A change, they say, is as good as a rest.
I’m not entirely convinced by this line of reasoning. To me, a day of doing nothing, putting the feet up, perhaps dragging oneself off the couch to make a cup of tea before heading slowly back to base sounds pretty idyllic.
As for the change, well, that very much depends on the change in question. I mean, being magically transported from my place on the couch to a cage full of hungry lions, tigers, and bears (oh my) would be quite the change. Other than the initial rush of adrenaline, however, I can’t envisage it as being a wholly positive one. For the hungry predators, maybe, but for me, ah… not so much.
Having said that, it is a good idea, every now and then, to shake off the cobwebs and embrace the ever so slightly different. Yesterday was a case in point.
I don’t want to lead you astray here. We’re not talking anything on too grand-a-scale, here. There were no ravenous beasties to battle, no skydiving, no death-defying feats of derring-do at all, in fact. No, the change in question was far more sedate than any of those risk-filled activities.
We went out for a spot of lunch.
Weighing It Up
I know, underwhelming, isn’t it? The truth of the matter, however, is that lunch dates have not been what you might call heavy on the ground since the outbreak of the global pandemic, and while more recent times have seen myself and my wife, Tina (and my sainted sister-in-law, Jen) make a concerted effort to take Gwen, my mother-in-law, out from the EMI nursing facility she lives in, these trips have generally been to only a few well-worn places. Yesterday, however, we had no real plan.
This might sound negative, but in fact, it freed us up to play things a little more by ear. With no pre-arranged destination, we got Gwen into the car and set off, looking for a place to eat, and somewhere where one might purchase undergarments of the decidedly female variety. I will spare blushes on which of the party this was on behalf of, but suffice it to say, it wasn’t for me. I might have put on a touch of weight during lock-down, but not quite that much.
In the end, after much deliberation, and consulting of search engines, we plumped for a trip to Brighouse, a small town in the Yorkshire region of Calderdale, between Halifax and Huddersfield.
Small Town Boy
I think it’s fair to say that Brighouse is not the biggest town in England. In fact, before yesterday, it is a place I would probably have driven through, rather than to. True, it does hold a ‘big’ Tesco which in turn has a pleasant park behind it the dog has enjoyed a walk (and as an off-shoot of the river Calder runs through it, a swim) in before now. There’s not a whole lot more than that, though.
Or so I thought.
You see, yesterday was a bit of a revelation on that front. True, the town is somewhat bijou but, as we wandered its few streets, it was clear to see it was, if not bustling, certainly doing alright for itself. The shops were varied, seemed well stocked, and there was a lack of the boarded-up windows and ‘space to rent’ signs that have pockmarked so many small, former mill towns (nearby Dewsbury, for instance, which bears all the marks of a town being strangled to death by the bigger cities which surround it). It felt used. It felt… loved.
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Hot Stuff
The weather was, for a day in mid-November, positively balmy, so we took our time to wander round and gawp (Yorkshire/English translation: stare stupidly at the window displays). We even managed to get lost, which as the town-centre comprises around a half dozen streets was pretty impressive, all told.
Eventually, we did find a pub to eat in and, once again, the sense of unexpected discoveries surfaced. The public house in question, you see, was big, and by big, I mean huge; really spacious, and really well laid out. Add in the fully working and surprisingly brisk stair-lift that got me down the three or four steps dividing its floor space and it seemed tailor-made for a wheelchair user.
Once ensconced at a table we ordered our food and, after an entirely acceptable wait I tucked into a quadruple burger topped with Korean barbecue sauce and, for some magically unfathomable reason, four beefy Monster Munch (yes, of course, that’s why I ordered it. I mean, how many times in your life are you going to be offered a combination like that?). The ladies had gammon and eggs (X2) and a roast beef Yorkshire pudding wrap. All was delicious, and all passed Tina’s ‘served hot enough to melt the cutlery’ test, but, if you ask me, I was the winner (you didn’t realise ordering lunch was a competitive sport? You do now!).
The Question is...
I think we were all impressed with our lunch destination and, as a tall display behind us touted the existence of frequent pub-quizzes, it might be a destination we return to at some point. I’d certainly embrace the chance to see what the place looks like through the bottom of a glass that’s contained something a tad stronger than diet coke. The distance I would need to travel to do so is the only fly in that particular ointment, but with a quiz team in tow and the price of a taxi shared it’s a difficulty that can soon melt away. Add in the chance of some kind quizzer playing ‘Des’ (that’s designated driver, although friends of the same name would be more than welcome) and it disappears altogether.
The weather was, for a day in mid-November, positively balmy, so we took our time to wander round and gawp (Yorkshire/English translation: stare stupidly at the window displays). We even managed to get lost, which as the town-centre comprises around a half dozen streets was pretty impressive, all told.
Eventually, we did find a pub to eat in and, once again, the sense of unexpected discoveries surfaced. The public house in question, you see, was big, and by big, I mean huge; really spacious, and really well laid out. Add in the fully working and surprisingly brisk stair-lift that got me down the three or four steps dividing its floor space and it seemed tailor-made for a wheelchair user.
Once ensconced at a table we ordered our food and, after an entirely acceptable wait I tucked into a quadruple burger topped with Korean barbecue sauce and, for some magically unfathomable reason, four beefy Monster Munch (yes, of course, that’s why I ordered it. I mean, how many times in your life are you going to be offered a combination like that?). The ladies had gammon and eggs (X2) and a roast beef Yorkshire pudding wrap. All was delicious, and all passed Tina’s ‘served hot enough to melt the cutlery’ test, but, if you ask me, I was the winner (you didn’t realise ordering lunch was a competitive sport? You do now!).
The Question is...
I think we were all impressed with our lunch destination and, as a tall display behind us touted the existence of frequent pub-quizzes, it might be a destination we return to at some point. I’d certainly embrace the chance to see what the place looks like through the bottom of a glass that’s contained something a tad stronger than diet coke. The distance I would need to travel to do so is the only fly in that particular ointment, but with a quiz team in tow and the price of a taxi shared it’s a difficulty that can soon melt away. Add in the chance of some kind quizzer playing ‘Des’ (that’s designated driver, although friends of the same name would be more than welcome) and it disappears altogether.
And so that was that. A good day out in an unexpected, if not wildly exotic, location, and a good feed to boot. An experience that I think underlines the importance of not over-planning these things. It’s not a hard and fast rule, but I think,every now and then a step or two off the beaten path can open us all up to a little more variety and, after all, variety is the spice of life.
Well, that and Monster Munch.
Oh, and, as for the, uh, ‘other’ mission, it was decided we would give it a miss… very much to my relief.
Until next week.
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Hey, folks! If you would care to take a look at some of my more creative writing, then the links below will transport you to the magical worlds of two anthologies my short (and in one case, very short) stories have been included in. Feel free to check’em out!
Death Ship
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