Trevor

If nothing else, working two jobs guarantees you a change of scenery. And pleasantly enough, it can also give you a change of atmosphere. While supervising eighteen-to-twenty-one year old students as they intoxicate themselves could potentially be a bit of a ball-ache, in our bar - which is named Trevor, for reasons that don't bear going into here - it's not too bad at all, as we encourage responsible drinking (by which I mean, stop while you can still feel your legs) of good alcoholic drinks such as cask-conditioned ale, decent wines, and even the odd G&T.

Alright, I won't lie; we also hand over our fair share of snakebites and alcopops, and of course you can't help but feel an almost-parental pride as you serve young Johnny his very first Jagerbomb. But above all, we try to cultivate within Trevor an atmosphere that makes the young whippersnappers treat it as more than just a stepping stone to vomitous oblivion; it's somewhere they're happy to hang out during the day, have a quiet pint or two, play table football, play pool, play darts, and generally chillax without any undue pressure to go over the top.

The chalkboard that resides alongside the dartboard is Trev in microcosm. It's been subject to a lot of graffiti in the past, my favourite daub being JESUS WAS A LAGER DRINKER (underneath which, added in a different hand: AND LOOK WHERE IT GOT HIM). And tonight we've had some of the regulars in for a mammoth game. In order: Bender, Hop Skip & Wank, Stella Artwhore, Beardy, Jammy Todger, Cranker, Tromboner, Panties, Jay-Zebra, and Charizord Spunk.

I can't help it; I'm proud of these kids. It's almost like they're following in my footsteps.