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A right jaunt of a day. I managed to get Joe into the Three Pigeons in Halifax; which was a real coup.

We started off with no plan, though I had a hankering to see Georgie Spanswick turn on the Ilkley lights.

We ended up on a bus that took us to Huddersfield. We left the town beerless.

On the way to Halifax we got off, because of me, to call in the Grey Horse (mentioned on which ever blog you are reading, when I went to Glyn’s wedding, though have more chance of finding the reference than me.

Joe was unconvinced of the entertainment value of ferrets. Soon changed his tune. When I saw them a mear 8(?) weeks ago they could climb up the wire of the pen, and turn around. Now they are so fat they just slide back dow3n, with their claws rattling the wire.

In Halifax we did the Shears and the Pump Room, as well as the 3 Pigeons; which was the best; especially because of the 3 generations of sound people we happened to talk to (and smart granny’s good looking friend; who fancied Joe).

The 576 bus back from Halifax took a 4 mile detour. The not old or drunk enough lads behind us were making excuses when I was urging them to complain. Joe then claimed I made ever bus trip into a drama,

Back in Bradford we saw Rupert Stroud. I will not tell you where, just incase the woman theat seems to be running the pub did not welsh on the deal. If she did then I will be urging folk to ask for cash up front before they deliver.
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