As we were coming in to land the pilot informed us that the temperature in Leeds was 6 degrees, but at least there was no snow. We ran across the road for the airport bus, driven by a typical Yorkshireman.
“I only allow people on this bus who’ll sing me a song.” We protested.
“In that case I’ll give you all your change in coppers.”
Behind us another passenger was making her way to the bus stop. “Watch this” said the driver, starting the engine, and shut the doors. The woman began to run and the driver fell about laughing. He let her in.
“It’s all right, love. We don’t go for another 10 minutes.”
He had a woman on board who’d just flown in from Dublin for a job interview.
“You don’t want to live in Leeds,” he said. “It’s rubbish. Bradford’s better.” Luckily that’s where I was born, so we were treated like royalty for the rest of the journey.
Half way down Kirkstall Road he stopped for a youg woman. When she said where she was going he told her she could walk it. “Nobbut 3 stops” She was very embarrassed, and when she got off again, he said triumphantly “Told you!”
The flight had landed 20 minutes early, so we had lots of time in Leeds before our train. (We’d allowed a couple of hours in case it was late.) We went to a recommended fish and chip place called Nash’s, and it was truly scrumptious., a traditional mock tudor twenties establishment with patterned carpets.
Home again, the central heating is on and we’re contemplating doing some shopping then staying indoors all day.
My mother says they’ve had some beautiful afternoon weather, but I don’t believe her. (She lived next door to Wuthering Heights all her life, so her skin is thick enough to withstand extreme cold.)