Please note: This article may have been edited by someone who is possibly a member of a Sciences faculty.
Eight a.m. on Saturday morning, where the rest of the world were still in bed, an intrepid band of engineers set off for the deepest countryside (editor: Deepest? I heard it was Surrey! Surrey hardly even counts as countryside. You lot seem to be under the impression that outer London counts as rural.)
The form of combat: Paintball. The stakes: Engineering honour for the rest of the year.
And so both teams embarked upon a long and perilous journey (It was a coach trip), into the unknown (It was Surrey! You should see Kent...).
Meanwhile, the Medics were still in bed. Apparently they operate in a different time zone from the rest of the world, and insisted upon an extra hour and a half in bed, due to the long hours of studying and clinical placements (nothing to do with a drunken Bop at Reynolds the night before, then...)
However, as half past nine approached and passed, just three little medics were brave enough to face the battle that lay before them in the windswept wilderness of (enough! You can make Paintball sound adventurous, but not Surrey! Ahem...)
with just three medics who dared to face up to the challenge (no, of course it was nothing to do with a heavy night before, or medics being a bunch of slackers who'd rather stay in bed), their coach was cancelled, and so the Paintball crown came down to a head-to-head between Guilds and PhysSci.
The Engineers began somewhat complacently, as they outnumbered the scientists approximately 3:2, but it soon became apparent that the scientists had a Weapon of Maths Destruction (do I really want to let a pun like that loose on our readers?) in the form of a top ICU Rifle Club shooter, so the engineers had to pull their metaphorical socks up, or the scientists would continue to catch them with their metaphorical trousers down (as long as it was only metaphorical trousers).
As the games went on, there were stronger and stronger signs of devious scheming from the scientists (you mean they actually thought about some kind of strategy? How evil of them!) and they took an ill-gotten lead, as the valiant Guildsmen braved the weather and the mud (call that weather and mud? In the real countryside, mud's not mud unless it's waist height; and howling blizzards are just considered slightly inclement) in their ongoing fight for glory.
In the end, it came down to the final battle, a fight to the death (well, the trophy. Almost like death, just a little less deadly and a bit more trophy-like).
Each team took it in turn to attack a fortress defended by the other side. First, the scientists were on the offensive, as opposed to their usual state of just being offensive. (You think that's clever, do you?)
They split up, creeping in from various directions, trying to shield themselves from the full force of the defenders' fire, and this cowardice brought them some success, if you can call it success when gained by such underhand means (not that you lot are bitter or anything).
No such shrinking tactics would do for any self-respecting engineer, and so we presented a united front, a mass charge, over the top, facing the full fury of their fire...
(And they shot you all down in one blow. Didn't they? Were you going to include that bit?)
And so it was, the valiant Team Guilds met their glorious end. (oh, please...)
But of course, a little thing like finishing as very close runners-up could not dampen that faithful Engineering spirit. And as we always say, it's not the winning that matters, it's the taking part.
Until next year, when we'll reclaim the title from the dirty scheming cheating little creatures.
(That's what you think...)
At least we beat the Medics. (Agreed.)