Saturday, 7 March 2009

Outside my house on… Gipsy lane?

Yesterday was a knackering day for mystery shopping, mainly thanks to antics the night before. After staying up till 4 am playing Buckaroo Jonny and wondering why I acquired a Billy Joel record that night and not the ABBA one, I managed to get myself a cheeky 5 hours kip, before grabbing my bike and heading off into Leeds.

It’s strange but Leeds Uni at 10:30 in the morning is dead. Probably because people try to wrangle their timetables around so that they get Friday off, and the ones that do have to get up on Friday morning simply can’t be arsed. Therefore, bugger all people were about.

But no complaints, at least there were less people to avoid.

So, after printing off my Google Maps (TM!!!) and successfully applying to study in Copenhagen (normal procedure on a Friday morning), I began my still-alcohol-fuelled marathon down to Armley for my first visit of the day.

Armley, how can I put this, is just ‘a place’. There is nothing there that would wow you into repetitive visits, but then again, there’s nothing wrong with it. All it is is a part of Leeds. That’s pretty much all I can say, and the mystery shop visit was as simples (as the meerkat says) as it gets.

So, after a bike down Armley I eventually make my way back up to Leeds train station, to board a tin-pot carriage full of, to put it mildly, troglodytes, on their way to Sheffield. The train was packed and I had to sit next to a man who looked like he’d beat me up if I sat anywhere near him, so I perched on the end of my seat.

Thankfully, I got off at the first stop, and strolled into Rothwell.

Now, most rural villages I’ve been to look like they’ve stopped in the 1940s, but not Rothwell. It’s actually a really nice village. It has houses with well-groomed gardens, cars that still have all their hubcaps on, and people who don’t look like they’ve seen the pits of Hades and know what’s coming to them.

The only thing that confused me about Rothwell was one road sign, simply saying ‘Gipsy Lane’. I don’t even know if ‘gipsy’ is a politically correct term any more, “Oh it should be changed to ‘Traveller Lane’”, but even if it is deemed acceptable to white haired, middle aged Conservatives, I would still want to question as to why the council decided that advertising the fact you have gypsies is a good idea?

Why would you want to make the statement that gypsies, who are let’s face it people who are unwelcome into local communities, once stayed here? I can just imagine a tour bus; “And on your left there is Gipsy Lane, where people shit on the floor and intimidate the community. And now on to the Parish Council…” I doubt it bodes well for the tourist industry in Rothwell.

After wondering for some time over the credentials of the road names in Rothwell, I eventually found my Tesco and had a lovely visit. Annoying though, I later found out I had bought a loaf of white bread instead of brown. Pathetically anal for some I know, but I do like brown, or granary, bread. White bread does have a tendency to taste of fluffy plastic, and is the least filling thing ever produced since MacDonald’s started doing Happy Meals (TM!!!).

Eventually I arrived home, still having had nothing to eat, with my beer and white bread, destined for the bed.

No comments:

Post a Comment