WJLA-blog-dougalterego: via dolor frikin' osa

Why do I only give my self four hours sleep before a big day like today? I love sleep soooooo much and this the first time in almost two weeks I’ve had my own behemoth of a bed. I stuck myself in Beeston after the New Years holocaust sleeping on a floor for two days. It must be said that Nick is a diamond geezer.

Now its sunday morning and its up, up, up, up at seven.

Its been snowing in Bradford and I heard it would get thicker in Manchester. There are, of course, no buses from Fagley on an early Sunday morning because no one’s insane enough to get up at this blasted hour. I blame the Catholics. So I walk. Via delor frikin osa.

Two miles downhill and its beautiful. Midnight blue sky, moon all big and hazy with rainbow circles round it, pink champagne sunrise then clear-blue, crisp-blue sky. Moisture all sucked away from me as I observe the fossilised frozen footprints of the drunks slushing home last night. I walk it in 45 minutes and get rid of Bradford at 8.45.

Slow train, cheap train, sleep train... but its all too beautiful passing through Hebdon Bridge with the hills piled up like wedding cake. Sleeping giants with clean sheets wrapped tightly about their bulging bodies. The platform at Mytholmroyd proudly declares it the home of The Iron Man.

I want to take picture but feel to inhibited cause of the couple playing footsy opposite me. I should have. The snow is deep. It is amazing.

Manchester!

Science Museum!

Weeeeeeeee!

Chocs away!

If only I could have flown.

The journey back was slightly better than suspected cancer.

Leeds had beat Manchester United. I'd wondered why there were so many coppers in Manchester on the way in. Bloody Sundays. As we waited in a crowded delayed train a Yorkshireman lit a cigarette in the cabin. Some old Mancunian lady shouted at the top of a wavering voice not to dare to smoke it. He moved further into the carriage and blew smoke in her face. A short well dressed diminutive manc. stepped up all polite like and shoved him off the train... he shoved back to a chorus of approval from the Leeds united girls. I stood up and said in a very loud southern voice that there was certainly no need for this sort of thing and shouldn't we all be getting on. Stupid, stupid, stupid.... but they stopped. Then I saw the police man who'd appeared behind me. You couldn't write it better.

On the way home the train broke down in Rochdale. We had to wait on a snow drifted platform for an hour and a half before the next train came along. I briefly explored Rochdale and promised myself never to return.