Recently it has been nigh on impossible to get myself a coffee without first having to navigate through a raging sea of puns, before nipping to the nearest toilet cubicle to dislodge canvassing leaflets that have successfully perforated my skull.
I know it is hard to forget, but whether you like them or not, the Students’ Union Officer Elections are an important part of University of Sheffield life. Only, in my case, it is not.
Prepare your pumpkins and collect your kindling, we have now settled into the depths of autumn. It’s that time of year when small children smash their way into the homes of OAPs and demand sweets; when any childless person with pubic hair spatters themselves with red paint and tears holes into Primark’s latest clothing range; when fully grown adults watch out-dated horror films on a volume that renders their door bell useless.