"Can you imagine," she chuckled to Gramsci, "they'll have to start wearing those funny straw hats, and stripey blazers, and pinafore dresses made of itchy material in unflattering colours?"
"Don't they already wear a uniform?" asked Gramsci, perplexed. "It seems that the girls all dress out of the same Truworths catalogue every morning, and the guys out of the same bargain bin at Clones-R-Us. And it seems as unrelated to the weather as any uniform - naked bellies in midwinter, and thick pantyhose in midsummer!"
The Cow flinched. 'Flattering' was clearly an unknown concept to many undergraduates compiling their wardrobes for the day. "And all that green!" she added in horror. "It's like a plague of sea-sickness, in technicolor!"
"At least the Deputy Registrar isn't exposed too much to the vagaries of student fashion down at Toad Hall," Gramsci added. "The only students he'll be faced with are the naughty ones dressed in their funeral best coming to beg for their academic lives at the Tribunal hearings."
"Hmm..." mused the Cow, "perhaps that's what he was alluding to, with his boarding school reference? Issues of misconduct? Isn't it always the precious schools whose kids beat homeless people to death?"
Gramsci had a twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps," he suggested, "he's really proposing that we out-compete Stellenbosch with a really hectic initiation for newbies?"
The Cow paused. She wasn't sure that corpses piling up on Jammie steps was a good idea, or that naked nubiles being chased around the Campus at dawn every day would be good for the average staff member's heart.
Gramsci sighed. "Only problem with that is," he scratched his spidery abdome, "if it's to be a boarding school, we'd need more residence places. And since there aren't any, they'd have to platoon into offices at night. Would you really want half of your bookshelves taken up with someone's hip hop collection?"
A shudder ran through the Cow's nervous system. "Can't we rather settle for a poncy day school instead?" she begged.