Omar had no such reservation about associating with the uncool, and sat down gratefully next to Dieter. He liked Dieter. When they did the long and winding walk down to their rotund tutor’s house, they had lots of interesting conversations about everything from the Middle East crisis to Chomskian linguistics. Dieter was about a hundred times cleverer than Omar, but he never made him feel small or stupid. In the beginning of the Michaelmas term, before Omar had become firm friends with Jim and been pulled into his starry circle of the college great and good, he had socialized quite a lot with Dieter and the less pretty, less fashionable people that Dieter had been drawn towards. He had found them warm, friendly and always inclusive. It had been with some regret that he had drifted gently away from their comforting circle towards Jim’s people, with whom he secretly felt that he was a mere pretender just waiting to be found out and discarded, to be chewed up and spat out like so much gum when he stopped being flavour of the month. His natural place was probably with the geeks, and he always suspected that he would return to their welcoming fold one day, the prodigal son blinded by the light of popularity. Perhaps his time had come.

Omar smiled broadly at Dieter and his group. ‘Cheers, guys. Why’s formal Hall so packed tonight?’ he asked. ‘I only waited for late Hall because I thought it would be quieter.’

’Dear, did you not hear the rumours?’ said Dieter.

‘Did you just call me “Dear”?’ Omar asked with confusion. It wasn’t like Dieter to be camp.

‘No, I said “Deer#8221;. Cute dappled things with antlers. Apparently there was a cull at Magdalen, and some of the surplus has gone to us. The rumours are that deer might be on the menu tonight. Change from curry, eh,’ said Dieter cheerfully.

‘I’ve never had deer,’ Omar said. ‘Do you have to watch out for shot or something?’

‘No,’ said Ledley, a horsey biologist, ‘that’s more of a problem with birds. I broke a tooth on some shot in a partridge once.’

After the wet vegetable soup, there were groans of disappointment up and down the hall as the familiar platters of rice and poppadums and chutney were laid out on the table, and the ghostly smell of curry invaded the Hall.

‘Well, so much for the rumours,’ said Dieter. He asked one of the serving ladies politely, ‘So, when are we due to have the deer? Is it still hanging?’

‘No, dear,’ said the lady, ‘it’s on your plate. Chef didn’t know how to cook deer, so he curried it.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Ledley, looking despondently at the steaming platters of venison curry. ‘What a bloody awful waste of good game. I don’t think I can bring myself to eat this.’

‘What’s it like?’ Omar asked Dieter, who was tucking cheerfully in.