We had a tutorial there. Some chap was going on and on about some old fogey called Aristotle. They tell me he died a few years back. Pity. I'd like to screw his ruddy neck, giving us all that muck to learn. Anyway, we kept quiet and endured it.

We endured this silly business for an hour or so then bolted for the door. Escape was all we wished. But escape was not our lot. Why? The door would not open! The lock was, as they say. "faulty." We glanced back. There sat the lecturer, a fiendish grin on his dissipated face.

It suddenly became clear. He was getting his own back on Society and we were the victims. To have to suffer Political Science for the rest of our lives, such was to be our fate. Not that our lives would be all that long. What with lack of nourishment and over-abundance of learned phrases, we would not survive for long. He would remain, for that Greek was food and drink to him. We were trapped, and soon panic struck us. We lunged at the door, and heaved. It was no use. Perspiring profusely, we tore over to the windows. There was the outside world. Hope returned. Maybe someone would climb down or even jump? There were no volunteers. The steady drone of overworked vocal chords reverberated from the room behind us. Our punishment was beginning. Enough pairs of trousers strung together could make an ideal rope to safety. Again nobody offered, we were in mixed company when all was said and done. If we must die, was the general opinion, we must die honourably.