Back in our younger days, the days your grandparents might tell you of dreamily, with glints in their eyes and big, dumb guy smiles on their faces, we celebrated our 6 Monthiversairy with a trip to Leeds. It was also Mr. Youd’s birthday that weekend. And so, a double celebration was agreed. One year on, and nothing much has changed. Youd still insists on having his Birthday around this time of year - when it’s colder than a Polar Bear’s soft drink, and still invites us up (us being myself and Gazz). In true Youd style, he was a little late pinning everything down, but finally decided on a day at the Races. Much like the one enjoyed some 5 years previous (he’s a stickler for nostalgia Youd – it seems). With only 3 weeks until the big day, I was a little turned off by the train prices – the most expensive train journey in the U.K I’m told, meaning you could spunk £70 on one return ticket! Balls to that. I’d rather sit on a freezing, dry, dirty, stinking coach for 5 hours if it’ll save me £120, and so would Des’ree (if she got a say in the matter).

As it turned out, my reluctance to spend helped more than just my bank manager – like he pays attention to my statements any more than I do. Thanks to the yearly, ‘Made-for-Mail on Sunday’ horror movie script that is WEATHER 2010, simply getting to Leeds proved to fill me with the same dread as having to stay in the old house (with its Pizza Box sofa). There’ve been no flights for two weeks (not that I was planning on flying) no trains were moving anywhere past Cambridge, and if anyone dared to even step tyre onto a road, they’d be spending the night in their car, killing themselves with the fumes of late night radio. The snow had already made victims of the Wetherby Races (cancelled), as well as the booked mini-bus (cancelled). Thanks to my foresight, booking a coach was a masterstroke. As not only did we arrive in Leeds with no hitch to speak of... we were bloody early too. 1-0 to me!

After a 2am arrival at our hotel, a solid night’s sleep was enjoyed before giving Des’ree more than four minutes to get dressed in an effort to avoid missing the hotel breakfast. It’s one of my all time favourite experiences, the hotel breakfast. Course of pastries: croissants/pan au chocolat/squirly raisin things; course of full English: bacon... sa... you know what a full English is; course of fruit+yoghurt; course of buttered toast/rolls/a few more pastries; all washed down (continually) with never-ending pots of coffee and glasses of juice and milk, lined up like shots at an American frat party. The hotel breakfast at the Met Hotel... this was not. 15 minute wait for coffee, no plates, only squirly raisin things available for the pastry course (who puts on a breakfast without croissants?!), no sausage, OR bacon. Then when I go up after waiting 5 minutes until I saw people coming back with plates filled high to their chin with dead bits of pig... no sausage, or bacon! Again! No bowls, no glasses. This was taking the biscuit (if there’d been any biscuits). So I took the marmalade instead. Walked out of there with a clinking jumperfull of the revolting stuff.

Sometimes, you can do the same thing, go to the same place, walk through the same city. Experience it all a thousand times and more, and nothing changes. Until one magical time, something does. You’re with someone else, and see everything in a brand new light. A new world of possibilities at your doorstep. It’s the same place, but with better graphics, more intuitive A.I., in-depth scenery and more locations to visit. In all my years in Leeds (and every visit back) and all my visits to Irania (real name Kadas – the place with the Chicken, Hummus and Cheese toasted Ciabattas from YOUD!), I’d strangely never needed to use the facilities. I didn’t even know there were facilities; until Des’ree perked up after a few too many bottled waters. After she’d put the idea in my head, I was (predictably) bursting at the seams, I was in receipt of my own Slow Puncture... if you will. After climbing unknown territory of the stairwell... I stumbled across a whole other floor. A much, much nicer floor! All those years, I wondered how the place kept going with no ‘CAFÉ’ signs, a run-down back-alley location, and a heavy ‘FUCK YOU’ message of a closed door greeting, it never surprised me that I never saw anyone sat on either of the two dark, dingy tables. Now I know where every fucker must have been... upstairs in the VI-fucking-P!

The entire visit was spent realising what a weird and wonderful city Leeds actually is. I (God forgive me) had actually gotten used to it over my three years there, but I realised after Des’ree could not control herself from fits of laughter every time a group of large ladies waddled passed shouting ‘T’s’, crowbarred into every sentence. She heard one classy young girl scream ‘Let’s Gooooar t’ Wevvaspuuuuuuuns Sannnndrah!’ like Terry Jones in his mum’s dress. She almost broke a rib, bless her. You might think I am the most northern gentleman that ever existed, in your poncey Southern life I probably am, but even I... in my first months in the city, was working behind a bar, and could not for the life of me, understand why one lady wanted me to serve her a cork! “Don’t you not want the bottle?!” I asked. 30 minutes before I realised all she wanted was a soft drink.

Back on the returning coach, driven by National Express’ answer to the squadron commander in War films, ordering you not to talk on your phone... “If I hear one peep out of you little BRATS, OR your ludicrously small, diamond-encrusted mobile telephones... I’m pulling over to the hard shoulder. The police will be called, and you WILL be arrested!” (Jesus!), I instantly switched it to silent – quietly.

The coach toilet/wardrobe had a light, which came on when you entered, waited until you’d had enough time to start and get your aim right (through a hole the size of a pin head), then the light went off. Leaving you stood, holding one side of the wall, trying to steady yourself whilst waving your other arm around frantically in front of the motion sensor.... Finally the light returns as soon as you finish, leaving you to contemplate the horrific mess you’ve just caused.