Although I was brought up in a curious mix of the streets of Wellgate and a flowery village in Rotherham, I still find my past year living in Sheffield to be the most influential and memorable chapter of my life so far.
For most of my life, I lived in Rotherham, constantly complaining about anything and everything. There was virtually nothing to do. Anywhere. Even the town centre was dwindling away day by day. Every weekend followed the usual course of action for me and my friends: either staying at someone’s house for a couple of days in autumn and winter or heading to the local field to sit in the sun with a shabby speaker during the subsequent spring and summer. Living in a little village, it was aggravating to wait for the hourly bus to Sheffield city centre, only for it never to turn up.
First gig in Sheffield – Antarctic Monkeys at O2
Even if my mate from Manchester cracks up because I’ve said ‘be reyt’ over the phone, even if I get shin splints from walking up all the hills just to get to my friend’s house, and even if I hear another story about how someone’s cousin knew Alex Turner, nothing could make me hate Sheffield. The pride oozes out of me, and I’ve found it’s commonplace here. The honour that most Sheffielders carry with them is something I have always admired. Hearing United fans boasting on Bramall Lane, how their team has filled their senses like a greasy chip butty. Listening to stories about how two friends moved across the country from Oxford all the way to Crookes. The adoration for Sheffield has never and will never die down.
I can easily label this past year in Sheffield as the best experience I’ve had so far, and I can’t see myself leaving anytime soon. When I return to Rotherham to visit my friends, I can’t help but be disparaging about almost everything the town has to “offer”, and I’m always trying to convince them to come and visit me instead.
This is Sheffield through my lens, and I don’t care if I’m romanticising it in the slightest.
