Anniversary Edition
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2 Anniversary Edition The Cheese Grater
2004 - 2006: René Lavanchy The Cheese Grater was conceived at Ifor Evans Hall in the winter of 2003-4, somewhere between the bar and the first-floor pigeon holes. Old Pi pages in Phineas hinted at a past of fervent and maybe even useful student journalism at UCL. But the only media outlets were Rare FM and Pi, and Pi looked dismal – badly designed and with no idea how to do serious journalism properly. I’d met students who read and enjoyed Private Eye, and in my teenage arrogance I thought I could give them an upstart publication that mixed humour and investigation. Early challenges were learning how to use a photocopier properly (hence the first issue’s poor print quality), gathering enough members (we only narrowly escaped disaffiliation for this after our first Freshers’ Fayre) and finding an assistant editor (the first one dropped out after failing to convince me that the best way to critique the union was to ignore it
completely). The first article that really struck the keynote of The Cheese Grater’s investigations was ‘UCL Union Lines Up To Kick David Renton’. The author, who asked to write anonymously, said that Renton, a sabbatical officer, was frequently absent from his post and was generally incompetent. Inspection of union meeting minutes proved him right. I was delighted and drew a cartoon of Renton for the cover, sitting back with his feet on his desk. He wasn’t pleased, and wrote us a letter saying he had felt “deflation and angst” on reading it. We (okay, I) came unstuck in an article about a student who had been found dead in his room at Campbell House. The first draft of the article brought a threat of legal action from the Dean of Students who felt it defamed him; the published version still angered him as it said the body had been half eaten by rats (it hadn’t).
The Cult of the 29
Laverne almost certainly not paid enough for this appearance I’ve never felt so close to being expelled. The fabulous Mr Chatterbox first appeared in the magazine in my time, with a series of brilliant, waspish articles attacking UCL’s new corporate management with a combination rare in student journalism: wit, understanding and inside knowledge. I’m sure his work helped us win that Best Small Budget Publication Award off the Guardian. I bowed out by publishing a special report attacking Social Colours as self-serving rubbish: I still believe that and have rejected both the colours the Union tried to pin on me.
The Cheese Grater Anniversary Edition 3
Gaming Grandaddy To rival Pi’s up-the-minute coverage of 6-month-old games, The Cheese Grater strikes back.
Pong: Arcade (plans to be released for other systems late next spring) Taking the Video Gaming world by storm this century is the radical table tennis simulator, Pong. The aim of the game is to outwit your opponent in one-on-one tennis-style combat and emerge victorious with the most points. This game has everything. The graphics are outstanding and the game play will have you glued to the screen for literally minutes. Being both multiplayer, and single player, with an AI paddle that will have you convinced that you are playing a real person, Pong earns so much respect that there is already a film, “The Chronicles of Pong”, planned to be released early 2010, in pre production, to quench the thirst of the many hordes of Pong fans. Early rumours suggest that Mel Gibson is to play the lead roll of “Player 1”. SCORE: 5/5
Comfortably Numb I loathe Camden. It’s full of über-cool girls who have the brains and balls to leave the high street behind them and not wear mass-produced, homogenised tat. And by this, I feel threatened. However, imagine my joy at the recent Camden Fashion Show, to see that this was not entirely the case. Camden Lock is a beautiful part of the borough, just tucked away from all the Rastas trying to sell you drugs. It is here, in an elegant cocktail bar on the waterfront, that I found the essence of submissive femininity still alive. I could hardly control myself as one gorgeous model after another paraded down the catwalk. For one stomachchurning second, I felt my masculinity
Pac-Man: Arcade/Sinclair ZX Spectrum
Donkey Kong: Dragon 32
Capturing the hearts of even the most hardhearted Arcade patron, the ever-starving, ever-eating, anti-dieting, yellow ball of fun that is Pac-Man has had the nation hooked by its addictiveness. The aim of the game is to guide the Pac-Man around a maze, eating every small dot and avoiding the enemy ghosts that chase after you. However, as a cunning twist to the game, you can eat the pulsating dots in the corners to make the ghosts turn tail in fear and chase after them instead and turn hunter into hunted. This game has not only captivated the attention of video gamers the world over, but has also sparked heated discussion in the media over whether or not it is suitable for young children, and an 18 certificate has been considered, as it encourages children to eat and face their fears by taking behaviouraltering substances which will make them think that they can eat ghosts. Whether Pac-Man will go down in history as a piece of pro-drug propaganda remains to be seen, but there is already a film, “Pac-Man Begins” entering pre-production. Early rumours suggest that Mel Gibson is to play a supporting role as “Yellow Ghost”. SCORE: 5/5
Games developers, ever trying to push the boundaries of computer games, every now and then make a mistake. Donkey Kong is one of those mistakes. In this game, you play a small man in overalls and a moustache who must rescue a princess from a giant gorilla by climbing to the top of a level and avoiding barrels and fireballs. The random mix of game play leads us to the conclusion that Donkey Kong is just too complicated and has sacrificed playability for superior graphics, which although impressive, are no consolation. Although we acknowledge the effort put into Donkey Kong, it is fairly safe to say that games will never get more complicated than the industry standard. Also, to have a small man with a moustache who looks like a plumber as the lead in a game is absolutely absurd and will never be a success. It would be like a Japanese company having as their mascot an Italian by the name of “Mario”. Mel Gibson came forward earlier this week and publicly denounced the game as “Not Very Good” and has quashed mutterings that he is planning a historical biographical film of Donkey Kong going by the working title of “When Apes Get Horny”. SCORE: 2/5
threatened once again, by a luscious, pouting male model that looked not unlike Cheese Grater editor Rene Lavanchy. Thankfully, the moment passed, he did his stuff and exited left of the catwalk. Phew. Flashes of skin and revealing cuts were a prevalent theme although it worried me to see that Punkyfish were still creating those bottom-skimming, 80s ra-ra skirts that screamed “EASY ACCESS!” Especially when these skirts seemed to be constructed from the Transformers duvet from my bedroom – I guess it reminded me of all the times as a child, trembling beneath the blankets, listening to my parents having sex. But anyhow, the most important thing about this show was to highlight the importance of fair and ethically traded fashion. Some of my best friends (like Robert Kilroy-Silk) wear fair and ethically traded fashion, and after tonight, I am soon
This is the face of a man who looks a lot like a man from Pi that wrote some fashion columns to be a convert. It is notable to mention the inspired uses of colour – lots of browns and plums that reminded me so much of autumn. I thank my editor, God and my mother (who had dressed me earlier that evening) for what proved to be an eyeopening and stimulating night.
4 Anniversary Edition The Cheese Grater
2006 - 2007: Mark Ravinet
Looking over old issues of CG I thought, “Why did I put my name to this rag? Who the fuck is Claude McNab?” I jest. We covered cock-ups, failures and general incompetence and won a Guardian Student Media Award. Computing was in a poor state at UCL. The year began with the shift from paperbased course enrolment to the Portico system. It was a catastrophe: students unable to register for courses, huge headaches for administrative staff. We revealed it was possible to download usernames and passwords of thousands of UCL network users; a situation Information Services had been warned about twice previously but didn’t do anything about until CG got involved. UCLU also paid £80 000 for a website which left data available to hackers! The Education and Welfare Officer who resigned for personal reasons actually quit because he had committed electoral fraud. The remaining Sabbs backed the ill-fated Governance Review by lying to the executive, Facebook fights and ‘forgetting’ opposing motions. The Finance and Administration Officer fancied himself as a young Michael Parkinson, using Film Society cash to buy a camera and attempting to buy suits so he could run an interview show. Appropriately his campaign posters depicted him as Scarface, the notorious thug, crook and general bastard. 2007 saw students airing their disgust at the shares UCL had in the arms sector and the CG ran a series of articles on the university’s lack of scruples over investment. We learned the Finance department had let students overpay their fees and hadn’t rushed to hand the cash back. Male athletes of UCL disgraced themselves when a Sports Society Slave Auction became a stand-off between Men’s Rugby and Men’s Football with forced oral sex, pints of piss and shots of saliva. The security staff hardly rushed to stop it – they were busy laughing and taking photos.
Cheese Grater’s handy guide to choosing your course on Portico
Excerpts from Anne Frank’s Diary: Today, as I sat on the toilet, I heard a Nazi shouting from outside. “Hallo! If zerre are any Jews hiding in ze atteeks or clohzets, can you please come out schnell? Looking for you is getting vreally tough and ve’re kinda in ze meedle of a var! Please! Come out, come out verrever you are! Ve promeese ve von’t do anytheeng to you! Ve’ll just geeve you as much ice cream as you could ever vant! Kosherre ice
cream! Vith up to three toppeengs! I don’t know if ze toppings can be kosherre.” I have to admit, I was curious to see if he was telling the truth. I probably would’ve gone out if my shit had not been so big and messy. By the time I had finished and cleaned up, he was already done shouting and off shooting some poor schemil. Oy, I could really go for a shtikl of ice cream right now, you know?
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2007 - 2008: Hannah Hudson 2007 was a vintage year for The CheeseGrater, which saw the union continue to slide into irrelevance, halted only by the threat of blackmail from the enigmatic Students for Democracy. Happily, Pi took no notice, and continued to spend thousands of pounds on unread gloss that littered campus. This led to an expose which has cemented The Cheese Grater as a fly on Pi’s sweaty, bloated face that has been occasionally batted away ever since. In other news UCLU revolutionised the modern democratic process with dodgy electronic voting pads, Union Colours were given out seeming at random, and a motion of no confidence was lost, before being withdrawn in suspicious circumstances. Three sabbs’ tried to escape The Cheese Grater’s watchful eye by visiting America on the union’s dollar, but we tracked them down and reported them into the ground.
Not potty Book: Harry Potter and the Chasm of Despair J.K. Rowling’s latest book, “Harry Potter and the Chasm of Despair”, which acts as both her fourth “final” installment to the Harry Potter series and her 8,719-page suicide note atop her opium-laden corpse, is, sad to say, her weakest. It has always been a testy point among critics as to whether Rowling’s prose is an attempt to satirise the dense paragraphs of Kafka and Tolstoy by providing their antithesis; she is undoubtedly at her worst here. Gone are Rowling’s subtle yet provocative contributions to queer theory, such as Harry’s omnisexual experimentation with Cornelius Fudge and Polyjuice Potion in “Harry Potter and the Anguish of Desire.” These scenes are instead replaced by more base erotica such as George Weasley’s use of the Inferi curse on his brother’s half-decayed corpse. The one highlight of the work is Hermoine’s tirade while in the throes of the Witch Menopause. In this scene, Rowling poses the question of to what extent the author, when overtly speaking through a fictional character, is able to retain her reality. As Hermoine rants about how the public were fools for never accepting her treatise on the role of fiction in a world still recovering from Australia inexplicably sinking into the ocean and screams “You wanted me to only write Harry Potter? Here’s your fucking ending! I hope you have a stroke when you finish this sentence!” one must wonder if these words are merely frustrated ramblings or one of the best contributions to the connection and divide between the author, the textual material, and the reader since Calvino. It is in this part, and only this part, where we get a glimpse of the brilliant Rowling of old, the author whose seminal first seven novels rose to replace the seven volumes of “À La Recherche du Temps Perdu” in the canon.
6 Anniversary Edition The Cheese Grater
2008 - 2009: Jenni Hulse Due to the passage of time and psychological repression of traumatic events, my time as editor is a little hazy now. However, I do have a vague idea that I enjoyed the year – despite censorship, repeated threats and teetering on the brink of hysteria. Most memorably, an article about a former Chief Executive of UCL Union and his dodgy (mis)management style was censored by a Sabb bearing an uncanny resemblance to a potato. Apparently it was libellous. London Student didn’t think so – they ran it anyway. The name of the magazine was briefly changed to The Potato Grater.
As the old saying goes: behind every great woman there is a man, undermining her authority and destroying her reputation. As Humour Editor, Gareth Spencer exceeded the magazine’s previous heights of offensiveness and cultural insensitivity, leading to non-specific threats from three members of the Islamic Society and an unpleasant incident in Senate House after calling the Stop the War Coalition Treasurer a Nazi. Meanwhile, Alex Ashman proved himself a highly capable sleuth as Investigative Editor, exposing UCL’s ‘ethical’ investment policy and the
exploitation of Postgraduate Teaching Assistants – plus ça change! Alex McKenna was Treasurer. He stole all the funds, fled to South America and was never heard of again. We won the UCLU Arts Awards for Best Publication. Obvs.
UCL - London’s Pan-Galactic University It wasn’t the best university in the world, but Malcolm rather liked it. He loved the old grey pillars almost as much as he loved his own self. It therefore hadn’t really registered with him that the city wanted to knock it down and build a bypass instead. Malcolm woke at eight o’clock that Thursday morning, opened a window, saw a bulldozer and donned his dressing-gown. Moustache wax in hand, he noticed that the bathroom mirror was pointing at the ceiling. He adjusted it. For a moment it reflected a second bulldozer through the bathroom window. Facial hair preened. Kettle on. Mug, teabag, pour, drink, yawn. The word yellow drifted through his mind. The bulldozer in the quad was particularly yellow. As he drank his Earl Grey, the Provost pondered the nasty headache he seemed to be suffering from. He remembered going to Sports Nite and ranting indignantly at anyone who would listen.
Something about knocking down UCL It would never happen – the Mayor didn’t have a leg to stand on. The word yellow entered his mind again, looking for something to connect with. Fifteen seconds later he was out of the Cloisters and lying in front of a big yellow bulldozer advancing towards the steps of the Portico. Boris was only human, though that was said to be the least of his problems. He was also the Mayor of London, a role only ever held by those entirely unsuited to power. Unbeknown to him, Boris was in fact a direct descendant of a Bavarian king, though intermixing of genes had left him with little sign of this other than his ridiculous blond hair and a predilection for unusual curse words. “Cripes,” he said, “are you really going to lie in the mud all day like some sort of piccaninny?” Fortunately at this point the entire world was destroyed to make way for a Vogon Hyper-Global University Academy, thus saving any further tedium.
Just after this, Malcom threw in the towel
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2009 - 2010: Alex McKenna Mindful of my new-found place as a member of the adult community, please note that much of the following list is fictitious. Names, events and places have been changed.
ALEX McKENNA’S LIST OF FIVE (MOSTLY BAD) THINGS THAT HAPPENED WHILE HE WAS EDITOR 1. A fresher died on Alex McKenna’s first day in the job. A member of UCL staff - who for argument’s sake, we’ll call Dr Suth Ridall - wouldn’t let him print an investigation into the matter and the whole sad event was swiftly forgotten.
2. Someone kept threatening to sue CG. 3. Alex McKenna appeared on University Challenge, the first and only Editor of CG to do so (Rene got on the UCL team, but the producers didn’t regard him as telegenic enough to actually appear on the show). 4. In the wake of the UCL Pantsbomber Alex McKenna shared pick and mix and shortbread at an Islamic Society event with a fundamentalist preacher. He was very nice. Not so sure about his views on Sharia law though. 5. Alex McKenna failed to win a UCLU Arts
Society Name: UCLU Supporters of Impressively High Top-up Fees at University College (S.I.H.T.F.U.C.)
Each week, the former President of Republika Srpska shares some of his favorite Serbian poetry with us, from his prison cell in The Hague.
History: Formed out of the ashes of F.E.D.U.P (Free Education Defenders are Usually Poor)
Ljíméryck No. 72 There was a young man from Srebrenica, Who went and ordered a pizza, Instead he got us, Was shoved on a bus, And was brutally murdered along with 8,000 other Bosniak men and boys.
P.S.Thereweresomebadcutsbymanagement, the sabbs were useless - but quite friendly, Pi was shit as usual, even fewer women than usual joined CG that year.
SOCIETIES BULLETIN BOARD
Radovan Karadžic’s Poetry Corner
This week, I have decided to include great poem by great man, great friend of mine General Ratko Mladić. I must be saying this particular piece, in noted Serbian poetical form the Ljíméryck, speaks to my heart about great troubles we suffer in Yugoslavia. Let nobody say after their reading of her that we are not a peoples of great culture.
Award.
files from Mossad. Society Name: S.T.A.S.I. (Support The Army Slaughtering Iraqis)
Tag Line: Can’t pay? Tough Tag Line: Schild und Schwert der Partei (SA80 and Desert fatigues of the party) History: Our boys are the best soldiers in the world etc. etc. etc.
What We Do: Join S.I.H.T.F.U.C. and become a S.H.I.T.F.U.C.K.er! Lib-Dem bashing. Donating money to Malcolm Grant.
What We Do: Read The Sun, send text messages to the troops, sit around, watch X Factor, counterintelligence.
Membership Numbers: Exclusively Low
Membership Numbers: More than one in ten (occasional informants)
Society Name: P.E.N.I.S. (Palestine Extermination Now! Israeli Society)
Society Name: UCLU Albanian Society
Tag Line: Israeli settlements: are you a Grower or a Shoah?
Tag Line: Ti, Shqipëri, më jep nder, më jep emrin Shqiptar
History: A.D. 70 and the Arabs literally STOLE our land.
History: Brief, only became independent in 1912.
What We Do: Bomb UN schools. All sorts of shit, and we definitely don’t do war crimes.
What We Do: Support the interests of (the) Albanian(s) at UCL. Membership Numbers: One
© Ratko Mladić, 1995
Membership Numbers: See the related
8 Anniversary Edition The Cheese Grater
2010 - 2011: Thom Rhoades ‘One member of the maths department recently had her handbag stolen’. So began the year for Cheese Grater’s investigative side with George Potts’ explosive exposé ‘Gordon’s Café Robbery’. It looked as though yet another generation of Graters would continue the magazine’s rich history of journalistic integrity, daring to publish stories that no other Uni rag could, nay would, ever print. ‘A handbag? In London?’ readers seemed collectively to gasp. By now the world was watching, the next issue had to hit the mark- and boy, did it? Yes. It did. What a boon the UCL Occupation turned out to be for our slathering hacks. Page after page after page after page of intrigue and fury, a heady cocktail of intense imbroglio shaken and stirred by my chief bar people, Potts and Hannah Sketchley. Each day I, the editor, would be sent fresh tales of demands, ultimata, even proposals. At times it was hard
to keep pace with my burrowing barmen (continuing the metaphor), but I did – because I had to. They wouldn’t let me quit and I wanted it for my CV. It was news of sexual deviancy with the JBR occupation that initially aroused (wink) the interest (wink wink) of our roving reporters*. Like hounds with a scent, in they went. By the time they came out, nothing was the same. But about two weeks after that everything was essentially the same again. As the year went on my team and I got ourselves further and further up the Sabbatical Officers’ noses, where somehow we knew we belonged. News of in-fighting within the Sabb office led to our now infamous ‘Valentine’s Special’ cover (February) featuring the faces of Mandy Smith and Michael Chessum. There was a UCLU Referendum too, but for the life of me I can’t remember what it was about. They either wanted more control or less con-
trol. Anyway ‘Vote Yes’ won because they had iPads, which we heavily criticised. I would like to thank my team of generals: John Bell, George Potts, Olivia Pyper, Max Titmuss, and Tim Smith. I regret that there is only one woman on that list, but to be fair I was following on from McKenna. *The lack of available contraception within the mob led subsequently to the birth of several ‘occupation babies’, now the subject of Channel 4 documentary Children of the Revolution- which charts the early lives of those growing up in a ‘post UCL-occupation world’.
Deal Or No Meal
Edmonds: He says he’s got a good feeling about your game today. He likes you. (audience laughter) Voice: Not this shit again! Please! You’ve been keeping me here for six fucking years! It’s my son’s birthday today Noel, I beg you! Edmonds: He says you’ll be a brave woman to turn down the next offer, don’t be a hero. Voice: What happened to the woman with the food? I’m so hungry Noel. Edmonds: He’s scared of you. You’re play-
ing a very shrewd game. Voice: Noel, I’ll do anything, just don’t make me do this again. What do I have to do to get out of here? Edmonds: He says he’s think ing of a number. Voice: Jesus Christ. Fine (pauses) …£40,000. Edmonds: He’s made you the very generous offer of £30,000. Voice: That’s not what I… *end of transcript*
Hacks working for The News of the World have exposed the dark secret behind ‘Deal or No Deal’. Below is a transcript leaked to The Cheese Grater from a recent phone conversation from the popular TV show: (Phone ringing) Noel Edmonds: Hello? Voice: For the love of God let me out of here Noel! I want to die. Let me die!
9 Anniversary Edition The Cheese Grater
2011 - 2012: John Bell The Welcome Members’ meeting of November 2011 was one for the ages. It went very badly, and Union Chair Zubair Idris stated that the Union would “do a bit of soul-searching” to find out what went wrong. My tenure also saw the arrival of the hotly anticipated, and now much missed, “Society Frump”. But perhaps the biggest story of the year went unpublished. On 4th March 2012, Humour Editor Sam Gaus arrived 45 minutes early for a put-together, breathless, and covered in blood. “John, you have to help me.” He had been going door-to-door in Ramsay Hall with an iPad (so students could log in and vote him for DCO), a carrot (willing voters enjoy a tasty bite), and a stick (less willing voters enjoy a bosh on the head). “But I also brought a machete in case things got serious...” Please identify potential risks of reputational
damage to the University or UCLU. The words of my Union risk assessment, still fresh in mind nine months after completion. I was in over my head. Who should I call – the police? Malcolm Grant? Sam’s mum? Democracy and Communications Officer James Skuse. Luckily he was having a few pints around the corner and made it up to my Archway flat within a couple of minutes. “Blimey James, that was quick – hope you didn’t have to make too rude an exit?” I asked, taking his vomit-stained coat, as Sam crumbled and wept. “No it’s alright, I was just on my own!” beamed Skuse. As I explained the situation, Skuse’s smile turned to a determined glare. “Cometh the moment, cometh James Skuse,” he muttered, lifting the now balled-up Sam in both arms and delicately placing him in the bathtub. I watched the hot water vapour
lick the lip of the doorframe. When Investigations Editor Hannah Sketchley arrived, Sam and I were sitting around the table, trying to think of a new word for “cock”. She never knew what went on that day, although she did ask several times why our hair was wet, why there was blood everywhere, and why James Skuse was sleeping naked in the bathroom. For the sake of Sam’s political career I hushed up this grotty tale, but I can stand the secret no longer.
A Letter From The Provost Dear Student, As you read this, your girlfriend from home is fucking someone else. Your girlfriend (with whom you spent teary evenings discussing not just the need to make “long distance” work, but also the tedious logistics of regular London-provinces commutes) whose face, still slathered in neon paint, is writhing on top of another man making noises that, in their difference from the noises she makes for you, would drive you mad with insecurity. Although you were going out for three months before she finally slept with you, she is fucking someone else whom she met no more than twenty-four hours ago but who, in the carefree way he distinguished himself at “prelash”, seemed like the antithesis of the staid and boring life that you represent. University, you will have often been told, is a time for personal growth and change and your girlfriend has decided to prove this by fucking someone other than you. Though she is still responding to your texts about the difficulty you’re having adjusting to student life, you may have noticed that she has not spent much time describing the people she’s met. This is because she is fucking one of
them. Your friend exhorted you to “think of the gash” you’d be passing up in order to have awkward phone sex while your creepy new flatmate listens through the paper-thin walls of your room. Last month, you drunkenly told the same friend that you couldn’t imagine life without her, but you also failed to imagine that she would be fucking the first male student she met who asked her what her A-levels were. In her sweaty, low-quality-MDMAenhanced bouts of fucking someone else, your girlfriend is finally shaking off the shackles of your relationship and feeling more like the person that she wanted to be but felt you stopped her from being. That’s what the word
“fine” means when you ask how she is. The picture of your girlfriend that you have on your corkboard has nothing on the picture that someone else now has on his phone. When you travel to meet her next week she will probably pay half your megabus fare out of guilt but as you lean against the same writing desk which someone else lifted her on to and fucked her, while suggesting that you see what’s on iPlayer, the chasm of excitement between you and someone else will grow immeasurably vaster in her mind; your relationship’s fate will be sealed. Yours faithfully, Malcolm Grant
10 Anniversary EditionThe Cheese Grater
2012 - 2013: Will Rowland Will ‘Growler’ Rowland took on the editorship in September 2012. Growler was a notorious ‘triple threat’: a bloody legend, a bona fide big shot, and a bad journalist. He didn’t know the news and had to lean on his capable sub-editors: unclubbable slappers Otto Webb and JoJo Dibbledson-Brown. The Autumn and Spring Issues focused on UCL’s ‘Masterplan’ to build a campus in Stratford and reallocate space in Bloomsbury. UCL’s plans to build on the site of the Carpenters Estate were going to cause seven hundred people to lose their homes. CG spoke to the residents and they didn’t fancy a move: “You have to fuck off, or you are going to have a war on your hands”, said one chap in response to UCL. The plans collapsed in May due to UCL’s and Newham Council’s inability to reach a commercial agreement. Meanwhile CG’s procurement of the unreleased ‘Bloomsbury Masterplan’ revealed an alarming trend within the
planned future of UCL towards corporatization, with “ten new cafés opening” and Malet Place being “transformed into a ‘teaching and learning high street’, with retailers invited in to set up shop in ‘under-used areas’... making the re-developed campus look like a shopping centre.” These plans are yet to come into effect. CG took delight in Pi Magazine absorbing the failing newspaper, reporting that “Pi Newspaper has been in a sorry state this year... The headlines read like snatches of overheard conversations: ‘Arts societies take performances on tour’” concluding that “this was only a merger inasmuch as a fox eating a dying pigeon can be said to be a merger”. After publication, the intersociety tension spilled over at a ‘Riveria’ themed party in a dank Fitzrovia basement, where a previous Pi Newspaper Editor and the current CG editor engaged in an educationally privileged Mexican standoff of chest puffing and shoulder grabbing.
The year also saw London Student editor Jen Isaakson emerging like Grendel’s mother from the fetid swamp of student journalism. CG reported across multiple issues her evil enterprises, such as “publishing the same article twice”, publishing a “transphobic article”, and taking a free trip from the Australian tourist board “on the condition that [she] advertised Australia in the newspaper.” In a fitting end, CG’s investigative editor wrested control of the London Student from her during the elections at the end of the year. The beast was slain, the peasants rejoices and King Hroðgar gave Webb many gifts, including the sword Nægling, his family’s heirloom.
The Secret Diary of Gregor Mendel November, 1852 My father caught me kissing Brigitta in the compost heap. He is displeased and has instructed me to take up a hob by. I have decided to breed wasps. I will be selecting for speed, aggression and strength of sting. February, 1853 My wasp breeding has had unexpect ed results. Frau Maria Shmidt from the village visited our house to complain about the buzzing and the wasps stung her head off. My father has instructed me to enter a monastery so I can no longer embarrass the family. June, 1854 Life in the monastery is difficult. The clothes are shapeless and the banter is stale. Friar Braun throws his rubbish at me and says because I touched it last I have to put it in the bin. I seek solace in the garden, amongst the peas.
July, 1854 I have begun to breed the peas in the grounds of the abbey. With rigor ous experimentation I have determined that when two peas have sex they make a baby pea. I have sent a letter full of peas to the University of Vienna, but am yet to hear back. May, 1860 Things have escalated into weirdness. It began by breeding white-flowering peas with purple-flowering peas, then peas with ants and, well, now I have bred a pea with a dog. I have named the off spring Harold. He is green and unhappy. October, 1864 Just when I thought things could not get any odder, blow me down, they have. I have been working very closely with the peas for such a long time and well, one thing leads to another, and needless to say, I am banging the peas. This is a definite low.
January, 1884 I have been struck ill with a severe and unpleasant malady. The doctors say it will pass, but I fear that there is something fundamentally toxic within the peas. Will we ever truly understand how a pea works? Certainly not, but what they can teach us about the world is invaluable. If I have seen further than most, it is by standing on the shoulders of a pea.
11 Anniversary Edition The Cheese Grater
2013 -2014: Hannah Sketchley According to experts on child development, at age ten The Cheese Grater should be looking to those older than it, and considering whether adulthood is something to be desired. It should be encouraged into physical exercise in order to maintain a good relationship with its body, and it ought to be making a first crack at independence from its parents in preparation for Big School. Seeya, Rene, we’ve got double science next! This precipitous year has so far not been uneventful. Despite pleas to make The Never Ending Tory finally end, and of course the traditional ‘new editor, new threat of legal action’ from an old friend of The Cheese Grater, both the website and our reputation remain intact. The violent eviction of occupying students from Senate House proved that the Age of Empires generation of students have learnt
nothing about defending a castle, gave us one of the first French headlines and a lot of Twitter followers. UCL Union jumped aboard the banned wagon and kicked both Robin Thicke and the Metropolitan Police off campus, quite possibly the only thing the two have in common – aside from regularly being twerked upon. We also made the bold leap of jettisoning the beginnings of stories from the front cover and picked some new fonts along the way, decisions which took longer than it did to put the bloody issues together. What will the tenth year of The Cheese Grater have in store? More late nights locked in the Media Suite, more pissy UCL alumni and our last chance to mock the eternal sabbatical officer and perpetual provider of Cheese Grater fodder before he is finally evicted from Bloomsbury politics. As the magazine stumbles out of this party,
wakes up somewhere unexpected and shakes off a hangover, editing it continues to be both an enormous pleasure and a threat to my health, academic achievement and happiness. Maybe we’ll even get an arts award back, thanks to tactical positioning of CG members on the Arts Committee. Thanks to Charlie ‘The Dog’ Hayton, Bo Franklin, Beatrice Kelly, Harriet Harper, Harry Pasek and Alexes Dutton and Daish, without whom the magazine’s contents, fonts and printing costs would be immeasurably worse.
Cockney Ergo Sum As part of the CG’s ‘Living History Programme’, we’ve interviewed some key players in the magazine’s history: This excerpt is from an interview with Albert Buckle (1902-) who worked for the CG for 20 years... Well blimey guv’nor! Ain’t nobody never asked yours truly to write about our beloved CG before, me being juss’ a ’umble paper seller an’ all. I firs’ started this job back in 1913 when the CG was jus’ two badly photocopied bits of A3 without a staple to be seen on its flimsy spine. Course, it’s probably changed now what with this being the age of the information super’ighway an’ all. My uncle used to work down ULU as a printer, back when they ’ad to print every letter by ’and with a stencil and a fel’ tip, and ’e used to say the followin’ to me all the time, and now I recall it was was the last fing ’e ever said to me (Spanish Flu combined with a predeliction for gin and bawdy houses) and I’ll never forget it:
“This pathetic rag could be something of merit one day if only it could dispense with its pseudo-intellectual and bourgeois pretensions, and stop being a shitty imitation of ‘Punch’. If these dickheads were even half as funny or clever as they clearly think they are, then somebody might actually read it for once”. ’Ow we laughed when ’e said that to us. But then, like a former editor’s ginger hair in the midst of an existential crisis, ’e left us, a man struck down well past his prime. We found ’im all rigor mortis’d with a look of ’orror on ’is face, very similar to that of Lauren Laverne when gripped in the arms of a certain ex-editor. Of course in those days the Great War was jus’ around the corner, and when brave little Belgium needed an ’and, us lads formed a UCL media battalion and headed right off to the front. It’s not particularly well known, but that’s where our motto ‘A diamond in a sea of shit’ came
from, because we’d keep printing even in the trenches and we always made a point of wiping our arses with PI-regiment’s publication, while keeping our beloved CG pristine. Many men died to keep that magazine clean. Mostly Northerners, though, so I’m not too broken up by it. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose, reader; plus c’est la même chose.
We would like to thank the numerous contributors to this very special issue for their effort and mutual antagonism over the years: Alex Ashman, John Bell, Scary Boots, Alex Daish, Eva von Datta, Alex Dutton, Hugh Foley, Bo Franklin, Beatrice Kelly, Charlie Haitian, Eddy Hare, David Hing, Hannah Hudson, Jenni Hulse, Rene Lavanchy, Emily McGovern, George Potts, Mark Ravinet, Thom Rhoades, Will Rowland, Hannah Sketchley, Richard Soames, Devin Toohey, Madeline Wee.
12 Anniverary Edition The Cheese Grater
Ten Years of Amazing Cheese Grater Facts! Definitely not the usual back page filler made up at the last minute
Malcolm Graph
If every printed issue were lain end to end, they would stretch from the Portico steps to the postcode of E17, birthplace of the band E17 So 90s!
An area the size of Hull has been turned into paper for The Cheese Grater
The total height of all the printed issues would be 18.4m! That’s the same height as 18.4 one-meter tall elephants
The Cheese Grater is 4 awards away from an EGOT
In Memoriam Bo Treadwell, who starred in Graters’ 2012 Edinburgh show, passed away earlier this month. Playing the lead role, he gave a perfectly pitched performance as the smarmy anti-hero Julian. Acting was one of the many talents of an exceptional person; Bo was warm, gregarious, funloving, and unforgettable. His infectious sense of fun was immediately evident dur-
If you divide the height of the Eiffel tower by the compound height of all the editors, you get a number higher than 20 The Cheese Grater is empirically over 20 times better than Paris! ing the first Graters’ social where he instigated the quaffing of prosecco, ‘leg-gunning’ and scored a strike on a set of pint glasses at a bowling alley. There are few people for whom the notion of living life to its fullest is so apt: in the years we knew him, he found the time to work as a farmhand in Australia, sneak into North Korea, and sell water to the Danish. Graters was just a small part of Bo’s rich and varied life, and he will always be missed by his
The Cheese Grater is technically still at war with Berwick-upon - Tweed
The number Pi is irrational, just like their decision to not stop printing
family and the wide circle of friends who adored him. We were lucky to know him.