"we're going on a Hunt hunt!"

The opportunities inherent in Jeremy Hunt's name are just too good to miss. And no, I don't mean an easy rhyme (CUlture secretary huNT? for god's sake, what an irresponsible posting) - I mean that it's inevitable that someone will eventually suggest that we Hunt Jeremy. And in this case the suggestion was made in the form of a Facebook event entitled "Operation TBC."

By the time we gathered in the drizzle at the entrance to SOAS, Operation TBC had already attracted a lot of quiet controversy - everybody weighing in pointing out that organising on Facebook was stupid and a good way to attract police attention to ringleaders and anyway, didn't somebody want to, um, say what the protest was actually ABOUT? Not that the secrecy had any effect at all after the SOAS SU president emailed the plans out to the entire school anyway. But secrecy has become a bit of an automatic reaction these days.

But perhaps we didn't need to be secretive; perhaps it wasn't expected that we'd want to pay Hunt a visit. After all, he's not to be held responsible for the cuts; he's the nice, safe, friendly culture and media secretary. And perhaps he would have had an unmolested evening if he hadn't been thrust into the centre of the controversy over Rupert Murdoch's takeover of BSkyB after an old friend of ours, Mr Cable, said some unwise things to journalists (hint to all politicians: please keep saying unwise things to journalists). And maybe he would have been able to finish his speech uninterrupted if he hadn't decided to have secret meetings with Murdoch's son. But, ce'st la vie. We should probably be slighly miffed at the idea of one man having full control of vast swathes of the British media - what would happen to all the politicians saying unwise things to journalists?

Hurrying from SOAS to LSE, we dropped into a newsagents to collect a selection of Mr Murdoch's finest newspapers, though without an entirely coherent plan of what to do with them. Or even exactly what we were going to do, full stop. Beside me in the newsagent's queue, a leading member of UKUncut rolled his eyes and remarked that "if I'm not banged up by the end of this week, I'll be so happy." Ex-occupiers from SOAS, LSE, UCL and Slade looked worriedly at their copies of the Sun, and the first person ever to have been arrested in an action against the cuts debated whether to buy an out of date copy of the Times. I wondered if the shopkeeper had noticed that much of the heart of the student movement had temporarily swarmed his shop.

By the time we reached LSE, that was what we were - a swarm of around a hundred students. Unfortunately, a rather lost swarm. Perhaps it's a brain game for the economic geniuses of LSE to try and find their way around their own university, or perhaps it's their way of conferring a sense of inferiority on the lower classes of students from the other London universities. Either way, how to get to any one building of LSE is a closely guarded secret. With cries of "well, this isn't conspicious" we circled the campus a few times until finally we spotted the New Academic Building - a construction which looks like the sort of place you go to sign up for secret medical tests - and faced the reality of Not Really Having A Plan. But we did have leaflets, newspapers, megaphones, and excitement. So we went for the old standby of when you don't have a plan - just walk in.

With the receptionist's nervous "um, security, a large number of students have just entered the building" echoing after us through the shiny lobby, we rushed down the stairs and reached the doors of the auditorium where Hunt was addressing an audience with suits and tickets. There we faced a  deadly problem: stewards. There's something about a handful of young eager t-shirted stewards with walkie-talkies that's infinitely more offputting than a battalion of TSG. We resigned ourselves to blocking the entrance, chanting and making speeches. For a second we faltered on the choice of chant; any obvious rhyme with Hunt would be, well, just too obvious. Someone suggested "minister for culture, Tory vulture" and we were so busy admiring it that we barely noticed an intreguing-looking corridor that seemed to scream "back entrance." Or at least most of us didn't. But as a steady stream of people did, it became inevitable that we'd just... take a look?

The door at the end of the corridor was open, and suddenly we were in the hall and in the words of one protestor: "oh, it's Jeremy Hunt - mint!"

Unfortunately at the centre of the swarm I couldn't make spot the Honourable Member's face, but it was best described by a UCL student as "I... look like I'm trying to appear amused but really I'm very deeply disturbed..." We let the chant slide so that Aaron (the UKUncutter and Daily Mail favourite) could ask the obvious: was Hunt really able to be a neutral arbiter in the decision over BSkyB? His question was met with boos from the audience - one can hardly expect an audience at LSE to be open to any sort of disruption - but claps, too. The question went unanswered. A steward asked us to please stop chanting - "this isn't a football match!" Aaron tried again: "are you able to be a neutral arbiter? We implore you, answer us, and we'll leave you to it." And it was then that Hunt delivered the answer that will no doubt be immortal in the annals of British political history: "yes, I am." And an audience member called us inarticulate. We remained in place for a moment, hoping for a slightly more detailed response, but the startled minister seemed to want to leave it there, so we marched out and let them get on with it with cries of "we are everywhere, Jeremy! Get used to this! From now on it's not business as usual!"

Outside we milled about for a moment arguing about the merits of the chant "tory scum, here we come" - "we have brains from the best universities in Britain, surely we can come up with something more imaginitive?" "it makes people think we're going to kick off, you should have seen Jeremy's face when we started chanting it" - and the conclusion we came to was to go to a pub. Outside a woman approached us, French and smartly dressed, and enquired if we were "the people who alleviated the boredom." We guessed we were and she smiled broadly - "thank you! You were the most interesting part of the talk! He was so complacent, just... performing. You get deja vous when you hear politicians speaking." So nice to know we improved somebody's evening.

Time came and went and the ending time of the event passed. It was time to go out and greet Hunt as he left but there was a slight problem; nobody knew where he was going, how he was leaving, and whether he was going to be smuggled out quietly through a back entrance. But never mind that. Slightly tipsy, brandishing our copies of the Times and the Sun, we set off on a Hunt hunt. Someone was fairly sure they'd identified the car he arrived in, so we went to search for it - and there it was, caught at a red light on Kingsway. A few people dived into the middle of the road to stand symbolically with the newspaper in the car's path and then... realised it wasn't Hunt after all. This was getting silly. Someone heard that he was attending a drinks reception afterwards ("student union bar?"); someone else started singing "we're going on a Hunt hunt, we're going to catch a big one". UCL occupation's Ben strolled up to a reception desk and asked the bemused, amused receptionist "excuse me, we're looking for Jeremy Hunt. He's a minister. You'd probably be able to spot him, he'll be flanked by security and look a little bit evil." The farce descended to the point that people were peering into recycling bins: "are you hiding in there Jeremy?" At this point we collectively realised that this had just got too silly, and left the dark and scary right-wing maze of LSE for the world outside.

It didn't go down well with some of the audience. It was unplanned, and mad, and ended in a blast of hilarious stupidity. It was also the first time I genuinely felt the student movement was back on track. Operation TBC might not quite tip the balance towards a freer media or nicer Tories, but we certainly manage to make a rather obvious point: if as a government you really want to cut funding to universities, you probably won't get a quiet evening if you decide to visit one. Are we really able to be everywhere? At least within the university of London? Yes, we are.