Izzie Moull, fourth year history student, explains why she “fucking hates The Cheese Grater” over a trough of water:
“This publication has ruined my fucjuing life.” She says, taking a brief break from dunking her head in the trough in this field on the outskirts of Cirencester.
She insisted on taking me here, I don’t know where we are, or how we got here.
She continues: “I keep on trying to find ways of ruining this shit: sending stupid emails, siphoning the printing budget on hay, publishing our shitty articles all over the place. God. I was the fucking satire editor why on earth have they let me do this?”
She begins to pace anxiously around the field (paddock, she later corrects me).
With several other publications running within UCL, I ask Izzie what they think really sets The Cheese Grater apart from the rest of the crowd:
“Our sincere and absolute lack of journalistic integrity. It was important for me coming up from satire to make sure the editorial team applied the standards I was used to. I get quite nervous when things change. Like really spooked actually genuinely spooked. Some people have said our editorial standards are worse than The Mail’s and I think that’s quite offensive to The Mail. We’re shit. And I want us to be shitter like of the Ramsay fame.”
And what about impartiality? Is that important for a student publication?
“NEIGHHHHH!!! Sorry, something in my throat there. Did you hear that? Really strange sounds in this neck of the woods. Impartiality is bullshit. I don’t give a shit what my team say as long as they agree with me and as such agree with the Cotswold District Council. I run a tight herd around here, I don’t tolerate any deviating from my dogmatic presidential ideology. I will KILL this publication.”
After recently having won Highly Commended for best publication in London at the regional SPAs, it is clear that The Cheese Grater is UCL’s largest and most popular publication. I’m intrigued to know why Izzie got into student journalism in the first place.
“They were giving out sugar cubes at the freshers fair. I genuinely couldn’t resist. Going onto committee was a similar mistake. During first year my competitor for satire editor and I were walking down Gower Street and a fire engine sounded its horn. I got really spooked and kicked him in the head. I literally killed my way onto the committee. Rebekah insists I wear blinders now when we walk anywhere together. At least they’re green so they always match my bridle, wait, shit, sorry, coat.”
She then begins to trot uncontrollably around the so-called ‘paddock’, shaking her head and making a sound that I can only describe as ‘whinnying’.
Unfortunately, our interview was cut short as Izzie’s trotting became more frantic and she stumbled, tripping over a loose root of a tree. As she was wailing in agony and I was trying to get an answer to my final question a tall man came out of the nearby house.
I was perplexed by Izzie’s big pleading eyes as the man brought what looked like a pistol with an adapted muzzle to her head.
The shot was quick and painless.
When I asked the man what was in Izzie’s future after The Cheese Grater he said simply: “GLUE”.