Last night in celebration of my impending departure from this country the decision was made for myself and four of the bravest, most battle hardened drinkers I've had the honour of knowing to journey to the centre of Sheffield and do battle with the legendary "Quad Vods".

We set off to battle knowing in the deepest blackest part of out hearts that at least one of us would most probably not return. Daniel and Matt were both walking wounded, previous crusades having worn their spirit and damaged their bodies. The mood was sombre on the train ride to Sheffield. Some say due to having to stand next to the toilet, but I know we were all mentally preparing for the carnage of war.

Before any campaign it is necessary to prepare your body, but in particular with "Quad Vods" it is essential to have a lined stomach. As men of action and combat, the decision was taken that only meat could be considered a suitable precursor to such an evening.

As luck would have it Sheffield has such a place. Tropeiro was where we went, and I can say it was a good choice. After collecting a simple plate of salad, rice and potatoes, the staff bring a selection of beautiful meats to your table. Slicing it from skewers directly onto your plate. Admittedly it is unnerving having a Brazilian man swing a cleaver around inches from your face. Fortunately the quality of the meat more than makes up for any discomfort.

Bellies full we set off into the night, we had to clear up a couple of issues in other bars. A few beers were in order to steady the mens courage. Also a historic dispute between Alastair and Matt had to be settled, the field of battle is no place for old arguments to arise between brothers in arms. Thankfully Michaels quick thinking and ultimately an alarming violation of Alastair's drink, successfully put the matter to bed.

War is an ugly business and I won't afflict you with all the details. Needless to say we did bloody battle with the "Quad Vods" on their home turf. Wounds were taken, the toll on your body is near indescribable, the campaign is a marathon not a sprint, exhaustion relentlessly dogging you.

At three o clock, we staggered out of Corporation, victorious in battle, whooping and cheering our success. We left the plastic pint shaped corpse of our enemies on the floor and to paraphrase the valiant Michael Sargeson, at that moment, on that night, we were truly sons of b****es!

All in all a good night was had, lots of laughs (mostly at Alastair's expense), plenty of drinks, and some pretty questionable dancing. Gonna miss those four boys.