How I left my mark on Sheffield. Sort of.
Apologies in advance for the detail, but I feel it makes up for the shame I'm about to put on myself. Those who know me on here... well, I'm just sorry...



I've always been a bit of a music critic. Ask me my opinions on music and I'll happily eulogise for hours on the merits of any band you bring up.

So much so, that whilst I was at uni I decided to do something about it, and join the student union magazine.

As you can imagine, it was full of self-righteous wannabee journos - Che Guevara t-shirts, ironic badges, Sartre novels, that sort of thing. Except I was a hulking great Engineering student with an interest in voicing my opinions on Joy Division and the like.

Anyway, I was taken in by the literary sorts and we ploughed our journalistic furrow quite well - our readership started to grow and so we decided to celebrate this by having a social night at the union.

Even better - I was asked to DJ for a bit, warming up for the main club DJs who were following up later on... Finally, my dreams were realised - not only would an unwitting public have had to read my opinions on music, they'd have to listen to my favourite bands too.

So, come the night, I did my set, had a few drinks bought for me and danced my merry way. Then, I heard the immortal words:

"Scentless, you know it's a free bar for the DJs, don't you???"

OH. MY. GOD. Only Jenny McCarthy walking in with nothing but a smile and making hay with me in the middle of the dancefloor could have beaten this situation.

So, as you have read in many of these stories, I caned it. Big time. Vodka was and is still my spirit of choice, so I glugged on it with abandon, only stopping my libations to breath, scratch my nose or chat up the talent. I even managed to fit in a fair few bottles of Stella too.

And then. About 4 hours into my Leaving Las Vegas tribute, it hit me. I couldn't walk. The bouncer had spotted this, and was threatening me with expulsion, so I decided to take a seat, get some composure, and give myself a break.

Except when the young lady who had been eyeing me up all night came over, I was anything but composed. I vomited all over her, then was dragged to the nearest window by my good editor mate, and henceforth spewed out of the window, and down the wall of the Student Union.

Now as many of you who have ever visited Sheffield will know, the Student Union is bang across from the front entrance of Sheffield Railway Station.

And lo, as it was, on that Saturday evening, that I coated the Union walls in a thin film of vomit, in front of many late night commuters to and from the Steel City. It took me a good 10 minutes to finish up, at which I was forcibly ejected out of the Union and carried to a mate's house by him and 3 others (apart from a short stop at Kebabish on London Road, me propped up against a lampost, unconscious).

I repaid my mate's help by wetting myself on his settee, and legging it at about 7am before he'd woken up and seen my mess (I later claimed I'd spilt water on his settee whilst trying to sober myself up). Staggering through Sheffield City Centre on a Sunday morning, covered in vom, stinking of piss and still smashed is not the most pleasant experience in the world, but at least I now know how a wino feels.

The worst thing about it all? I was still living at home at the time. When I stumbled in to the Scentless family seat, the look I got from my mum was one of those "I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed" ones. I just mumbled some explanation, staggered upstairs and passed out for 10 hours. The interrogation I got afterwards was awful, I think Dustin Hoffman had it easier in Marathon Man.

The best thing about it all? The Union never cleaned the sick off the walls. So for a good few weeks, there was a stream of vom on the walls facing Sheffield Station, for all those entering the Steel City to see. Brilliant.

Amazingly, no-one in the club that night was offended, I was a nailed-on legend for the rest of my tenure, and as a result of abusing a freebie, my vomit was a Sheffield landmark for a short period of time. Now how often can you say that?

Oh, and yes, I now teach children. The nation's future, in my hands.
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Sun 11 Nov 2007, 19:19, 5 replies)

This was of course
When the NMB was actually used as an SU. It's moved down to the teapots these days!
( jim_bob can herd cats., Sun 11 Nov 2007, 21:21, closed)

NMB gone now.
They've just knocked the NMB down. Sadly we are now stuck in the rather striking HUBS. The former site of the Pop Music Museum.

Ho and indeed Hum.
(kickstandrich last had sex with your mum/sister/wife/daughter on, Sun 11 Nov 2007, 23:20, closed)

yea the hubs suck
but at least kebabish on london road is still there :)
( Reme Philips laid an epic dump on, Mon 12 Nov 2007, 7:15, closed)

I remember the NMB
and the alleyway behind and round it known (amongst us) as Buggery Alley.

We quickly left it behind, as it, and the events there, were generally wank.

The Hubs - I remember the Insoms and other nights there and worked as security/naughty naughty dancey man!

A good SU venue...

Anyone remember the smallest Natwest in the world at the back - still did everything the oldfashioned way and allowed Midland people like me to wildly exceed our overdraft limits!
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Mon 12 Nov 2007, 13:58, closed)

I have to say
I actually quite like the hubs. Although it would be a damn site better if hallam had some proper guests and bands to events like sheff uni do. Pendulum tonight at the tuesday club!
( MadAdamUk was last alive on, Tue 13 Nov 2007, 11:56, closed)