I had promised myself I wouldn’t write an editorial this week, but when one of the articles commissioned, which would have been boring anyway, failed to show up, I had to step up, invent a word and fill some space.

Before I start this article, I shall concede that I have absolutely no idea why the tree in Holywell quad has been cut down, and it was probably for a very good reason (Lane Fox’s wrath would not be worth it for anything less.) However, it has, and now the quad looks what I would technically term as ‘weird’.

In the absence of any real idea of why the tree has been thus mutilated, and equally devoid of any time to find out, I choose to blame everything on Edward Joy, because I happened to see him first after noticing the tree. Camila Garbut wasn’t far behind, so perhaps it was the fruit of some nefarious Cabal they, and Gary Grue (why not?) are a part of.

My suspicions were first aroused by Eddie’s sporting of a green jacket with creamy patches on the shoulders. Green, indeed, like the leaves of the tree we’ll no longer see. A sartorial middle finger to us all? I think so. When you also consider that Eddie went to Chile this Christmas, you will see that it he is without doubt the culprit.

As I’ve managed to find a vague link, I’ll use the rest of this space to do what my sub-editors have very wisely been imploring me not to do for weeks; write about how much loo roll dispensers in public toilets piss me off (the link is trees, which make paper… Yeah.)

Basically, I hate these things. You go in, and you want to blow your nose, but to do so you’ll have to sacrifice a large amount of skin, because contained in the infuriating contraption is actually Sandpaper. Equally, you want a large amount, you tug, you get one measly sheet. You’ve now lost the end of the roll, so have to fruitlessly spin it before conceding that you’re going to have to reach inside to find said end. In so doing, you scratch your arms up on the clearly superfluous serrated edge, probably contract the plague, and generally have a rubbish time.

I think I’ve achieved my space filling mission, and I’m not even sorry.