For thousands of youngsters Mackworth Tertiary College was a formative experience in more ways than one during the 1990s.
Many schools had got rid of their sixth forms so Mackworth was the only game in town for teenagers in Derby who fancied a pop at getting into university.
Mackworth welcomed countless teens who came to do A-levels, B-Tecs, foundation courses or, in some cases, to hang around and play cards and smoke fags.
Being able to smoke and drink with impunity meant it was nothing like school though. At all.
A Block had quite a nice refectory. B Block had a refectory that wasn't quite as nice. C Block was mostly classrooms and a library. You could smoke in D Block refectory until the mid 90s.
The site in Normanton Road, now demolished and replaced with an Aldi, was mostly for motor mechanics and students on foundation art courses. If memory serves, which it usually doesn't.
Ok, so you're 16 years old, just enrolled at Mackworth College and supposed to be focused on learning but the ambition to get served beer in Derby city centre on Friday night is an ambition that also burns.
As was getting into Ritzy, in Babington Lane. So, the more clued-up kids would join the Students Union and - this is the clever bit - simply lie about their age.
If you were born in 1979, you could simply write 1977 on the card. It would then be placed in a small plastic sheath or, if you were lucky, laminated. Because anything laminated is God's honest truth and legally binding everywhere forever.
Back in the early-to-mid 90s, smoking was still reasonably affordable and no one had mobile phones to fiddle with. Awkward teens needed something to do with their hands, rebellious teens needed to send a message to the world and others just liked smoking because they thought it looked cool or their mates did and they had nothing better to do.
There was a smoking section in D Block refectory until about 1994. Obviously, like having a special urinating area of a swimming pool, this segregation was unworkable. Also, bored teens between lessons with cigarette lighters are as big a fire risk as you can possibly imagine.
Being able to cadge a fag from someone meant a special bond existed between you. Also, many a friendship was forged trying to cobble together enough loose change for ten Silk Cut, Embassy No.1 or Marlborough Lights or even Lambert and Butler if times were especially hard because they were the cheapest.
As if being a teenager were not painful enough, if you lost at chase the ace then you would suffer 'raps' across the knuckles with the deck. This was the law. There would be blood.
If you were feeling flush and had a free period, you might nip to the Bull and Bush, down to Sadler Gate or even to the long-demolished Coliseum in the Main Centre for a few drinks before heading back for your last lesson stinking of booze. And, of course, cigarettes.
The Bull and Bush had a jukebox back in the day. It had the greatest hits of the Carpenters and the Edwin Starr disco classic Contact (Eye to Eye) but the rest was unlistenable rubbish.
The Blessington Carriage was essentially an extension of D Block refectory. Go in there of an evening today. You might see a few familiar faces. Even now, 20-odd years on. If you want a stark reminder of your own mortality and how much you've aged. Ball's in your court.
Lecturer with guitar on the last day of term: "I'm not really interested in teaching. I'm a musician. Music is what I really want to do with my life."
Most people did ok though.
If you couldn't be bothered with the Ritzy or Pink Coconut meat markets incessantly blasting the Outhere Brothers 90s mega hits 'Boom Boom Boom (let me hear you say wayoh)' or 'Wiggle Wiggle' then the Blue Note was a decent bet. It was cheap to get in and the bar served Red Stripe.
At the height of Britpop there was some truly appalling dancing on show. Not you though. Your moves were awesome.
Anyone who has been back to the Blue Note in their 30s or 40s will know that it has not changed a great deal.
For those who struggled to get out of bed early enough to have breakfast, the refectory would serve soup and a cob in the morning before lectures. The centre of the cob was often still raw dough as if the bread itself were still half asleep. Fishy Friday was another culinary highlight at Mackworth Tertiary College as were the chocolate crispy cakes.
If you got the bus from Derby to Mackworth in the mid-90s, you'd get a ticket entitling you to three bottles of Carling for the bargain-basement price of £1.50 at Berlins, in Becket Street, on a Wednesday night. Were they lukewarm? Yes they were. Remorselessly lukewarm.
It was also karaoke night and you might hear umpteen tipsy teenagers tear through Cher's version of The Shoop Shoop Song (It's In His Kiss) with apocalyptic abandon and sounding like an unholy choir made up of the criminally insane.
On sunny days students might forgo lessons to play cricket or football outside D Block. In full view of their lecturers and fellow students who were trapped in sweltering classrooms learning about rock cleavage or ox-bow lakes.
It's not exactly the Alps but Rykneld Recreation Ground has a few decent slopes. So, when lecturers do not show up because of the weather and lessons are cancelled then you need to improvise to make the most of the snow. It turned out that trays from the refectory made great sledges.
After all, learning how to approach and overcome problems is what education is all about though one girl did break her wrist hitting a tree.
School of hard knocks though, innit.