S was one of those students who can probably be found on every campus at every university in Britain. In fact no, make that the world. S had ambition, but this was not enough for him. He saw himself as an entrepreneur and wanted to make a name for himself in the world of student showbusiness. He would stop at nothing to get himself recognised. Unfortunately, this was also his downfall. Very often, the higher he set his sights, the further he had to fall.
I originally met S during my very first day of enrolment at Cardiff University. I had initially exchanged some polite conversation with him in the queue to have our photograph taken for our identity cards, but presumed that I would not see him again - I didn't even know that he was on my course. Later that day, I strolled over to the Humanities building to enrol on my extra module - Cultural Criticism - when I suddenly heard a very breathless voice behind me.
"G! G! Wait up, man!"
Not thinking that anybody would know my name at this point, I continued walking and presumed that they were calling a different G. It is, after all, a very popular name in Cardiff. However, the voice persisted.
"G! G! G! Wait up!"
Being of a nervous disposition, and feeling like a small prawn in a vast ocean, I must admit that I felt quite unnerved at this point. As the voice got closer, I braced myself for the moment of impact. Then I felt a hand slap me hard on the back.
"Man!" (and no, it wasn't Eghosa) "I've been chasing you all the way from the New Theatre"
I was now at the top of Park Place, a good ten minute walk from the New Theatre, which already shows the level of commitment for which S would became famous. The fact that I hadn't heard him until this point already shows the lack of planning that would also become his modus operandi.
I didn't have time to wonder why he hadn't called me previously, because he started babbling.
"I'm going to enrol for Sociology. Somebody told me that only girls take it, so I'm guaranteed to pull! I'm interested in the links it has to Journalism too, of course. I'm no sexist. What are you signing up for?"
"Cultural Criticism" I replied, hoping that he would take a deep breath before speaking again.
"I didn't see that on the list. Oh, oh, oh....it sounds good....oh, but the girls in Sociology....oh, do you think girls will take Cultural Criticism?"
"I'm sure there will be some" I answered, by now breathing on his behalf.
"I'm changing my mind. Oh, I'm so glad I chased you. I would never have known."
He then alarmed me by assuming a pose not unlike the one Bruce Forsyth did at the start of The Generation Game. From this position he then stood with his legs apart and his arms in the air.
"I'm gonna take CULT....URAL.....CRIT.....ICISM!" he shouted, attracting some attention from a group of attractive girls who were probably on their way to enrol for Sociology. He then stood normally, unaware of the strange looks now aimed in our direction.
"Man, I'm so glad I met you. Let me make dinner for you tonight!"
"Oh no, I couldn't....umm....I...umm...I...."
Think of an excuse, quick!
"I won't take no for an answer" he insisted "I make a mean pasta dish!"
"Great" I replied, deflated.
Two hours later, the smell of burning spaghetti filled the room in S' flat in Talybont.
"Twenty-five pounds!" S yelled from the kitchen, as he held his hand under a cold tap after burning it on the molten saucepan.
"Twenty-five bastard pounds for a book of photocopies!"
He was referring to a book that we had been forced to buy in the Cultural Criticism department. It contained every single piece of reading that we would require for the entire year and meant that we didn’t have to buy the individual books.
"S-Boy is gonna be one poor student by the end of this week......shit, the bacon's on fire!"
S' flatmate looked up from his copy of Cardiff University - Rules And Regulations and didn't have to say a word. His face spoke volumes. Clearly, this was a regular occurrence at Chez S.
As we chewed on rock-hard bacon and tried to suck up spaghetti that looked as if it had been in a forest fire, S regaled me with a story about the time he appeared on Jim'll Fix It as a child.
"I've still got the badge!" he proclaimed, sounding a lot like Jed, Alan Partridge‘s crazed fan. "I'll show it to you later. I brought it to Cardiff to show off to the ladi-eeees!"
His flatmate gave me a look as if to say "not again", but before I could give further reaction S had already changed the subject and was informing me about a money-making scheme that he was mulling over in his mind.
The Talybont complex was one of Cardiff University's main housing areas. As such it had many communal buildings such as a sports hall and social club. It was at the latter venue that S planned to hold The Inter-Hall Pool Tournament 1998.
I learnt quickly that the three things which S craved most were girls, money and popularity. So far, I had seen little evidence that he had made any headway in either category. However, his pool tournament was designed in a way that would hopefully bring all three.
"As the organiser" S explained, "girls will love my leadership skills."
Again, his flatmate looked up from his book and just stared at him.
"Secondly, the players in the tournament will be so pleased to have something to aim for that they will all want to be my friend."
I have to admit, I wasn't convinced at all by this stage.
"Finally, if I charge each player to enter the competition, I can make a profit."
As I had only known S for less than half a dozen hours, I kept my reservations to myself.
I didn't see him again until ten days later, at our first Cultural Criticism lecture. I was already sitting at the back of the lecture theatre when he arrived with seconds to spare. He sat down next to me and began rummaging in his bag.
"I've got something to show you" he said excitedly.
He then pulled out a pile of low-quality A4 paper that had an even lower-quality advertisement printed on one side.
Please sign your name at the bottom of this form if you would like to take part in a pool tournament.
Winner will receive an engraved trophy and £100 cash prize.
Entrance Fee £3.00
Phone S for details.
"That should get them rolling in!" he said. "I'm going to buy the trophy this afternoon. I'll easily be able to afford the cash prize and still make a profit. There is one snag though."
He then explained that the Talybont social club would not allow him to hire the venue for the night. In addition to this, they also wouldn't let him hire the pool tables. This meant that the tournament would have to be played on a normal night, when people who were not signed up for the competition may also want to play a game.
His solution was to make all competitors bring 50p in addition to their entrance fee. This coin would be placed on any pool table to reserve it. This would apparently guarantee that all games would be played to schedule.
I still wasn't convinced, but supported S enthusiastically and wished him good luck.
At the end of the lecture, he ran out of the theatre (he ran a lot) and began pinning his posters to every available message board. During that time, wherever you looked in the Cathays area, you'd be sure to see a pool tournament poster. Usually crumpled up, or covered in footprints, or thrown in the bin.
A week later, S arrived at the next Cultural Criticism lecture looking rather disheartened.
"Do you want the good news or the bad news?" he asked.
"Bad news" I replied.
"I've only had five people sign up for the tournament"
I tried to keep a straight face.
"I'm not going to be able to organise a tournament with an odd number of players!"
"I'm sure it'll pick up" I lied. "What's the good news?"
"Ooh! I bought the trophy! It cost me sixty quid but it'll look great."
I didn't like to point out that so far only £15 worth of competitors had signed up and he still needed to get the trophy engraved, so I was glad when the lecturer took to the stage and silence descended upon the room.
Another week went by before I saw S again. This time the look on his face was even worse.
"I've got seven competitors, I found out that I'm not allowed to charge for entry, and when I asked Brain's Brewery if they would sponsor the event, they laughed in my face!"
I struggled not to do the same.
"Are you still going ahead with the tournament?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, I can't let my fans down. I'm going to have to enter it myself to make up the numbers though."
I'm sure that if he had taken the tournament plan to the British Pool Organisation, it would have been frowned upon immensely. I had to admire him for his persistence though, no matter how foolish I believed it to be.
"I've drawn up a tournament schedule anyway" he said. "The winner should be decided by the coming weekend. We only have seven games to play in total because of the small numbers."
Two weeks later, the tournament had still not been completed. Each time the players went to the Talybont social club, all the tables were busy. The 50p reservation technique was frowned upon and games were delayed for days at a time.
Eventually, six weeks after he organised it, the pool tournament came to a close. S was knocked out in the first round by a first-year Sociology student (even worse for him, a male Sociology student). It was eventually won by a Pharmacy third-year called Brian.
True to his word, S got the trophy engraved and paid the prize money out of his Student Loan. After refunding the tournament registration fees, he was a grand total of £191 out of pocket. At that rate, S-Boy really was going to be one poor student.
A sensible person would have put it all down to experience and admitted defeat, but not S. He never did anything sensibly and there was still a lot more to come...
Part Three
2 comments:
With business acumen like that why haven't we seen him on The Apprentice?
It's surely only a matter of time.
I'm amazed that he hasn't turned up on Big Brother yet, or treated the judges to one of his skits on Britain's Got Talent.
I expect that he sets his sights higher these days. He's probably trying to launch his own TV channel - some of those shopping channels are just his style.
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