The Cheese Grater recently went un- dercover during the initiation ceremony of UCL’s equivalent to the Bullingdon Club, the Wolfson Club. On meeting new member Jonty Reardon-Whence, who wishes to remain anonymous, I find a nervous-looking first year His- tory student who seems uncomfortable in his top hat and tails.
After necking a 1994 vintage bot- tle of Lambrini, Jonty is made to kneel in front of his fellow members on the Portico steps and promise his loyalty to the Wolves, chanting the age-old man- tra ‘Lingua mea faveat essem vobiscum, papa buoba diop’. At this point UCL Estates ask the twenty-strong troupe to move on, so they rowdily head for the bar of ULU, arriving just in time for Takeshi’s Karaoke. Here Jonty is forced to sing Toploader’s Dancing in the Moonlight while the Head Wolf soaks him in Prosecco, a rite first performed by Mill and Bentham. Jonty then lays a crisp twenty down on the bar, Her Maj- esty seemingly looking up in despair at the future doctors, lawyers, politicians and, in his case, customer service assis- tant.
After being asked to leave by ULU security, and briefly returning to claim the change from the £20, the group proceed up Tottenham Court Road, pausing outside Spearmint Rhino and asking for a free dance before shouting ‘new money plebs’ as they are asked to move on.
The night ends in Icco’s pizza house, where Jonty is forced to stuff ten pizza order buzzers down his trousers whilst simultaneously eating a whole Mar- gherita. He manages two slices before the electrical spasms emanating from his groin become too great, and he col- lapses in a fit of vomit and half-digested pizza. Having failed the initiation, Jon- ty is abandoned by the other Wolfsons. Without the protection of the group, his chances of survival are slim. I leave him, order buzzers still flashing from beneath his pants, to pick up the pieces of his broken dream. And some pieces of unfinished pizza.