A century ago my great-grandfather owned the fleshers (butcher for us today) pictured here. In the back yard he slaughtered the animals, and then hung them in front of the shop, on display for passing crowds. His shop is now a Dorothy Perkins. It looks like any other Dorothy Perkins, and the assistants are as polite as any other assistants in Dorothy Perkins, anywhere. In the town where he lived shoppers buy sanitized meat in the supermarket. His skills have been lost, and the contact passing shoppers had with the butcher is now the sweet smile of the Dorothy Perkins assistant. At the University of Weeengland we increasingly resemble the Dorothy Perkins where I went to find out more about my great-grandfather. They showed me skirts. We smile, we show you around, and then we deliver the same size fits all courses for you. If you think this is unnecessary, if you think that universities can be better than Dorothy Perkins then sign up to this blog. Register your dislike, and help this poor soul at the University of Weeengland find a way back to the art of the flesher.