'I was rather baffled,' Percy began.

'Yes?' said Donatella, thinking - he's not the only one. How Percy of all people could have been sacked for anything, let alone disruptive behaviour, was beyond her. 'But why did they do it?'

'That's what I'm explaining,' Percy sighed. 'I was baffled by all of my workmates stopping for a fag twenty times a day. Digging trenches is back-breaking - you have to stop and stretch the other way, but there seemed something compulsive about immediately lighting up.'

Donatella sat back in her seat and looked straight ahead. They were nowhere near Wherewithal yet, but the bus journey was already getting to her. She rubbed the side of her neck, stiff from turning to look at Percy, and waited for him to continue.

'Anyway, I decided to stop work when the rest of the lads did, and sing instead.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah. So I sang for a few minutes - the lads took the mickey at first, then occasionally joined in!'

'Sounds good to me,' Donatella agreed. 'What did you sing?'

'I can't remember the first song I tried, but it was definitely a magnet for pee taking. Then I tried 'look at me momma, I'm making some noise' and the lads all joined in with the chorus. Very loud! There was a young woman who kept hanging around encouraging wolf whistles and they hollered the chorus in her direction; with gestures. It was a scream - in more ways than one.'

'I can imagine.'

'We even sang while we worked. At least, we tried, but it's not really possible while levering great clods of earth out of trenches.'

'No?'

'Too busy panting!'

Donatella pondered for a while before replying. Her head tilted to one side, she frowned and her fine lips contorted as she tried to imagine the events that followed Percy's description.

'So why were you given the boot?'

'The boss turned up while I was singing during a 'fag break'. He asked what the bloody hell I thought I was doing and I explained that singing was even more invigorating prior to another bout of trench digging than smoking was.'

'So what's the problem?'

'I've no idea. He went purple and started speaking in tongues.'

'What!?'

'It was probably swearing - impossible to tell really. It sounded sort of Nordic, or possibly eastern European. Norwegarian, Lichstensteinonian, whatever. Veins pulsed in his temples.'

'Something tells me he can't sing.'

'Possibly. He could certainly rant.'

Donatella and Percy staggered from the bus in Wherewithal bus station and stretched their legs and backs. A coach moved off from the next bay and showered them with partly burned diesel fumes.

'It's funny,' said Donatella. 'But after being cooped up on a bus, even diesel fumes seem an improvement. At least we're out in the 'fresh' air.'

Percy pointed. Their route to the university took them right past the market - the prospect of outdoor steaming tea, possibly made from old cabbage leaves and the most astoundingly unhealthy hot food this side of the landfill site. Plus they'd have to eat and drink standing up amid 300 decibels of choice repartee, nearly all of which would begin with 'Geh chur…'

'Ah paradise,' sighed Donatella.

One bacon buttee (though bacon greasy may be a more accurate name) and a mug of hot, brown, sweet liquid later, Donatella and Percy left the market looking rosy cheeked and very happy.

'if that was the most appalling food we've ever eaten, how come we look so happy?' Donatella joked.

'Relief,' said Percy. 'We've survived.'

As they turned off the main road onto the campus the noise of traffic gradually diminished and Donatella noticed the surprising quantity of pigeons and, more surprisingly, seagulls that congregated in and around the chestnut trees leading either side of the main drive towards the porters' gatehouse; the main route into the university proper.

'Do you realise these seagulls are over 20 miles from the coast?' Donatella asked.

'Yes,' said Percy, 'the river is tidal though. It's 20 miles from 'our' coast.'

'Of course. I remember visiting the docks the last time I came here.'

'They may be 20 miles from the ocean, but they're only about twenty feet from discarded sandwiches, the inedible tooth-breaking crust of free-range, vegetarian, 100% wholemeal gravel pasties and fag-ends,' Percy observed.

Donatella laughed. One seagull was indeed attempting to gain sustenance from a nub.

They puffed up the steps, after being scrutinised from afar by a security chap, then given the nod. 'Prospective student,' Percy had said. At the entrance to the university they came across a huge blackboard containing a Message From The Principal:

An Asian student with a perfect Wherewithal / Asian accent and Nike trainers 3 sizes too big standing nearby offered to explain

'Professor Wallop D. Poultry, the head of the Wogan Institute for Penetrating Sociological Insight & Hi-Fat Diets was caught in a bit of a mood after being informed by his GP that he should not stand for the vacant post as it involves too many 'working lunches'. Innit.'

'In a moment of weakness the AI program, which chooses to be known as Kevin.exe created a virus which attacked the kitchens of the Wogan Institute and buggered all their microwave ovens. Whenever anyone tried to use an oven it refused to cook and orchestrated all its fellow ovens and other programmable appliances in a rendition of old Abba favourites, innit. Exactly whose favourites we have yet to establish.'

the Principal had added to the end of the notice.

'Let's look around the departments,' suggested Percy.

'See you round,' said the student. 'My name's Suleiman, innit.'

'I expect so,' said Percy.

'Bye!' said Donatella.'

'I don't think much of this building,' said Percy, looking up at the sheer walls of glass and steel.

'It is a shade on the rectangular side,' admitted Donatella. 'Yes, I know most buildings are rectangular, but not as sharp as this!' She stroked one edge of the doorway. 'You could shave on this!'

Their next stop was a less imposing building

'I don't fancy this much,' said Percy.

'No. Too soon after our 'lunch' I expect,' murmured Donatella. Still, let's see what else we can find.'

'That last entry seemed particularly strange. Do you think there may be an element of competition between the Wogans and the Meejas?'

'Could be. That sounded straight out of StarTrek!'

'Oh look! Sociology in practice. Check out the fluctuating student politics over the last decade or two. The naming of this dump, I mean. Sorry, I meant to say building!'

'See. I told you there was interdepartmental aggro!'

'Yep! Let's keep moving shall we,' yawned Donatella. 'Sitting in the lectures can't be as tiring as this.'

'This building smells of disinfectant,' Percy complained as they approached a two storey modern construction with rayban windows.

'Yep! Medicine.'

'Oh good,' said Donatella, perusing their map / guide, 'Our next stop is situated amongst green fields.'

'Lead on,' said Percy.

'Tell me the next stop is our last,' yawned Donatella.

'It is!'

'Fascinating thing, the human mind,' observed Donatella.

'I'm ker-nackered,' confessed Percy, pocketing his notes scribbled from the various departmental noticeboards.

'Moi aussi,' said Donatella.

'I thought you were Italian?'

'Very good. The first several thousands renditions of that particular joke were the best. What I mean is, I too am weary, let's head for the pub.'

'Do you think there'll be one? I don't want to walk much further.'

'Percy dear fellow. This is a university (at least the signs claim that it is) a seat of intellectual endeavour, pushing back the frontiers of knowledge / ignorance, forcing the envelope (or at least licking several) no sign of a clocking in device, the air abuzz with fervent imagination, youth, hormones, lecherous professors and grant application forms by the million. Of course there'll be bar within fifty metres of where we stand.'

'Blimey. You are street wise.'

'Campus wise! Actually, I'm just using my senses. I can hear and smell a bar, maybe more than one. Let's head up wind.'

They entered the bar, which smelled of the previous night's festivities, behind a group of four males in their early twenties.

'See. No change,' said one of the four, pointing to the legend Internet Cafe on the blackboard.

'Greetings new landlord!' boomed the leading, rather tall postgrad. 'Nine pints of beer, five pasties and Internet Access, please good sir.'

The new landlord looked questioningly at the four young men and seemed to be performing mental arithmetic.

'Working lunch, is it?' he asked, playing for time.

'No! Finished for the week,' said Lofty.

'Ah, I just wondered about the Internet Access,' he said. 'Not that it's my business.'

'Oh, that's just so our pal can join us,' beamed Lofty.

'Pals?'

'Pal.'

4+1=5 thought the landlord, that explains the five pasties.

'One pasty for him eh?'

The group almost peed themselves with laughter.

'No! Kev don't eat pasties!' This made the imminence of wet trousers even more dangerously near.

'Right. Well here's your nine pints. I couldn't help noticing there aren't nine of you. ..'

'Oh, I see,' said Lofty. 'I appreciate your predicament based on your keen observation that nine into four doesn't go.'

'Or nine into five,' added the landlord.

'Kevin don't drink!' squealed the group and struggled to keep Lofty from losing his balance.

'Sorry,' explained Lofty through the tears. 'This isn't fair. Let me explain. You see Five Foot G here -' indicating the shortest of their group.

'Five Foot G?'

'Short for Five Foot Giant.'

'He's never five feet tall!'

'No. He's four feet 9 tall, and five feet 3 wide. Averages five feet.'

'Good point.'

'Well he's teetotal. And he needs two pasties.'

'That's an explanation?'

'Well nine into three does go.'

'Nine into three?'

'We're engineers.'

'Oh. You should have said, Sir. Would you like another nine pints brought over in, say, fifteen minutes?'

'Sure. Right lads, time for a song.'

'Shall we leave now?' asked Percy.

'Er, yes!' said Donatella. 'Let's visit the uni shop and have a picnic instead.'

*

'Ah, bread, cheese and an apple. Very biblical,' said Percy, resting his back against a tree and spreading their food on an improvised blanket - one carrier bag on one jacket.

'It would be more biblical if the cheese was fish,' said Donatella. 'And wouldn't they have had dates instead of apples? And didn't they have to feed four thousand people?' She looked around the parkland between the new university campus and the main road, spotting groups of students congregating here and there in the sunshine. Percy followed her gaze.

'I don't give a fig if it was dates, they're not eating my picnic!' He broke the cheese into roughly two equal halves, spilling crumbs on his jacket, and offered Donatella some.

'You're messier than a messiah, anyway,' she declared, taking what she hoped was the smaller piece of cheese. 'Is this fattening?' she added.

'I hope so,' mumbled Percy through a mouthfull of bread.

'Are you studying theology?' asked a young woman with a shaven head apart from one circle about two inches in diameter at the back of her head which had grown to at least eighteen inches and was plaited in three different colours. She had a tatoo of a very brightly coloured butterfly on the left side of her sun-tanned head.

Donatella was mesmerised by the tatoo and the lovely nut brown colour of her head. It seemed that her hair was naturally black, but it was cut or shaven so short that the tanned colour dominated.

Percy noticed that Donatella had become overly fascinated, so he nudged her whilst speaking across her to the imaginaive lass.

'We're not students, really,' he began. 'We're just looking around with the vague intention of applying for a place one day. Maybe next year.'

'Yes,' added Donatella, giving herself a mental shake. What a gorgeous head, she thought.

'Come and join us,' Donatella offered. 'Have an apple.'

'If you're sure,' she replied.

'Absolutely!' said Percy, and Donatella laughed. The young woman looked puzzled.

'It's all right. A friend of ours says that all the time. Even when asked what time it is! He's a sort of tramp.' Donatella explained.

'You're reading Plato,' observed Percy. 'We were hoping to get into some healthy debate about the meaning of life in the students' bar, but it was a bit disappointing.'

'Likewise the syllabi, syllabuses, whatever,' added Donatella.

'Are you studying philosphy?' asked Percy.

'Are there many other interesting students on your course?' added Donatella. 'By the way, I'm Donatella and this is Percy. What's your name?'

'I'm Gabby. Not by nature, by name!'

'Hi!' said Percy. 'Do you stay up all night in each others' rooms discussing stuff?'

'Not exactly,' said Gabby. 'I'm not a student! I get books such as this from the library and come here to read because it is so quiet! Compared to where I live. There are some philosophy students here; I've met one or two.'

'Ah,' said Percy. He sounded disapointed. 'No grant for you then, but academic freedom!'

'Good point,' said Gabby.

Donatella pondered for a while before speaking. 'We're converting a barn into a sort of workspace. It's not exactly an Arts centre, more of an opportunity centre. There's no electricity yet, but if you'd like to come along you'd be very welcome.'

'Tempting,' said Gabby.

'You could philosophise us! And write something for our local paper - The Bland Ford Forum.'

'The what!?'

'It's a long story!

*

The bus trundled downhill towards the sea, Kidneyswamp and home.

'So. Which course do you fancy, Percy?'

'You know. I think I've learned quite enough for today!' he replied.

Copyright P.J.Fairbrother

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