The lucky few who finally graduate from this esteemed pile find that, along with the pomp and splendour and parental embarrassment of the degree ceremony, the University also immediately commences delivering a magazine called "Prom" to them. Billed as "the magazine for Aberystwyth Alumni" (who they?), Prom is a glossy, bi-annual journal produced to a very high standard for, presumably, a very high cost by the Development Office (one of those auxiliary "And just what do you do?" offices of the university). Although there is no charge, and indeed the college will obligingly send you multiple copies for no effort, there is a "voluntary subscription" of £7.50 a year. For the benefit of the arts students amongst us, that's £3.75 per issue. You may at this point like to browse through WH Smiths and find out how many other magazines are priced in that region. Assuming you find some, comparing their content to the quality of Prom, you may come to understand why many of those on the mailing list have deliberately not paid their subscription in the desperate hope that their names will be deleted.
To be honest, I nearly didn't write this review after an uncharacteristic attack of benevolence. However, it only took a quick re-read of a copy of the latest issue rescued from the bin to strip away any lingering charitable glow. The fact that I had to wipe off a large amount of week-old chicken curry, which had improved the content immeasurably, could not assuage my repulsion. If you wish to read an unapologetically sycophantic, sickeningly crawly, pathetically oblivious piece of sphincter lubricant, you can either buy the Express or wait for Prom to drop through your letterbox. It begins with an informal contribution from the Principal, where you will find encouraging and entirely misleading phrases like "excellence", "innovation", "qualitative shift" and similar candyfloss, and very few of those unpleasant ones such as "student poverty", "hall fee increases" and "inadequate campus lighting". Wading through succeeding pages of this blindly optimistic drivel, one often finds details of how to make a donation to your old alma mater. Here we come to the real essence of Prom, the world's most expensive begging letter - a sly plea for wodge from people too far removed from the place to realise they no longer recognise it (ie. at a safe distance). If you are a recent graduate, this is rather amusing in a black kind of way. You probably don't have a penny to your name but you do possess first hand experience of the college's diligent fiscal management. In fact, you're holding a prime example of it right now. Besides, you may feel you have already made a fairly significant contribution through your generous and wholly compulsory hall fee payments, to mention but one small portion of your total outlay.
Recent graduates will, in fact, find little of any relevance in Prom, which mostly concerns itself with a world of formal dinners and pleasant social gatherings attended by people so senior that you won't recognise any of them unless they once ran you over on Penglais hill. The photos of these elegant folk in their smart togs are normally captioned with fascinating descriptions such as, "Principal Kenneth O'Morgan and Sir Melvyn Rosser shake hands with their very best chum Lord Cecil Vary-Teight, chairman of the Higher Education Funding Council". At which point the discerning reader picks up a biro and starts drawing amusing tattoos on the grinning faces beneath. Most of this stuff is on the Old Students Association pages. There are two definitions of "Old" in this context and, like me, you'll probably assume the wrong one. A note in the Summer 1994 edition wonders "how to attract the active support of more of its members, especially of some of its many, younger members." Um, resign?
On the "Network" page, Prom attempts to ingratiate itself with the same bright young things so recently released from the portals of academia. "Did you know that Aber exiles meet every new year at the "Hole in the Wall" pub in London?!" "No shit," says the knowledgeable graduate, "and you're not invited." Time to change a long-standing tradition, perhaps. Next to these stunning insights are requests from ex-Aberites to get in touch with people who probably avoided them like the plague during their time here:
"Tim Dimwit would like to trace that girl he slept with once after the Rugby Ball in '68 whose name he can't remember but she did that amazing thing with the champagne bottle.
Bernard Bogcrust wishes to meet up with anyone who will admit to remembering him from his Microbiology class of 1972. I've stopped talking about my medical problem, promise!"
"University News": what do you think? The dissatisfaction over hall fees? The overcrowding problems? The state of the Union? Relevant, perhaps, but a little too real for Prom readers. Instead, the Summer edition gave us interviews with the Rag Chairman and AU President. Something immediately struck me as odd about the statements purportedly made by Barry Mageehan, last year's Rag Chair, as it will anyone who had the privilege of knowing this great man. Whoever understood anything Barry ever said? And did he ever say anything as tired and limp as "The way ahead for Aber Rag is never predictable but I am sure future Aber students will rise to the challenge!"? Enquiring sceptics want to know. Other quotes do not reassure them: "Probably one of the biggest recent changes is that we no longer publish a Rag Mag". Recent? In whose concept of time, a geologist's? "This was due to a few problems with the mag" - like the threat of legal action, perhaps? Tell us more...
Prom ends with a column called "Kicking the Bar" (archaic practice that carries different connotations depending which side of the middle age divide you're on). This is written by Patrick Hannan, a man known throughout the length and breadth of his own mind as a famous celebrity. Rumours that Prom is running a competition for anyone able to identify Mr Hannan and describe exactly why he is famous, first prize being a lifetime subscription to Prom for you and your home town, have gone unconfirmed since no one will admit to entering. Patrick likes telling the readers about the fabulous characters and jolly happenings that occurred throughout his own time at Aber (History, 1959-62 - certainly is), presumably because no one else will listen to him anymore.
At this point, anger sweeps over one in an engulfing tidal wave and you are unsure whether you dare thrust this sorry journal back through the Development Office's letterbox after setting light to it. I spent three years as a student at Aber, that I vaguely recall consisted of some extremely agreeable good times amongst people of my own age, despite the massive hall fees and various supplementary charges, the poor provision of facilities, the anonymous and unsympathetic administration and the general shambles and this is how they commemorate it??! Bloody cheek. My academic fees went on producing this sordid Andrex substitute?!
There is certainly a place for a magazine that fulfills the role Prom so capably leaves gaping wide. By all means, let us encourage outside interest, renew old acquaintances, make good use of the old boy's/girl's network and generally ensure that a little piece of Aber continues to cling to graduates (no matter how hard they try to wipe it off). But let's do it with a magazine which accurately reflects the present day situation, reports honestly on topical items and gathers stimulating contributions from all our alumni, but above all accomplishes these obligations with style, zest, intelligence and an awareness of its audience. And preferably, let's have it written by people who have had contact with students in the last five years.
Ade Rixon
("Alumnus")
PS. A new edition of "Prom" has thus far failed to materialise in the new year. The author is coping with his disappointment and fervently hoping this state of affairs continues.