If you go down to Halifax today…

… you’re in for a strange surprise. For it seems the entirety of West Yorkshire takes some sort of hallucinogenic in the second weekend of November. Things are just odd.

So, where did I go for a day of mystery shopping yesterday? Oh yes, Halifax.

The day started off quite well. Kitted out in my running shoes I set off at a canter down to Leeds station. The air was clear and fine, no one was around, which is always a good thing when you’ve done no physical exercise for about three months and you start to feel the burn when you get to the bottom of your own road.

I managed to jog probably about a mile before I had to slow down to a walk. It was very tiring and thirsty work (as I’m sure anyone who has run a marathon can emphasise with this) and so I delved into my bag to get a swig of water. Of course, my water bottle wasn’t there. It was by the sink full of fresh tap water where I had left it to brush my teeth not 20 minutes earlier.

With annoyance I zipped up my bag and swung it back onto my shoulder. As I carried on walking, head down and panting, out in front of me developed a beautiful sight: two condoms slapped next to each other on the pavement.

Now, someone clearly had a wonderful Friday night. Sex on the street just behind Hyde Park Sainsbury’s must so oh so exciting. The fact that there were two condoms suggests either this guy got lucky twice in the same night, enjoyed the location of the first so much that he just had to do it again on the same piece of wall, or that there were two guys, two ladies, shagging at the same time, trying to warm up in the freezing November air.

Of course there is a whole plethora of possibilities as to how those two condoms became entwined on that evening, so I won’t speculate further. Luckily, I was soon distracted from this scene by a man walking on the other side of the road to me. A brisk Saturday morning stroll can be deemed a good thing; a brisk Saturday morning stroll holding a can of Stella cannot. He burped. I turned. I forgot about the condoms.

I began running again as I got into Hyde Park. The main problem with this is that you have to run up hill for the majority, which is hard work. So I stopped half way and walked.

I’m pretty glad I did slow down mind, as about two minutes later someone who was clearly an Olympic marathon runner practically sprinted past me. If I had been running, the overtake would have looked like an F1 car lapping a sweaty snail.

I finally got on the train and headed towards Sowerby Bridge for my first stop. I’ve done the Sowerby Tesco visit four times now, and have loved it every time simply because it’s massive and the choice of beer is endless! Unfortunately, unlike other times I have visited, the trains were cancelled from then on. I had no way to get to Halifax other than to bus it, which was vaguely annoying seeing as I didn’t have a clue where I was or where the busses would be heading, but I eventually found myself in Halifax centre.

Halifax of course is famed for the bank that holds its namesake, and that rampant football team Halifax Town. However, they also have possibly the best museum experience in the world, with Eureka. Dubbed ‘The National Children’s Museum’ (which may act as a magnet for some rather seedy middle-aged individuals), as a child Eureka was up there with going to an ice cream parlour or the Fun Factory. Science really can be fun at this fantasy land, with ‘100s of hands-on exhibits’ on display.

I felt somewhat remorseful walking through the grounds, examining all the new playground apparatus set up to keep the kids happy as the knackered parents had a sit down for the first time in hours. This place was part of a childhood that Time had slowly disintegrated. However, I ate a chocolate bar and everything was better again.

My next stop was Brighouse, a town just above Huddersfield. My journey took me on a train that was absolutely packed. It was crammed thanks to the cancellation of all other trains going through Halifax. So, I had to actually sit next to someone!

This may sound silly, but I have noticed that people are less inclined to sit next to a long-haired youth in running gear, probably not smelling too great, reading Titus Andronicus. However, some poor woman was forced to take probably the last seat on the train, and sat down next to me.

When I say she sat down next to me, what I really mean is she sat on me. She was – how shall I say – a rather portly woman. In order to socialise with her just-as-rotund friend across the aisle, she sat with her back to me, and with her arse on my leg. This was a massive arse. I’m pretty sure my leg had been attracted to its immense gravitational field.

What I didn’t realise was that she was also sitting on the phone in my pocket. About five minutes into the journey, I got a text. It was an innocent text from my chum Tom, something about boxing, but the result of the text was far from innocent. As with most phones now, mine vibrated when the text came through. As quick as a whippet the woman next to me shot up and screamed a little. This scared me a bit, as the potential of this vast hoard sitting on me in retaliation came into my mind. However, as she turned round, I detected a sly smile on her face. She had clearly enjoyed it. Tom is a very naughty boy.

Anyways, I got to Brighouse and was moping around the Tesco store when I was introduced to possibly the most depressingly unfortunate individual in the world. A small child was lost, calling his mother, and looking quite nervous. However, I can imagine he was upset about what his mother was saying. As I went into the next aisle I saw a frantic woman looking very worried, and here’s the bad thing, screaming “Sid! Where are you Sid?” at the top of her voice. Now, if you call your child Sid or Sidney, they’re going to want to run away! Who calls their kid Sidney?

“Wow you’ve had a child! Has he got a name yet?”
“Yes we’ve decided to call him Sid.”
“Oh really? That’s brave of you. Easier than putting him up for adoption I suppose.”

So I eventually found myself on the train home to Leeds. Stood looking out the window I turned to find a guy about my age in front of me, wearing what I can only explain as a blouse. It was a light, frilly shirt and looked utterly ridiculous on him. Poor bastard. He had clearly bought into the notion of poly-gender fashion a bit too easily.

I realise I have now written as many words as a standard length essay, but it is the reason that I have an essay to write which means I have spent almost two sporadic hours writing this in front of the telly. The technique of wasting a day through watching football, typing aimlessly and annoying Paul has been perfected.