Taylorian

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TAYLORIAN 2024 CREAT I VE

Satire

T his year’s ‘24 Hours of Noise’ was led by none other than Aryan Daryanani who, alongside other up-and-coming musicians sacrificed hours of their not so Yaluable time to hit plucN or blow a Yariety of instruments in a Yariety of ways. 7he eYent was initially perceiYed to be a roaring success. However, it was later discovered that numerous complaints were lodged by the Head Master and other members of staff. Mr Everson, who had been hoping to enjoy a full eight hours of sleep, found himself rudely awoken at 2:00am by an obnoxiously loud rendition of ‘We Will Rock You’ – he was most displeased to be ‘rocked’. The following Monday, when congratulating Aryan Daryanani in assembly, Mr Everson applied slightly more pressure to his prestigious handshake, leaving Aryan unable to play any instruments for weeks. Perhaps our most furious complaint came from Mr Hill who, on his birthday (85th maybe?), was conscripted to supervise some clattering in the small hours of 2:00-4:00am. Several teachers complained that many of the students who stayed overnight on Thursday to play music were found asleep in Friday’s lessons. One student was found in the Dining Hall with his head in some pasta, humming the school song. A member of the school cleaning staff, who was seemingly uninformed of the ‘24 Hours of Noise’ event, had the misfortune of coming across Mr Couldridge roaming the school site at 2:00am as the school choir sang ‘The Phantom of the Opera’. Perhaps even more outraged than the teachers were the students trying to enjoy their Friday lunch in the Dining Hall. They were 24 Hours of Noise

most displeased to find what they had hoped would be a quiet forum for civilised and philosophical discussion turned into a raucous affair, not dissimilar to the kind of inconvenience one faces when attempting to talk to their friend on a moving train. The only thing worse than musicians playing music to a reluctant audience is non-musicians playing to a reluctant audience, as demonstrated by the numerous pupils who fancied themselves to be undiscovered singers – safe to say they were undiscovered for a reason. Or, as Mr Herring would likely put it to them, ‘Don’t give up your day-job’. The noise was so loud that the boy who had fallen asleep in his pasta jolted up in shock, spraying sauce all over his table and peers. One extremely unhappy vegan in the Fourths found himself eating cheese because the kitchen staff couldn’t hear his order amidst the chaos. Still, life went on, the music droned on and even Mr Herring had the self-discipline to tolerate it. The most rhythmic part of the whole performance came at the end – when the audience clapped. Someone please remind me in a year to use the ‘Grab and Go’ system. Ultimately, the event was a success – £1,800 was earned to help the Music Department afford the glass piano that Mrs Stubbs has set her eyes set on (still a long way to go, unfortunately). Despite the success, it strikes me that next year it may be better to do something a little different – perhaps a sponsored silence. I’d certainly donate to that! Jacob Rose (L6th)

Roadman to Sprezzatura: A Taylors’ Journey

N ow in the 6ixth )orm , can finally looN bacN and appreciate the comedy of the character arc which most Taylors’ boys seem to undergo, from dewy-eyed Third )ormers to :annabe 5oadmen and finally into what we might call Õ6pre]]atura *entlemenÖ. After a few months at the school, a strange condition descends on pupils whereby they trade trench coats for enormous black puffer jackets and suddenly feel the compulsion to cut their hair in the most provocative way they can fathom. On top of this, boys tend to ditch their Ts and Hs in favour of an accent that linguistics expert Miss Trafford terms the ‘Suburban Independent School Gangster’ accent, or SIGA for short. Once the condition takes hold, it usually sees a student through his entire Taylors’ journey. Inevitably, however, some of these ‘gangsters’ undergo an overnight transition on the commencement of their time in the Sixth Form. These revolutionaries are easily identifiable by their swanky tailored suits replete with waistcoat, overcoats and leather gloves. The more committed members of this faction

even employ the use of briefcases, pocket watches and other gentlemanly accessories to complete the costume of an 80s city banker. But wait, there’s more. Where you might find an average schoolboy contentedly chatting in the corridor – or ‘loitering’ as Mr Herring prefers to say – these self-professed gentlemen prefer to engage in scholarly pursuits such as playing chess, or fervently debating their preferred classical music. All this they do under the moniker of ‘Sprezzatura Gentleman’, questing after the ideal of making excellence look effortless. But outside of these highfalutin ideals, are these mock ‘gentlemen’ any good for our school? Some would call them presumptuous, overbearing or downright comical, but I prefer to think of them as a breath of fresh air, a hearkening back to the model ‘gentleman’ (at least in appearance) which Merchant Taylors’ supposedly produces. After all, are they any less authentic than the ‘Manz from the Endz’ who dominate the Middle School? Luca McCormick (L6th)