?’
    Shelley sat down, unbuttoned his overalls, did a little flourish with his hand, and pulled a winsome face. ‘Some say there spirits of the air swoop unseen / Amongst humanity’s fever’d press to learn.’
    ‘Ye gods. Spare us the verse,’ said Babbage, looking at his pocket watch.
    Shelley’s face went from winsome to cross.
    ‘Sorry. I forgot we’ve got a philistine in the room who, instead of a heart has a chimney belching logic to an uncaring sky! Fine. It was only an introductory passage anyway. But all right: I will confine myself to the bare facts.’
    Shelley’s Account
    There are times when it behoves a man to look back on his youth, to revisit the wending path that led to his current station. This was such a time! Please note, I shall occasionally employ the myth of Orpheus to illustrate my passage into the academic underworld. I realise that you pirates may not be familiar with the classics, so I’ve brought along some copies of Ovid’s Metamorphoses . Share if there aren’t enough to go around. No, there aren’t any pictures. Yes, it’s in Latin. What? You can’t read Ovid in translation! Well, just listen then.
    As I stood on the threshold of my alma mater , I gazed through the portal of ancient Oxford stone and saw reflected back the very depths of my soul. Some of you may have dismissed me as the theoretical, intellectual type who shies away from direct action. You would be mistaken. I am more than capable of launching myself into vigorous gestures. Oft are the occasions when passions must triumph to galvanise the spirit. Yes indeed! ‘Shelley’s a man who knows what needs doing and when,’ they’ll say, ‘I swear he’s a human spark. How we got him wrong!’
    As I contemplated my inherent dynamism for a short while, several urchins loitering near the college threshold made chicken movements with their arms, for reasons I could not fathom, perhaps some childish craze. I readied a withering retort, but fortunately for the urchins, a passing pie seller jostled me with his cart and I fell sprawling into the college. A lucky escape for them. I was in!
    When Orpheus entered the Underworld, he faced Cerberus the triple-headed hound. No less fearsome was the countenance that manifested itself now. While I was confronted with two fewer heads and it was built with more emphasis on ‘whey-faced undergraduate’ than ‘fearsome canine’, here too was a barrier every bit the equal of a mythical dog. Despite a welcoming smile this hellish guardian wore the invisible cloak of hegemony and a shiny badge with the college name written upon it. He told me it was two pennies to get in and for an extra penny I could have a brief history of the college in leaflet form. There were other offers. I am not a man who is easily shaken, but this approach disarmed me. I quite forgot my adopted profession of drainage technician and soon found myself ambling into the sunlit quadrangle clutching a ticket, a leaflet, and a voucher for a penny off at Benny’s Chop House on the High Street. Though this had not been my plan, I congratulated myself, and wondered how my Cerberus might feel to know that he had just allowed a dangerous radical into college.
     
     
    Pardon? The voucher? Yes, you can have it. No, there isn’t a menu. I don’t know, presumably chops ? No, I don’t know what kind of chops. Cow chops? There’s no such thing. Can we hold questions until the end?