To Leeds
So up earlyish and up North to Leeds. Bought a paper which Lorraine started reading and before we'd left the environs of Brighton was already experiencing an outburst of Tourette's Syndrome reading about The Tory Government's Education Secretary Michael Gove's approval of 'Victorian' (his word) standards by sending a version of the King James Bible to every school. While I would not deny the importance of this translation to the development of thought and literature in English (which even resonates in the lyrics of Bob Marley for example) what I object to is the fact that Michael Gove sees fit to write an introduction to it.
Anyhow, the journey very painless and we found ourselves in Leeds at around 2:30. Raining, obviously, because we were up North. Mounted policemen (as there was a fiercely-contested football game) and generally more Northerners than you could shake a stick at. Our hotel pleasant, and a pleasant room with nice tiling, and one of those full length mirrors that by a trick of light make you look taller and thinner.
We met Sam in a nearby Carluccio's. Lorraine very excited to see him. Sam going through one of his periodic bouts of insomnia, but otherwise enjoying his course and philosophy is definitely the subject for him. I am fairly certain he is more of a philosopher now that I ever was, when I studied Philosophy and Literature at Warwick in the dark ages.
After some food, we sensibly repaired to a pub, home to many marvellous beers of which I availed myself with some cheer. I felt really happy to be in the north of England again, for I love it up here and have had many good times. There really is a distincly different Northern temperament to us Southern Softies. There is a directness and a mingling of gloom and good cheer that can't help but I warm to.
We went then to eat a Northern curry in a vast Indian restaurant called the Akbar, where we waited over an hour for a table at the thronging bar. Obviously a destination restaurant. Once seated, the food proved fine and reasonably priced, the waiters threading through the tables with naan, hanging like bready sails from hooked spikes.
From there sensibly back to the hotel and Sam off home. Watched Chelsea win a football match, before sleeping.
Below a shot of the cool, but camera-shy Sam, indulging me outside Sam's Chop House.
So up earlyish and up North to Leeds. Bought a paper which Lorraine started reading and before we'd left the environs of Brighton was already experiencing an outburst of Tourette's Syndrome reading about The Tory Government's Education Secretary Michael Gove's approval of 'Victorian' (his word) standards by sending a version of the King James Bible to every school. While I would not deny the importance of this translation to the development of thought and literature in English (which even resonates in the lyrics of Bob Marley for example) what I object to is the fact that Michael Gove sees fit to write an introduction to it.
Anyhow, the journey very painless and we found ourselves in Leeds at around 2:30. Raining, obviously, because we were up North. Mounted policemen (as there was a fiercely-contested football game) and generally more Northerners than you could shake a stick at. Our hotel pleasant, and a pleasant room with nice tiling, and one of those full length mirrors that by a trick of light make you look taller and thinner.
We met Sam in a nearby Carluccio's. Lorraine very excited to see him. Sam going through one of his periodic bouts of insomnia, but otherwise enjoying his course and philosophy is definitely the subject for him. I am fairly certain he is more of a philosopher now that I ever was, when I studied Philosophy and Literature at Warwick in the dark ages.
After some food, we sensibly repaired to a pub, home to many marvellous beers of which I availed myself with some cheer. I felt really happy to be in the north of England again, for I love it up here and have had many good times. There really is a distincly different Northern temperament to us Southern Softies. There is a directness and a mingling of gloom and good cheer that can't help but I warm to.
We went then to eat a Northern curry in a vast Indian restaurant called the Akbar, where we waited over an hour for a table at the thronging bar. Obviously a destination restaurant. Once seated, the food proved fine and reasonably priced, the waiters threading through the tables with naan, hanging like bready sails from hooked spikes.
From there sensibly back to the hotel and Sam off home. Watched Chelsea win a football match, before sleeping.
Below a shot of the cool, but camera-shy Sam, indulging me outside Sam's Chop House.
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