The funny and facetious Felix

Southwest London is washed in a clean, blue sky on Gloucester Road. In his timeless black suit, white tie, and round, black sunglasses, South Kensington is a felicitous backdrop for Felix. After all, it has been his home for seventy-five years. It’s June in London and he observes the sun-soaked pavements with a measured gaze. Perhaps he is translating London in his head into text to be printed on a crinkled newspaper sheet.

His body language is fittingly feline. He leans over the table, eyes down on a crossword he is filling out with a red pencil with a pink rubber on the end. The pages of the newspaper are spattered with red pen, corrections and suggestions, circles and lines. He holds his pen like he’s a pool player with a cue. He orders a flat white, and then an iced matcha latte. He comments that he’s trying to keep up with the changing generations. “Back when the newspaper started, it was all filter coffee,” he says. “Now you’d think some of the options on the menu are desserts.”

Felix loves to make inappropriate jokes. Over the years, he’s caused quite the ruckus and has had to retract a good few articles and write many an apologetic editorial. “It’s all part of the process,” he laughs. “Keep the cat free.”

He is a man of many interests – politics, sport, culture, science, food and travel, film and television. Over the years, they have changed, he mentions one year he was particularly preoccupied with music, but they have always been widespread.

Multipotentialite, polymath, versatile, multifaceted, eclectic are all words which can be used to describe him. When I ask him if he considers himself a jack of all trades, he shakes his head. “A court jester, perhaps,” he laughs.

A jester he is, indeed. Over the years, Felix has had many humour and satire sections with many different names: Hangman, Coffee Corner, Catnip. “Don’t tell anyone, but really Puzzles and Catnip have always been the favourite sections. We’re far better than the other universities. They all brag about making jokes with their eyes closed. A cat’s eyes are always wide, wide open.”

Felix’s life has been told in many colours. Perhaps a colourful page here and there, think a Financial Times pink, he entertains the idea of a lavender one day, the logo is currently red, but meeting him here now for coffee, I can see he is certainly black and white. He is black text printed on a white page.

He is a great fan of a rendezvous. We are sat on the street outside Guillam coffee house. I point out that there are plenty of free tables inside. “Ah, but then we wouldn’t be able to people watch,” he says. “My favourite activity is watching all the students look miserable down the roads of South Kensington. It’s quite comical. It’s very difficult being in the loveliest area in London.”

He looks around and points out all the details. The road is lined in tall, white, terraced Victorian houses with doorbells that sound like typewriter keys, wrought-iron balconies, awnings, and blue plaques. Leafy green is accented and layered around. The pigeons are gentle, polite, domesticated commuters. Everyone is dressed in soft tailoring and quiet watches. The London light is golden-bright and then clouded like milk in tea. Everyone holds purchases in paper bags and coffees in paper cups. The June sun is warm, and he takes his sunglasses off and places them down on the table. His smile is coy and pretty. He turns the newspaper around and taps on the page with his pencil. “Now, do you have any idea about 17 across?”