Leeds!

Dave has thoughtfully cooked a pile of bacon by the time I get downstairs. And made tea. Perfect.

I construct myself a bacon sandwich. Yum.

After my bacon sarnie and builder’s tea, I head over the road to the post office. Where I post off my UK pension application. Hopefully, the bastards will start paying me soon.

The kids roll downstairs before I need to go and wake them. That’s good. Andrew, as always after rising, looks like he’s been on a three-day ether and moonshine bender. Communicating mostly in short monosyllables, reluctantly spat from his mouth.

“Do you want a cup of tea, Andrew?”

“Ugh.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Ugh ugh, dugh.”

I think that was “Shut up, Dad.” Though it could easily have been “Fuck off, Dad.” The kids have no respect. Or enunciation.

Andrew is looking fairly sprightly this morning. For him. He’s still not far off a zombie. Lexie, on the other hand, is as chipper as ever.

Andrew has a cup of tea, refusing breakfast. Alexei isn’t going to say no to bacon.

The phone rings. It’s Henry. He’s halfway to Newark on his bike, but has forgotten his tickets. Can Dave print them again? Dave doesn’t look too pleased.

“I expect Henry will turn up two minutes before the train is due to leave. That’s what he usually does.” Dave says, rather cynically. “That’s why I gave him his tickets.”

Just to prove him wrong, Henry pops up in plenty of time. Especially as the train is running ten minutes late.

Its final destination is Edinburgh. And it’s packed. Luckily, we have seat reservations. Dave turfs some interlopers out of our designated seats and away we go.

Not that it’s a long journey. Just a short 20-minute dash to Doncaster. Where we get a connection to Leeds. In all, it takes about an hour. Including the obligatory buggering around in Doncaster.

It’s quite a while since I’ve been in Leeds. I have just two request stops for this visit: the Cardigan Arms and Whitelock’s.

After a brief discussion, we decide to start in Friends of Ham. Partly, because Dave wants to eat. It is, handily, right next to the station, though.

Dave and Henry order the one cask beer. The kids go for cider. I need something to wake me up. Newbarns BA Plain Dark Beer. A warming 11% ABV. It’s evil keg. I’ll just have to put up with that. The price on the board is for a third.

“Can I get a half of the Newbarns?”

I won’t take the piss and ask for a pint. As that would be over twenty quid. It’s full of Stouty goodness, however. And will stand in nicely for lunch.

Dave has a toasted sandwich of some sort. A fancy thing, with a French name. We don’t linger, though. We venture in search of a taxi. It takes a while, the rank being carefully hidden behind the station where you would least expect it.

The others are dropped off at the Cardigan, while I continue on to the Kirkstall Brewery. Which I believe is in Kirkstall. After a bit of discussion with the driver, I realise that it’s moved. And is on the Kirkstall Road. A few hundred metres closer to town than the Cardigan. No more than 100 metres from one of the houses I lived in back in the early 1980s.

Oh, well. Got here eventually. I ask the barman for Stuart, the brewer I’ve arranged to meet.

As I’m waiting for Stuart, I have a look around. The room is dead cool. With some amazing old advertising signs.

After a quick pint, Stuart shows me around the brewery. Which is full of the usual shiny things. Stuart mostly works on the older, smaller kit which was in the original premises in Kirkstall.

When we’re done, he gives me a lift to the Cardigan. The others have already moved on. I know that. But I’m not going to visit Leeds without a pint in the Cardigan, my former local. And one of my favourite pubs of all time. How many hours did I spend in the public bar?

I can’t hang around too long. Unlike in the old days. Though it’s reassuring to see how little it has changed. Only downside: no Tetley’s Mild.

When I drank here in the mid-1970s, the landlord was Irish. With several kids who took care of most of the bar-keeping duties. I’m guessing he mostly concerned himself with looking after the beer. Which was always in perfect condition. One of the most reliable pints in Leeds. When I had my Tetley’s Mild tastebuds fine-tuned. Up there with the Black Dog and Fisherman’s Hut in Cross Green.

I sit at the table me and Simon usually occupied. Next to it, that’s the one where the couple in their fifties used to sit. Pint of Mild for him, two halves for her. So many memories of this places. Though I forgot where the gents is.

I’m meeting up with the others in Whitelock's. Which means I need a taxi. Where the fuck do I get one? There’s a McDonalds over the road that seems to have some taxi activity. Let’s try there.

No luck. In desperation, I return to Kirkstall Road and, after a while, manage to flag down a cab.

“Whitelock's, please.”

“I’ll have to drop you on Park Row. Is that OK?”

I guess it will have to be. The alleyway where Whitelock's is located is off Briggate, a pedestrianised street. Which one is Park Row?

I don’t really recognise where I am when I get out. It’s been so long since I lived in Leeds. Where the fuck is Whitelock's from here? I wander in what I think is the right direction and spot signs for the Ship Inn. I know that’s off Briggate, too.

Yes! It’s just down here and on the right. What a clever boy I am. No, that was way scarier than it should have been. What a forgetful old git I am.

They’re here, which is good. And have seats, which is even better. You’ll understand if you’ve ever been held in Whitelock's incredibly narrow embrace. 

Relieved, I shovel down a pint. Not Younger’s No’3, unfortunately. That’s what I drank here back in the 1970s. When it was a rare free house in the city centre. As with many “free houses”, that meant some sort of tie to Scottish & Newcastle.

The kids look pleasantly surprised. Shocked, even, when I walk through the door.

“We thought we’d have to come looking for you.” Andrew says.

“We? I was going to let you make your own way back.” Alexei is very unforgiving.

They’re on cider again. I guess it’s a novelty for them. In Amsterdam, you only really get draught cider in Irish pubs.

Henry has already pissed off home. The lightweight.

As some of us are feeling the weight of hunger, we have one last stop before the train home: Bundobust. For some Indian street food. And beer, obviously. Handily, it’s on the way back to the station.

Dave orders some sort of combination vegetarian platter.

“What meat dishes do they have?” I ask, plaintively.

“It’s all vegetarian.” Dave says gleefully. The man who lasted a whole week as a vegetarian when he moved to Jamaica.

“Eat up, Dad. You’re always telling us to eat lots of vegetables.” Alexei says, helping to stick the boot in.

Fortunately, there’s some full-meat cask in addition to the evil keg offerings. That’s something. Though the prices are at near-Amsterdam levels.

We take a later train than planned. Dave had some crazy plan to head back around five. It’s half seven when we actually step onto a train. It’s getting on for nine when we stumble over Dave’s front door.

There’s still Dunkles. And the kids’ cider. Not finished my whisky, either.

We chill for a while in front of the TV. Then slowly peel off to bed. Dave first. Kids last. Me inbetween.




Friends of Ham
4-8 New Station St,
Leeds LS1 5DL.
https://friendsofham.com/


Kirkstall Brewery
100 Kirkstall Rd,
Leeds LS3 1HJ
Tel: 0113 898 0280
Email: info@kirkstallbrewery.com
https://www.kirkstallbrewery.com


Cardigan Arms
364 Kirkstall Rd,
Burley,
Leeds LS4 2HQ.
https://cardiganarms.co.uk/


Whitelock's Ale House
Turk's Head Yard,
Leeds LS1 6HB
https://whitelocksleeds.com/


Bundobust
6 Mill Hill,
Leeds,
LS1 5DQ,
Tel: 0113 243 1248
leeds@bundobust.com
https://bundobust.com/locations/leeds/