The burger revolution is upon us. The old favourite has been reincarnated with trendy buzzwords such as ‘free range’ and ‘locally reared’, and a price tag to match. Jumping whole-heartedly onto the sesame-topped bandwagon is The Oxford Organic Burger Company Ltd (and you know they mean business by the capital letter of the definite article).

Now, I feel obliged to declare that my own relationship with the burger has a shady past. When I was too young to know better, (though old enough to look upon the meagre Happy Meal with distain), I regarded a termly pilgrimage to the golden arches as gastronomic bliss. The retina-bruising strip lights and sticky plastic benches scarred with pre-ban fag burns just seemed a part of the experience. As you can see, the revolution is long overdue.

Step inside the Cowley restaurant and the operative word ‘organic’ is neatly extended to the well thought out décor; with acres of slate, exposed brick, and log stools which lend a Faraway Tree feel to the bar. When the food appears on thick wooden slabs crudely hacked into plate-like form, one can almost imagine this as dinner at the Shire opposite Frodo Baggins. Until the organic Heinz tomato ketchup makes its entrance, that is.

A good burger with chips is a beautiful thing. It is an emblem of simple pleasure in a world filled with exams, job applications, student loans, and decisions about which pub to frequent. Its reassuring consistency is something to find solace in when feeling fragile. You know there will be meat. There will be bread. There will be deep-fried potato.

If you feel able to cope with an additional ingredient the Oxford Blue burger (£8 inc. chips) comes highly recommended, providing you can forget its painfully punned title. The lump of meat comes adorned with oozing stilton which seems inexplicably attracted to chins and white t-shirts.

I must add that the chips here are exceptional; the perfect size with a skins-on earthiness; and on my numerous visits, never have I been subjected to the frequent, heart-sinking disappointment that is The Underdone Chip.

It pains me to say that the milkshake sampled was, quite frankly, a letdown. Admittedly my childish nostalgic glee had driven my levels of expectation into orbit (as did the astronomical £4 price tag), but the grainy, icy, tasteless cream was a poor effort.

It seems they have mastered the art of grilled and fried produce, but not yet frozen, for my iced yoghurt dessert (£3.50) was a similar disappointment. Though it proclaimed to be passionfruit, I had trouble discerning any flavour other than that sickly synthetic taste which is now validated under the ambiguous umbrella term ‘tropical’.

The Oxford Organic Burger Company also do breakfast (10am till midday), cocktails, and a stonking weekday lunch offer where £6 will bag you burger, chips and beer; and who doesn’t love a lunchtime drink? If this doesn’t tempt you to join the revolution, nothing will.

Walking into the Oxford Union, the first thing we noticed about Quentin Blake was the little white plimsolls poking from underneath the table. Slightly unconventional considering he was wearing a suit and it was snowing outside.

Delightful though it was to see the curious choice of footwear, it was not entirely unsurprising, as children’s writer Roald Dahl used to note this feature of his wardrobe: “here’s old Quent, he’s going out for dinner in his plimsolls!'” When speaking to Blake, it’s hard to keep eye contact, as his hands seem to constantly sketch out his thoughts. His hands are just as expressive as his words. That, perhaps, is the secret to his success as a popular illustrator for almost half a century.

Most renowned for his collaboration with Dahl, Blake illustrated more than twenty of his books. Collaboration is, indeed, the right word for their working relationship, as his drawings have become synonymous with Dahl’s work. In fact, editions illustrated by other artists have been greeted with disdain, while the characters in film adaptations of the books stray from Blake’s depictions at their peril.

Having been put together by their shared publisher, what started as a working relationship eventually developed into a close friendship held together by their shared vision of the finished product; “with the Dahl books I would take them down and see what he thought of them. He mostly said ‘Quent always gets it right’. I didn’t quite always get it right” Blake says, in a typically modest fashion.

Blake’s persistence in doing his character’s justice is what makes his and Dahl’s style unique. By the end of the book, the combination of story and drawings means that you are fully acquainted with all aspects of the character, something which Blake himself discovered.

“By the time you’re doing the final illustrations of the book you feel you know what that person looks like” he says. “If you look at the rough drawings you’ve started off with, you realise they weren’t quite like that; it’s as if you’ve got to know the characters by drawing them”.

Blake’s drawings are notorious for their scribbled nature. “I think I came to it almost by accident really, by doing rough drawings and finding they were better than the finished drawings,” Blake says, noting how the spontaneous quality of his work is its strength. He describes the process involved in his drawings, where he begins with an initial sketch, which evolves into the finished piece- complete yet nevertheless maintaining the endearing appeal of his images.

Quentin Blake is always drawing, the sketchy nature of his work ideal for constantly scribbling down new creations. In fact, The Life of Birds, one of his favourite books, was created from a sequence of random drawings: “and then I thought ‘perhaps I’ll just make a book out of it'” he muses.

As we speak to him, we can understand that his restless hands are permanently at work at what he repeatedly refers to as ‘the cooking process’, and it is for this reason that we can believe the image of his jotting pad beside his phone that he describes. “I’ve got a whole collection of stuff,” he says, “I don’t know if they’ll ever get published, called Telephone drawings”.

Blake, however, is never out of work, having written many of his own books, and recently illustrated David Walliams’ new book, The Boy in the Dress. When we bring it up, he smiles wryly, saying “it’s nice to be able to illustrate for somebody who’s half your age!”

On mentioning the controversy surrounding the children’s book, which seems to imply a level of autobiography, thus suggesting that Walliams himself, a proclaimed lothario, was himself struggling with his sexuality. Blake smiles: “I didn’t know there was any”. We leave it at that, not wanting to embark upon a transvestite-based conversation with this sweet plimsoll clad man.

Unlike other artists who try and justify their skill through treating their work as culturally significant, Blake is keen to deny any great talent on his part; “You can’t think about it, you just have to start drawing and seeing what you discover.” His keenness to bring art to the masses has led to his participation in the annual Big Draw, and his close association with a new museum of illustrations based in Dulwich.

We ask Blake what else he has lined up for the future. With Dahl’s granddaughter, Sophie’s new writing career, we suggest that he might be tempted to continue the Dahl-Blake tradition with the inspiration of the BFG. “Well I’d certainly consider it! I think she’s making out alright with the illustrator she’s got actually!”

He is, however, eager to continue his work on literary classics. Having enjoyed great success with Quentin Blake’s Christmas Carol, (“that title was not my idea!” he is quick to establish), he would be keen to try some more Dickens (“I’m a great admirer”, he says).

After that, who knows what to expect from a man with a distinctive drawing style and a catalogue of much-loved books which are a permanent feature of most people’s shelves. Quentin Blake has been a part of the lives of millions of people, and he has no intention of stopping at the grand age of seventy six.

Oh, Oxford! Oh, beating heart of knowledge! Oh, trembling epicentre of debate! Your archaic colleges, witnesses to so many years of intellectual conquests; your libraries, famed for their extraordinary collections; your English Faculty on St Cross road, and the handwriting on the walls of the female toilet cubicles!

Who would have thought that so much could be learnt outside of the lecture theatres, the reading lists and the tutorials? That these stirrings of the truths of life are forevermore embedded into the university’s sanitary facilities?

This is not criminal graffiti. Oh no. This is the detailed etchings of students who are feverish to liberate their wisdom from the captivity of their minds, to impart it to other seekers of knowledge. These noble writers and their fair readers share the need for discussion, new concepts, confrontations, and the toilet.

What joy can be found in time-constrained wisdom, with its potential forced out in the time it takes to ‘do one’s business’. Strange looks from those waiting outside may occur when caught emerging from a cubicle either chuckling, contemplating, or after having spent an unexpectedly long time inside.

Yet these stares do nothing to deter the Truth-Seeker from dwelling between those white walls so as to revel in their quotes, comments and fantastic pretentiousness. And The World agrees: this year American author Doug Rice published From the Stall, a chronicle of some of the most insightful pieces of writing on the walls of the bathrooms in some of Michegan’s universities. Also this year, an exhibition at New York’s Nicholas Robinson Gallery featured a painting of bathroom wall graffiti by Munich-based artist Florian Süssmayr.

Of course, neither example quite reaches the levels attained by the Oxford University English student. One artist in Cubicle III proclaims, in a rather virulent pink highlighter, her sense of exclusion and injustice in being ‘a lonely queer, who did not study Latin, went to a crap school and is a dwarf’.

Yet she is still in a place of which many others can only dream. The English Faculty toilets. There are around 600 female English students – a meagre five percent of the total undergraduate population. The walls can be hidden no longer. The time has now come to flick back their locks, embrace men and non-English students alike, and expose the wonders therein…

A journey through the cubicles begins with someone’s suitable introduction of ‘an Oxford University Bathroom Stall… witticisms, pop culture references, self portraits’, and a drawing of girl wearing a badge which reads ‘freedom for toilet wall ART’. The great detail and size suggests that this particular student was in the cubicle for rather a long time, even by English Student Standards, but she puts the point across well.

Literary quotes abound, of course, with Cubicle II providing the perfect space for boasting about one’s capacity to memorise and recite. A quote from King Solomon’s Mines, a favourite among first-years, is used by a recluse to assert ‘I’m still alive, I’m still alive’, and an elegant hand has written ‘She seemed at once the penance lady elf, the demon’s mistress, or the demon’s self’. Any guesses as to the poet? (Answer: Keats).

The same cubicle also showcases everyone’s favourite: Jane Eyre. The famous line of ‘Reader I married him’ receives the response that, unfortunately, ‘He ruined me’ and the comment ‘well, that’s what you get for saying ‘yes, sir’ when he asked. Look it up’. Ah, Jane Eyre banter. It’s underrated.

As well as knowledge of literature, some students also go out of their way to demonstrate the key work skills that are also needed to be a Good English Student and write a first-class essay. A cheeky girl altered Dryden’s ‘A milk white hind, immortal and unchang’d’ by adding a ‘be’ prefix to the ‘hind’ (get it, get it?), and the eloquent conclusion of ‘doth grace this plastic seat of porcelain curved’. What a clear and practical demonstration of the usefulness in adapting every quote to the purpose intended, toilet humour included.

Literary devices, also, are advertised – most enthusiastically in the declaration by one student that ‘ALLITERATION IS BETTER THAN SEX! It’s perhaps not a unanimous decision, but it is a touching portrayal of enthusiasm for one’s subject. Another work skill, referencing, was instilled by one student who drew an arrow to a quote of poetry to label it as an extract from Wordsworth’s The Prelude. ‘Acknowledge your quotes, woman’, she demands. Indeed.

Cubicle IV will teach you a brief definition of ‘Tragedy’ and remind you of the importance of rigorous grammar, spelling and punctuation checks. ‘If you’ve got a full-stop, you need a verb’ a student advises. One poor victim made the mistake of making a mistake on the sacred wall. Sin of sins, she failed to recognise a pun. ‘Must be a first-year’, a more erudite superior writes, as everyone else nods in condoling agreement.

Is this nitpicking, as an angry red marker-pen accuses in fierce capitals? No no, it is necessary instruction, after all – everyone’s a winner in the spell-check game. What would Milton say? Will lectures ever stop being terrifying? What is your favourite novel? Cubicle III will ask these of you, and invite you to consider seriously your answers. ‘Milton, Shelley and Blake shall smash the bourgeois state!’ is another prominent comment, particularly with the response underneath it from another writer that ‘you ARE the bourgeois state!’

These questions, these invitations to Thought, these constructive criticisms. Fortunately, those in charge of the English Faculty’s amnesties have recognised the need to preserve these wall etchings, obviously understanding their importance in the reputation of ‘English at Oxford’.

One student questioned whether ‘this will still be here when I come back’, and although it did indeed avoid any caretaker’s assault, it was promptly scribbled out by blue biro for being ‘pointless’. Such empty words should not occupy such precious space.

The writing on the wall has come a long way since its first invention in Ancient Rome. The first examples of ‘graffiti’ survive on the walls of Pompeii, preserved for two-thousand years under volcanic ash; messages such as ‘burglar, watch out!’ and ‘I don’t want to sell my husband’ would perhaps not be appropriate nowadays.

All that time ago, one Roman wrote ‘I am amazed, O wall, that you have not collapsed and fallen, since you must bear the tedious stupidities of so many scrawlers’. Tedious stupidities! What an accusation! Did he not realise the profundity, the wisdom, the intellectual feats obtained by his fellow men? Perhaps the wall art of Pompeii was not quite of the standard of that of the English Faculty.

A reasoned assessment, naturally, yet still amongst our own contemporaries there are echoes of this Roman writer’s fury. ‘YOU ARE ALL FRAUDS!’ is screamed in multi-coloured bubble letters across the length of Cubicle II. ‘This is THE MOST pretentious graffiti I’ve ever read’, cries out a red-felt tip.

Well, of course! These walls do nothing to hide their self-importance – they embrace it, scribble it around the loo-roll holder, on the doors, high up above the level of seated eyesight. And therein lies the Ecstasy! This is their Thrill Factor, this is their privilege to uphold the OOSS (Ostentatious Oxford Student Stereotype)! Whether you relish the poetical quotes, the grammatical instructions or learn that Lemon Drizzle cake is ‘the most important, profound, meaningful discovery made at Oxford University… ever’, these walls will encourage self-induced self-importance and intentional incontinence.

Oh anonymous authors, where are you? Your bravery to sharpen your pencil and scribble for the sake of your University and your Subject is unrivalled. Show yourself, acknowledge your wittiness, your wisdom and your wiles as well as you reference your essays.

Your genius is at work whilst that of your revered authors sits on the pages upstairs and that of your lecturers in the next door rooms passes over the heads of many. Take longer in the bathroom and incorporate Cubicle Time into your lecture schedule (the second one down needs particular work). You are the Read. You are the Wisdom. Listen to Cubicle III – ‘TAKE BACK THE BLANK’.