There's still snow here. Great big yellowed, week-old, once-was-snow, solid mounds of the stuff. Back your car into this, and it's your car that will come off worse (no, I didn't really, I'm just guessing). And it's COOOOOOLD. Thank God I live in Hull and not in Leeds - it might be a bit breezy down the Humber estuary, but its a fresh sea wind, not that icy shivering Pennines wind that makes you think of wartime austerity and foot-and-mouth. So I pulled into a little coffee shop for a warmup cuppa coffee before the 70 mile trip back to Hull. It's a cute little town, not far from the airport, and this is not generic all-looks-the-same England, oh no. This is real England, The North. Which explains perfectly why, as I await my breakfast, I hear the waitress explain to a young couple that they'll have to wait for their bowl of chips, because they only fry them fresh for every customer. Only the best, indeed. You can imply anything you want about obesity levels, but frankly, this is Leeds, not California, and up here you need the central heating. At least that's my excuse for a big sausage bap with my latte this morning. COME ON, who else hasn't been craving a big plate of bangers after all that chat about pork at the weekend? God, it seemed like everyone we talked to was reminiscing about how good Superquinn smelled last week when they were giving out rasher samples, or how tasty the Christmas ham always is, and we just know there's going to be a massive rush for the next lot that gets produced. So forgive me, but I bought British.
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