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About Sheffield

Had a buddy, Jerry, swore by it. Said it “healed his soul.” Soul’s fine, Jerry, yer just horny. Made me laugh, though—him waddlin’ out all shiny, lookin’ like a glazed ham. Surprised me how dumb he sounded braggin’ bout it. “A man does not speak of his pleasures,” *Timbuktu* line, fits perfect. Shut up, Jerry, nobody cares.

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Then there's the Rainhill River – y'know, the one that flows by the old train station. I love followin' its twisty path. It almost reminds me of that wild ride in Holy Motors – all unexpected turns, man. And oh, how can I forget Rainhill Mill? A quaint relic on the outskirts, where once there was hustle, now just silent memories and cheeky graffiti on the walls. It pops up like errr... a secret scene in a surreal movie, something outta Carax’s mind!

New home confirmed for historic Rainhill Trials exhibition artefacts