Fellowes, 21, a fourth year Classicist at Trinity, is the first son of Lady Cynthia Jane Spencer, the older sister of the Princess of Wales and the Hon. Sir Robert Fellowes, former private secretary to the Queen.

The chain of events that led to the carnage in The White Hart in Fyfield, ten miles from Oxford, on 1st December began when a man calling himself Colin McKenzie made a reservation for 14 people in the pub's dining cellar. An investigation by The Oxford Student reveals 'Colin McKenzie' is a pseudonym for Fellowes, who made the reservation on behalf of The Bullingdon Club, Oxford's most exclusive and controversial drinking society, which is made up primarily of old Etonians.

When contacted by The Oxford Student on the telephone number given with the reservation, Fellowes admitted his real identity and confessed he had attended the event, but insisted it was not a meeting of the Bullingdon Club. "It was not the Bullingdon Club, just a group of friends on an evening out that got out of control," he said. When he was contacted by The Daily Telegraph in December, on the same number, Fellowes admitted to making the reservation under a false name but refused to reveal his true identity.

Landlord of The White Hart Ian Rogers told this newspaper the man he knows as Colin McKenzie, now proven to be the Trinity College aristocrat, twice admitted to him that the trashing of the pub was an event of The Bullingdon Club, once in the vicinity of two police officers and a second time when the man returned to the pub to pay the balance of the damages, which totalled £490. Rogers also told this newspaper that on challenging Fellowes on the second occasion, asking: "Were you really The Bullingdon Club?" The man responded: "Yes, even though I told The Daily Telegraph we were not."

He admitted that the violence was premeditated and then added: "I am not currently in the club, I am a prospective member."

The Oxford Student's investigation conclusively reveals the man who booked the restaurant as 'Colin McKenzie' is in fact Fellowes who is the first cousin of Prince William, second in line to the throne.

This newspaper has obtained signed statements from Rogers, an employee at the pub and a customer on the night in question stating that the photograph of Fellowes obtained by The Oxford Student was the man who led the group into the pub and who paid the bill after the rest of the group were ejected by Rogers.

Rogers recounted the events of 1st December: "The group were impeccably dressed in jackets and ties, tweeds and dinner suits and were very polite. After filing into the beautiful setting of the underground cellar that had been booked exclusively for their use, the group immediately became boisterous and began to bang their fists on the tables."

After about five minutes, Rogers went into the beer cellar after hearing two glasses smash. He found one member of the club with "a deep cut on his cheek, he was bleeding a lot onto his shirt".

The injured man refused all offers of help and two other members intervened to reiterate that he did not want a plaster or any assistance. In addition to noting this odd behaviour, Rogers commented that despite being extremely polite to him and his staff, the men's language when addressing each other contained "graphic swear words" and was "very antagonistic".

When making their reservation, all the men ordered the same starter and main course; smoked salmon followed by steak. The reservations book at The White Hart shows the party specifically mentioned they would not be requiring dessert.

Soon after he and his waitresses had delivered the main courses to the men, Rogers said he heard "an eruption of noise". After running into the cellar he encountered a shocking scene: "All the food and plates had been thrown everywhere and they were jumping on top of each other on the table like kids in a playground."

The experience took on a surreal nature as each time Rogers confronted a member "they apologized profusely but offered no explanation". The Club also continued its violence as only two wine bottles out of 20 remained intact as the rest were smashed on the walls and thrown across the room.

Rogers shouted at the group and managed to herd them out of the fire exit that leads from the cellar and as they left, one of the group smashed the adjacent window with a wine bottle. However as Fellowes made to leave Rogers "grabbed hold" of him and marched him back to the bar,

Fellowes paid the £596 bill in cash and then offered a further £500 in notes for the damages. Rogers only accepted £100 for damages although Fellowes tipped the waitresses a further £200.

Rogers, who recently renovated the beamed 15th century pub, added: "At no time did I have fear for the safety of myself, they were almost over-polite when I first served them with the wine."

After the police arrived at the scene, the sergeant on duty ordered the arrest of all 14 men before realising that only four cells were available, a situation described by Rogers as "absolutely ridiculous".

The four men who were arrested on suspicion of causing criminal damage were all interviewed the following morning and released after being given £80 fixed penalty notices. Rogers expressed frustration to The Oxford Student that the students were treated so leniently.

"I am furious with Thames Valley Police for the inaccuracies and mistakes they have made that enabled the culprits to escape with fixed penalty fines," he said. "If the police had asked me if I was happy for them to be given fixed penalties, I would have said 'no'."

Fellowes was one of the four men on The Bullingdon Club trip to The White Hart who was arrested, kept in cells overnight and given an £80 fine shortly before being released the next morning.

Rogers has since informed a Thames Valley Police Inspector that he would like to make an official complaint about the police handling of the matter and he has been told that the force are aware that this is, "a very serious complaint" and will be contacted by a Superintendent sometime today Thursday).

He also told The Oxord Student of his frustration that when he contacted the police, they refused to name the members of the club who were arrested and issued with fines: "I could not understand why the police were being so uncooperative."

It is not known whether the University is pursuing any disciplinary action against any of the four who were arrested. The Proctors' Office told this newspaper: "We do not comment on individual students' cases."

However it is possible that Trinity College will take discplinary action. Rogers told this newspaper: "Today [Wednesday] I received a call from the man I know as Colin McKenzie, he informed me that I may receive a call from Trinity as he was 'in trouble' with the college."

When The Oxford Student contacted Fellowes, who told The Daily Telegraph in December: "People may get sent down over this," he said "I am in enough trouble as it is."

Alexander Fellowes is an Old Etonian who is President of the Claret Club, an Old Etonian Society which counts Trinity President Hon. Michael Beloff QC amongst its members. Fellowes's father was appointed as the Queen's Private Secretary in 1992 and drafted her first speech after the death of Diana in 1997. His mother, Lady Cynthia Jane Spencer, is one of the elder sisters of the late Princess of Wales and gave a reading at her funeral in September 1997.

A party gathers in the cellar of a quiet country pub, suited and booted. Charm and alcohol flow freely. The "millionaire boys" seem to make good customers: cash to spare and an insatiable thirst.

So what prompts this outwardly charming and apparently harmless group of individuals to cause hundreds of pounds worth of damage in unprovoked attacks on others' property?

To think that the ritualistic destruction of another's belongings is acceptable so long as it is paid for in vast sums? A desire to belong and get on as Harry Mount suggests on this page? Perhaps.

But the driving force behind the Bullingdon Club is money; the belief that having it should entitle you to act as you please, and that its immediate production should instantly solve your problems.

One might prefer to believe these people were solely driven by a deep rooted psychological inferiority complex, but it would be rather generous to attribute anything so logical to the members of The Bullingdon Club who acted so disgracefully.

Years of work have been put into battling this stereotype of Oxford as elitist, arrogant and snobbish institution. In just one evening, the members of The Bullingdon Club in question proved this stereotype is alive and well, though thankfully less frequently to be found than in previous years.

Juvenile, pathetic behaviour like that of some members of The Bullingdon Club undermines the progress of this institution and represents everything that is still wrong within the University.

Next time you pass a group of snotty-looking figures in navy blue tailcoats, strutting towards Christ Church's Peckwater Quad, noses in air, to be photographed for their annual picture, stop for just a second before heaving half a brick at them.

Heaving a brick is the logical and right thing to do. What the members of the Bullingdon did to that Fyfield pub was beyond the Pale; however apologetic they were to Ian Rogers, the White Hart's landlord, it could never make up for their disgusting my-fun-is-more-crucial-than-your-laundry-bill attitude.

But as you take aim with your brick, if you look closely at the faces of those Bullingdon members, you'll see the real emotion behind those ice-cold arrogant, laughless expressions. These are not people intent on causing violence and destruction. They are people who are desperate a) to belong and b) to get on.

Why else would you join an organisation that means getting your room trashed? Why else would you pay £100 for the privilege of being sick and very possibly beaten up? When I was in the Bullingdon, I paid £100 to be rolled down a hill in a Portaloo by a Hungarian count in a field 20 miles out of Oxford. It was the climax of the summer gathering of Oxford's Bullingdon Club in 1993. The cubicle skipped a couple of revolutions and came to a juddering halt. Like a crestfallen Dracula climbing out of his coffin, I gingerly lifted the door; fortunately the door was facing the sky.

My deep blue tailcoat dripped electric blue cleaning fluid as I scrambled back up the hill, manufacturing a crude version of a laugh to show how much I was enjoying myself. And yet, despite this misery, I returned the next year to go through the same old ritual. And ritual is the word; what the Bullingdon did to the White Hart - and each other - is ritualised violence, violence aimed at showing that they know how to do what is expected of them; that is, give a convincing impression of licentious behaviour. When it comes to their exams, they will all aim for top degrees with the same dogged application they brought to breaking bottles of Chablis over each other's crania. From my Bullingdon generation, there are now four businessmen, three bankers, three lawyers, two art historians, two journalists and an MP.

Occasionally rogues like Darius Guppy have been members. But the Bullingdon, like all society clubs, is more likely to attract those people who want to belong and get on in life. And this means that future journalists - such as former member David Dimbleby - and MPs proliferate. Alan Clark and Boris Johnson were in the Bullingdon.

In my time in the club, we would meet in a private room in a pub in Thame, before heading on to the Bullingdon point-to-point. The talk consisted mostly of low-level teasing and light singing, interspersed with drinking games. There was no malice between the members, who tended to be close friends.

The violence in the White Hart sprouted from the same wellspring as the Hungarian count's behaviour towards me: a competition in playful joshing which becomes so extreme that members are prepared to break the natural bounds of consideration to their fellow human being.

It is an appalling competition, but not an evil one. As you pass this monstrous-looking group off to be photographed, put down your brick. Feel sorrow, not anger, for them. And feel thankful that you don't suffer from the same desperate desire to be wanted.