Short pieces in the PFTE style.

Although, strictly speaking, the two pieces that follow are not true Postcards, they are autobiographical and therefore merit a place here. Both were written during Michaelmas Term 1996.

The first piece is a letter to a friend, David Barnett, at the time, a student at Queens' College, Cambridge.

do
you
believe
in
coincidence?

18th November 1996

Hi David!

______Yes, it's the Postcards From The Edge font, which can only mean one thing. It's time for Myk to narrate some of his life to you in tedious detail. This is not a proper postcard because you are its only recipient, however, I'm sending you this because I thought you might like to know what I'm up to at the moment.
______Well, the reason for the coincidence thing will soon become clear. Firstly, I'd better explain that this letter is acting as a tool for work evasion. Right now I should be writing an essay on the neurobiological control of locomotion, but do you think I can be bothered? Damn right. Anyway, the story starts in the first week of term when I went to the Oxford Union to book a room for my 21st birthday party. (Which went very well - on the 5th November - ahem!) While standing in the queue, the girl in the queue behind me asked how much it costs to join the Union, and when I told her she seemed unenthusiastic about joining. So, I chatted to her a bit about what benefits (such as they are) one gains from joining the Union, and gave her my name and e-mail address before she left. Well, I thought no more of it. I had gleaned that she was at the "Oxford Institute" (a title which meant nothing to me) and although she was doing a course there she "wasn't sure what it was on." I expected no reply, and in this regard , I wasn't disappointed.
______That was however, until a few days later, I saw her in the Zoology department, sitting on her own in the smoking area. I wasn't about to go over and start talking to her - no way, that'd be scary, so instead I just ignored her. Well, maybe 'ignored' is too harsh a word, I may have nodded my head slightly in her direction or something. Well, over the next couple of weeks, I saw her several more times in the Zoology department, and I began to suspect that something strange was going on. But not sufficiently strange to talk to her yet.
______OK, things became even more mysterious on Thursday of 4th week [just to make sure you aren't confused date-wise, today is Monday of 6th week], when I was at the University Badminton Club (my one concession to the world of exercise). I decided, between games, to go and work out for about half an hour in the gym. So, after entering the gym, (which is really cool, by the way, it's full of toys (or fitness equipment as they insist on calling it) to play on), and getting myself comfortable on a rowing machine, I noticed who the girl who'd followed me into the gym was. I suppose 'followed' is too insidious a word really, she probably didn't actually follow me, but she was the next person to enter the gym, and she came in about a minute after me. Anyway, after rowing for about half an hour, I was ready to leave. Which coincided interestingly with the time that she wanted to leave. No conversation took place, we simply left at the same time. After this incident, the girl became known as "The Girl Who Follows Me."
______I saw her again a couple of times in the Zoology department, but the point at which things suddenly became clear was last Wednesday. During the Summer, you may recall that I got tickets to see Drop The Dead Donkey being filmed. Well, they were for the filming of tomorrow's episode, which was filmed last Wednesday. (Got that?). Anyway, I went with a load of friends from University, and we stood in the queue, having arrived really early. There was only one person in the queue ahead of us, and can you guess who it was? That's right! Now do you believe in coincidence? However, I wasn't sure at first, because she looked slightly different from how I remembered her, and the reason for this will soon become clear too.
______Anyway, while we stood in the queue, I didn't talk to her. In fact, I didn't speak to her until we were in the studio. So, as we filed into the studio, I fixed it so that I would be sitting next to her. (Devious or what?) However, this did allow so topics of conversation, most notably, "Where have you come here from?" To which she replied, "Oxford." Christ. It was the same girl. As my mouth dried, and I struggled to think of something to say I was saved when she added, "Do I know you from somewhere?"
______Ah. Now this is a problem, where do I say I recognise her from? The Union? The Zoology department? The gym? I eventually plumped for the Union. It turns out that this was right. Apparently there is not one girl who is following me, but in fact there are two girls who (probably) DON'T FOLLOW ME who look very similar, one who works in the Zoology department (possibly as a lab technician) and works out at the gym, and this girl who is at the Oxford Institute of Legal Practice.
______Anyway, Rachel, as I discovered her name was, travelled back with my friends as far as Embankment station (from Waterloo), and answered the question "Would you like to go out for a drink some time?" with the correct answer, "Yes." Wow! The funniest thing was on the Circle & District platform. My friends and I could get on any tube train in order to get back to Victoria, whereas she had to get on a Circle Line train. So, inevitably, when the first train pulled up, it would be a District line one, dividing my newly made friendship. However, the train didn't move off straight away, so I was standing with my friends in the tube train as the train stood in the station trying to look cool for just a few moments longer. I could almost hear the voice in my head screaming, "Don't collapse on the floor yet, you still look good. Look, she's waving again. Wave back, you fool." After three waving events, the train finally pulled out of the station, and I was free to relax and return to my normal form. Then, the dissection began.
______You know how whenever you meet a new friend, or even potential friend, all your existing friends immediately begin to find fault. Well, I was pleasantly surprised that my friends could find none with Rachel. Wow! (again). However, I now had the major quandary of when to reply. I knew her name, and where she was studying, so I could leave her a note, but to reply the following day would just look too needy. So, on Friday afternoon, I dropped her a note saying thanks for her company on Wednesday, and asking if she'd still like to go out for a drink. I've heard nothing back yet, but it's possible that she wasn't in the Institute on Friday afternoon. Don't you just hate this not knowing? It's hell.
______So, this is where I currently stand. I've given up on the first year from Merton who STILL has all of my first-year practical write-ups and lecture notes, who I really fancied, on the grounds that she never has any free time. Rowers - can't be doing with them. I'm currently hoping Rachel will contact me. Pathetic, ain't it?
______You may have heard about my battles with the student newspapers of Oxford. In the last two issues of both of the main student newspapers, Cherwell and The Oxford Student, I have either contributed something (either under my real name, or a pseudonym (literally Susannah Denym)), or had something written about me (generally defamatory). I have also begun receiving hate mail just for expressing my views. Ah, it's flattering to see that people have this much time to waste on little ol' me. Remind me when term's over, and I'll show you all this stuff. It makes interesting reading. However, it's worth noting that the dialogue isn't over yet. I've written another letter to The Oxford Student expressing my feelings towards student newspapers, and the editor has promised me that it'll be printed. Jolly good.

***

While I'm here, as an update, I've never heard anything from Rachel, and still haven't spoken to the girl in the Zoology department.

***

It may be relevant to include the Oxford Student and Cherwell interchanges referred to above, so they are here reprinted in their published and edited form.

Oxford Student - Letters Page - 7th November 1996 - by Myk

Letter of the Week

It is heavy
______I WAS interested to read in last week's Oxford Student the article "It is heavy, he's my brother" as I am amongst those who take objection to the inclusion of the subject of incest on Brookside. Although I fully appreciate that it is a subject which should be presented for discussion, a pre-watershed soap-opera is an inappropriate medium. Firstly, the programme only featured the subject because it is sensational and therefore increases the show's ratings, secondly the approach taken has glamorised a subject that is morally abhorrent.
______The author of the article appeared unaware of the social and genetic implications of incest, citing historical examples in an attempt to justify it. However, pointing out that "the Ancient Egyptians were pretty cool about it" hardly makes it acceptable. Such an argument is not unlike pointing out that cock fighting should be made legal because the Tudors were pretty cool about it all.
______There are three reasons why I find incest unacceptable. Firstly, it is morally wrong. Secondly, it is illegal. Thirdly, and most importantly, incest is genetically wrong, as is clear to anyone with a minimal grasp of genetics.
______The author of the article asks us to consider whether incest is any worse than rape or murder. I answer by stating that while incest is no worse than these crimes, it is no better and that Channel Four's glamorisation of the issue at a time when impressionable minds could be watching is unacceptable.
______I am convinced that the propensity of the show's script writers to challenge the nation's taboos in an attempt to win ratings will ultimately lead to the downfall of Brookside Close, though not until a few more sacred cows have been sacrificed at the altar of commercialism. I'm betting cannibalism's next.

______Michael Reeve
______Brasenose College

Cherwell - Letters Page - 7 November 1996 - also by Myk

Serious degree

______Sirs, For the last two years I have been unfortunate enough to endure the poor journalistic efforts of the Oxford University student newspapers, but I have finally been driven to write by Andy Mayer's excellently researched piece, 'Gi'us a job', (Cherwell, 31 October).
______One notices that there are two phrases which can only be a contradiction in terms. The words "to spend 30-50 hours a week on something that demonstrates analytical skills, coupled with workaholic tendencies" are placed in the same article as the phrase "my own course, PPE" clearly implying that Mr Mayer finds himself spending this period of time each week engaged in work related to his course.
______Surely this must be a mistake, the first phrase should, more appropriately, read "to spend 3-5 hours a week on something that demonstrates an inability to study a proper subject". It is very unlikely, however, that Mr Mayer could find even this much time to carry out his work, since he seems to spend so much of it on self-promotion, racking up CV points by constantly joining and quitting societies, and the production of such pretentious, tedious musings.

Oxford Student - Letters Page - 14th November 1996 - not by Myk

Incest is best

______FOR THE last two years I have been unfortunate enough to endure the poor letter writing efforts of the Oxford University student newspapers' readership, but I have finally been driven to write myself by Michael Reeve's appallingly hypocritical, sanctimonious preaching last week.
______Those at Brasenose who know Michael, or "Myk" as he likes to be called by both his friends were surprised by his moral outrage on the subject of incest. Myk's parents are both lovely people, and have tried for years to keep the shame of their unholy union secret from the fruit of their illicit love. Although Myk's genetic deformities are indeed horrible, his own sad predicament is no excuse for these public outbursts.
______Come on Michael, censoring others is no way to ease your torment, isn't it time to forgive and forget?

______Yours concerned
______Susannah Denym
______Brasenose

Cherwell - John Evelyn's Diary - 14th November 1996 - not by Myk

Mythical Myk

______Last week's Cherwell had a letter from Sue Denym (BNC). Amazingly, the eagle-eyed editors failed to spot this for the fraud that it was, and it falls to your faithful one to reveal Michael "Myk" Reeve (BNC) to be the perpetrator. Myk recently won two free breakfasts from George and Davis' (via the Stunted) for his fulminating attack on the indecencies of incest. One wonders whether, had Cherwell offered a prize, Ms. Denym would have been more enthusiastic about revealing his true identity.

Oxford Student - Letters Page - 21st November 1996 - by Myk again

Incest Insults

______I have discovered the true purpose of the student papers in Oxford. They exist solely to provide a medium for people to insult each other, without foundation. Both papers have recently printed stories, and letters, expressing abusive personal slights against people.
______While I recognise that my attack against Mr Mayer under 'Sue Denym' in the Cherwell was unnecessarily cruel, the main crux of my letter attacking the poor standards of research by John Evelyn in the previous week's edition was cut. Also, I stand by my comments against Mr Mayer because none of it was, in my opinion, untrue.
______My recent letter on the subject of incest was a genuine expression of my feelings on the subject. However the author of the letter in your newspaper of the 14th November appears to have missed my point. Firstly, it was neither hypocritical nor sanctimonious; I have never been involved in any act of an incestuous nature, and I can assure the author that my parents are not related other than by marriage, and I would like this fact to be put on public record. Secondly, my letter was merely the expression of a personal opinion. And thirdly, I would like to assure him (or her) that I do have more than two friends. I would appreciate it if, in future, insults could at least be accurate.
______If the articles and letters currently being printed in both student papers are representative of the work of students hoping to enter careers in journalism I despair for the future of our nation's media.

______Yours sincerely,
______Michael Reeve
______Brasenose

This second piece was written as a retrospective on my visit to the Oxford Aerobic Society, and has never been sent to anyone.

23rd November 1996

______Earlier this term, I invested £25 in joining the newly established Oxford Pulse gymnasium, and shortly after a couple of hours of intensive use of the equipment contained therein, I paid a visit to a couple of my friends at St. Hilda's College. Over the course of this conversation the subject of gymnasiums was inevitably raised, and they asked me if I could believe that some guys join gyms just to meet girls. "I mean, what could be appealing or enjoyable about being in a room full of hot, sweaty female bodies." Frankly, despite the low opinion of my character prevalent throughout Oxford, I overcame my natural male chauvinism and agreed wholeheartedly that surely only the most shallow individuals could possibly enjoy such activity. Which was honestly true; when I joined the gym, it was only with intention of occasionally working off a bit of aggravation. However, recently I have had an experience which has led me to believe that I am actually no better than most members of my gender, and am driven by the same hormonal impulses that cause me to behave in an inappropriately sexist and misogynistic fashion, for which I make no apology.
______Last Wednesday evening, I accompanied one of my friends to an aerobics session held at the Wesley Memorial Hall on New Inn Hall Street, and as the possessor of the sole present Y chromosome, I would like to declare that being in a room full of hot, sweaty female bodies is inherently quite appealing. However, since the purpose of my attendance was not to ogle those present, but actually to try to get fit, an apparently unattainable goal for me, the hour and a half that I spent in the hall was considerably less enjoyable than I may have implied.
______Before the arrival of the instructor, clusters of girls arranged themselves around the room, banding together in small trepidant groups as though awaiting the arrival of some hideous calamity. We were not disappointed when, at just after 5:30pm, the hideous calamity arrived. Looking not unlike Alice Cooper at the height of his fame, the instructor had arrived. Standing at a height of about 6 foot, and sporting mascara apparently applied by someone who had had the concept of eye make-up explained to them in semaphore, along with a selection of skin-tight garments, she presented a terrifying image. Immediately as though the sergeant had just stepped into the mess hall, we leapt up unquestioningly and formed two lines, so that we could enter our names into books so that permanent records of our attendance could be maintained. Having signed my name in the book, which could mean that for my few remaining terms in Oxford, I will be receiving regular bulletins from the Oxford Aerobics Society, and handed over the £2 fee for the session, I migrated to an area of the room sufficiently far from the stage not to be conspicuous, but close enough to see the instructor.
______While this was going on, the instructor installed herself on the stage at the front of the hall, placing a hi-fi at one end of the stage, along with a stack of tapes which, had I examined them would, no doubt, have contained words like Dance, Nation, and Rhythm in their titles. When the last name had been signed, suddenly, without warning, we started the session. I say 'we,' but clearly I am referring only to those who had previously attended the session and knew what to expect. My companion, who was a regular attender of these sessions, immediately entered into the swing of things, falling into rhythm with the incessant and overenthusiastic motions of the instructor and the rest of the class. I was left standing in bewilderment, attempting to work out exactly what we were supposed to be doing. By the time I had finally established which particular somatic contortion was supposed to be performed in synchrony with the music's cadences, the instructor, and indeed the rest of the class had moved onto the next 'warm-up' exercise. The additional energy expended in permanently attempting to catch up with everyone else was considerably greater than it must have been for those who had known what to expect. After ten minutes of this, we were granted a brief respite as the tape was changed. I lurched unsteadily for my water bottle. Reassuring comments such as "It's worse when you come for the first time," were offered, but I was already beginning to suspect that they were just trying to find some other fool willing to join the group in its attempt to regularly drive itself to exhaustion for the feelings of personal achievement. As I was later to discover, I suspect that this was not their true motive.
______Once the warm-up had finished, the session began in earnest. Somehow, I was able to take part in virtually all of the exercises attempted during the extended dance mix of Total Eclipse of the Heart, a song which will now forever have associations for me with waving my hands across my chest while raising them into the air, and bringing them back down in a circular motion, while jogging on the spot. It occurred to me, as my arms spiralled toward the ground inevitably to raise again with the next beat of the song, that the instructor was beginning to have a mesmeric influence upon me. As she demonstrated each exercise, I found myself involuntarily mimicking her movements (as much as my body could allow). I also came to recognise that her use of the phrase "once more" was completely arbitrary, and just a false hope frequently dangled before us in order to keep us going just that little bit longer.
______There were occasional breaks between tracks when the music was changed, giving a few, all to brief, moments of relaxation between exercises. However, these breaks were not quite as beatific as I might have liked, since inevitably the instructor would single out someone who had not performed to what she deemed to be the best of their abilities, and force them to repeat the exercise on their own, in front of the whole class. Since I had not been warned that this sort of thing occasionally happens, I was terrified. Not only was I totally inept, and therefore in the firing line for such treatment, but also as the sole representative of my gender, I felt exposed like never before. It was at this point when I realised exactly why those who attend these aerobics sessions are enthusiastic to get others to join - it focuses attention away from them. However, my fears were unfounded, apparently my achievements were acceptable for a member of the inferior gender, and hence I was permitted to enjoy my brief breaks in peaceful contemplation.
______I have no idea how I was able to last until 6:30pm, when the style of the exercises changed. At some unspoken, yet apparently universally understood command (I swear that women can communicate like this), everyone present got out a towel and laid it on the floor of the hall, then lay on it. The following exercises concerned the lower half of the body, consisting of sit-ups and buttock crunches. After this, the instructor insisted that we all attempt to move our legs as far apart as possible, giving her ample opportunity to demonstrate her ability to move her legs apart to an angle of 180°. While I could barely manage 130°, I still did considerably better than many of those present, however, I was unable to successfully manage to carry out most of the exercises that one was supposed to attempt in this ungainly position without causing myself much pain. (Most notable was my half-hearted attempt to touch my chest against the floor in front of me, while keeping my legs separated).
______So, at 7pm, I stumbled awkwardly from the Wesley Memorial Hall, looking forward to a warm, shower, and contemplated my bigoted attitudes. Would I attend another aerobics session? I don't see why not. What better way to humiliate yourself in public, and get fit into the bargain?
______For the record, the "friends at St. Hilda's" referred to at the start of the story are Rhian Woods and Susannah White, and my "companion" was Rebecca Pickup of the same institution.