The night Pulp's Jarvis Cocker signed my ticket and explained who he was: Why I love the Leadmill, Sheffield

It was the early 1980s when I first visited the Leadmill. And our relationship got off to a slow start.

I was a third year pupil at a Sheffield comprehensive at the time, and the visit was a school trip. That’s year nine in modern language, and we were being taken to see a play in one of the smaller rooms.

It was a drama with a tiny cast and a gender equality message, about sexist reactions received by a woman taking a job as a bus driver.

It was nice to get out of the classroom, but at the age of 13 or 14, it did not leave me desperate to return. And having been there for a school trip, I was rather sniffy when my older sister went there on nights out. Why would you want to go somewhere schools go? I didn’t understand what The Leadmill was about back then.

A few years later, I’d changed my tune. A little older, I finally discovered Sheffield’s music scene, away from the more mainstream Isabellas and Cairo Jax.

Leadmill Friday night DJs were a world away from that. You’d get a mix of indie bands and the emerging world of house music. A video screen showed an eclectic mix of film images, ranging from Felix the Cat to Buddy Holly.

And Saturdays brought great bands to the venue.

After visiting pubs on West Street, like the Beehive or Hornblower, we would make our way through town, across The Moor and over the footbridge at the end of Furnival Gate

One of my most treasured memories was the night we headed off to see Jack Rubies, a band who’d been on a television show called Famous for 15 Minutes.

Before they came on stage, we saw a supporting band looking like refugees from the 1960s, in paint splattered tops and sideburns. They played wah-wah guitar, unusual at the time.

There was no moshing at the front. No one seemed to know who they were.

We asked a chap, who was singing along near the front, who they were. “Stone Roses,” he replied, in February 1988.

Another time, we planned to see Happy Mondays. After queuing, there was an announcement that they would not be playing, and it would only be the support band, Eat, on stage. It was not said what had happened to the Mondays.

The list of great bands was massive. And it was not just the big names. It was also the local bands who got on the bill supporting them.

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Then there was the time I got Jarvis Cocker’s autograph on my ticket, as he walked around after a 1993 Pulp show.

I seem to remember it was part of a BBC-related festival, called Sheffield Sound City, and Pulp were appearing with another band, called Kingmaker.

They were just starting to be well known, and I don’t think he was used to being recognised. Next to his signature, he wrote ‘I’m in these’, and drew an arrow pointing to the name of the band on the ticket.

After the show, it would be a quick stop at the burger van outside, before queuing for a taxi, ears still ringing from the music.

I am far from the only one with loving memories of the place. I remember television personality Emily Maitlis waxing lyrical about it on a chat show.

It was always more than just a music venue – it has a unique feel, and has special memories. For a venue to last as long as The Leadmill has is remarkable.

Long may it continue for the current generation of music fans - continue to #LoveYour Leadmill!