I used to paint my mother's shed every week.

I would paint the shed, mow the lawn, wash the car. I'd do all sorts of nasty jobs each week just to get £5 of pocket money.

Every Wednesday night was student night in town.

I would get the money and every Wednesday go out to the off licence and buy three litres of cheap shitty cider and have enough left to buy a pint in a pub.

I drank my shitty cider at the bottom of the stairs in a shitty rocker bar called bodegas in Barnsley. I did it every week, I shared my cider with a tramp on a regular basis (every few weeks) he stunk, and had a patchy Mohawk; by patchy i mean it looked like it had been cut with toe nail scissors. I'd get wasted on the cider go upstairs and buy a pint of cheap bitter that tasted like candy floss, it only cost 99p. In those days everyone that was out in town knew each other, you could go out and meet all your friends that all went out every week; life was sweet, nothing to worry about.

Once the barman came down and kicked off because we were drinking drink that he didn't sell us at the bottom of his stairs, he was a short beardy fella called tweedy. He didn't like the fact that most of the people in his shitty bar sat at the bottom of the stairs drinking off licence bought drinks. He kicked me out and told me to come back when I didn't have the cider, so I drank it all down, all that was left anyway (about a litre) he watched as I coughed it down I gave him an evil look and went back in to get my pint of candy floss.

We'd always get wasted at the bottom of those stairs. It was a strange place, there was always a big box of wooden coat hangers at the bottom of the stairs, we'd get drunk and throw the coat hangers across the street at the trendy pub on the corner. Tommy Wallocks it was called. We’d get drunk and throw our coat hangers, almost every week. I was only sixteen and £5 went a long way when cider cost 99p a litre and a pint of candy floss was also 99p.

We'd drink till we were wasted on cheap off licence drink have a pint of candy floss and go to the club; which in those days was a rock club and free to get in before 11pm. I liked the way I stuck to the floor in that place, a proper dive, but that's the way I like 'em.

We'd come out of the Club a 3 in the morning and I'd walk the 6 miles home because I couldn't afford the taxi.

Staggering home, just another wasted drunk