A Night With Leeds’ Biggest Lads

6StMikes are a pack of ten lads from Leeds Met who tweet their daily antics. We published an interview with them last week, and from the response realised a Clive Martin-esque review was in order.

Never ones to shy away from real, hard-hitting issues, The Tab felt the need to get hands-on with the 6StMikes way of life, so I decided to get in touch with them via twitter. Naturally they were having a party the following day which they invited me to. Unsure of exactly what to expect (although I had an inkling…) I followed up via phone for more details.With such clear instructions, I convinced Tab photographer Jack Cummings to accompany me and we were on our way.

Before leaving I decided to check their twitter one last time. Considering my familiarity with what they usually post (dicks), I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea. Maybe I thought I’d find out when games like pass the parcel were scheduled or what flavour crisps would be served.

Instead I found a picture of naked dude. Apparently he was ‘dressed up’ for the party.

Undeterred, my beverage of choice for the night was a ‘family’ sized bottle of White Ace, purchased on the recommendation of Sanjeet. He was the bloke behind the counter and promised me it was a laddy drink (he didn’t want to be photographed.)

Armed with what I considered to be my passport to the Republic of Lad, we set off.

My three litres and I were met by Nick, who manages the house’s twitter account. He seemed very glad I’d turned up, welcoming me into the party and proceeding to introduce me to a sea of names & faces. It felt like freshers’ week except this time I didn’t feel guilty about forgetting names.

We were assured that it was toothpaste..

We were given a guided tour of the house, being shown sparse bedroom after sparse bedroom. I made the same “I bet a lot of shagging goes on in here” statement when presented with each one. I figured this would help me fit in and allow me to be accepted – it being literally a matter of survival that I was accepted.

I seemed to be doing a decent job, and this chap’s t-shirt signalled a mutual character trait I thought the both of us could use as a platform for getting along. Turns out it was ironic (banter!)

After the tour we ran into this fella. Recognise him? It’s naked man! The one from twitter! I can’t say if it was our presence that had caused him to make such an effort as to actually be wearing clothes, but I’d like to think we played a part.

Upon opening another door, we found a group of girls. Whether this was to shelter themselves from the banterous romp of the lads we weren’t sure, but I figured this would be the perfect time to get their perspective on the lad lifestyle.

Critics of lad culture often castigate such a lifestyle choice because of its views towards women. Cries of treating them merely as objects and viewing them as if they were of another species are oft-used motifs in such rhetoric. I put this account to one of the girls, aiming to gain a personal perspective as to what many would label a ‘victim’ of this scene…

She decided to take my glasses and put her finger up my nose.

I’d like to say I was treated like a guest of honour, and thinking back, this is probably the style of hospitality 6StMikes were going for. However, it felt more like I was a novel attraction or toy; like I was their 16 year-old brother who’d come to visit them at uni for the first time.

However, embracing my fraternal role, I continued to literally consume their lifestyle. With every millilitre consumed I could feel my InnerLad™ gaining strength.

And here I was. One of the fucking lads. I feel like I could show my mum this picture and she’d be happy knowing that I’d managed to make friends while at university.

Sometime during the night the 6StMikes twitter account hit 600 followers. This (like everything else) was a cause for celebration, and I was somehow credited for helping them on their quest for domination of the twittosphere.

‘Top Shagger’ himself gave me a tin of his finest, though there turned out to be one hidden condition to my acceptance of one whole can of Carling.

Now I don’t know if you’ve ever found yourself being forced to down a can of Carling in a house full of strangers who spend most of their time posting pictures of each other’s dicks on the internet, but the thought process can be summarised as follows:

• I hope I look cool doing this
• I think that’s half the can gone
• Stop pouring so fast, most of it’s going on your face
• Okay it’s soaking into your Tshirt
• Now surely half the can’s gone
• I don’t look cool doing this
• I need to breathe
• But I need to be a lad

It’s at this point where one must choose between ‘breath or dishonour’, and I believe this decision comes deep from your unconscious mind, perhaps it’s even wired into your genetic makeup.

I chose the latter, whereby my thought process became mainly concerned with keeping my shoes out the way of whatever was deciding to come back up my esophagus at that present moment.

Jack went and took some more snaps while I relished in my achievements. The lads were, of course, still boozing. The one on the right’s even wearing my coat. But it’s cool, I’m one of them ‘cus I drank beer faster than is considered comfortable.

We had more pictures of what was happening on the dancefloor, but this was one that didn’t need censoring

The party was taking a pretty standard form for a busy house party: a packed dancefloor, drinking games in the kitchen, a more quiet vibe outside…

… people pissing in each other’s mouths. You know, the usual.

We even managed to find the Church of Lash’s elusive Holy Grail. Something the Archbishop of Banterbury himself would be proud of blessing: two girls kissing!

Though I say ‘we’… I’d managed to find my way back inside and to a place I’d deemed safe, though I don’t think that word can mean that much when you’re a guest of 6StMikes.

Upon waking me, Jack and I decided to take our leave, and on the walk back home I reflected on the experience.

6StMikes had taken me into their home and given me their beer, their birds and their banter. What’s more, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have fun.

This train of thought sparked a brief moment where I realised I should go back to the party with no motive but to enjoy and indulge myself; embrace all the antics and the inevitable vomit that accompanies it. I mean, isn’t that what unay’s about after all?

Still, I had a 10am seminar the next day which I’d done the reading for. I couldn’t be missing that.

Know of a night or subculture we should review? email [email protected]

This article was originally published in The Tab Leeds.