A day of mixed emotion...

...for me yesterday. I took Bron to Bradford, land of my birth, to pick up some leaflets from Birch Printers, the firm I used to work for (okay, that was a plug, so in for a penny; Birch Printers (Bradford) Ltd - 01274 884455. Call for a competitive quote on all short to medium length runs of lithographic and digital printing).

Whilst there I took the time to go for lunch with Nicky, my former collegue and proud possessor of West Yorkshire's most nippable hips. It was cool to catch up with her a she is one of the few people I've met who shares my idiotic sense of humour. She's also going through a purple patch in her life at the moment too which is good to hear.

On the down side, the food at the local, which used to be spot on, has gone rapidly downhill in my absence. The cook lollopped about the kitchen for the best part of 45 minutes before bringing me a mixed grill that looked and tasted like assorted roadkill and Bron a burger with a burned bap (which, with it's inherent alliteration, is a joy to say but a bugger to eat). I think she was still getting to grips with the concept of flame. "Ooooh, the bright thing, it dances, it burns......".

It did feel kind of weird to be back there, what with it being my last "proper" job before throwing my lot in with the comedy. Adam in the repro department did jokingly say that he had some proof reading for me to do and I nearly told him, without the merest hint of humour, to put it on my desk.

In for a penny, in for a pound, I figured - let's make a day of it. So we went back to the house I used to live in in Clayton, which has magically transformed from a bohemian slum to a respectable dwelling, and then on to the house in Allerton where I lived with my family for the lion's share of my formative years. This felt really weird - I've never quite felt settled or truly at home ever since leaving this house, the house I grew up in. My parents have now moved to Skipton but their house, charming as it is, has never really felt like home either and the flats and lodgings I've stayed in since have just been places I've hung my hat, as it were. But here I was, back at the place I'd always thought of as home... but it wasn't. It felt wrong, somehow distorted, like a picture with all the colours streaming. It was familiar to me but at the same time seemed eerily distant. It made me feel very odd, sort of detached.

A walk through Chellow Dene Woods, setting for many of my childhood adventures, did little to exorcise ghosts of the past, though I did find time, even in my unsettled state, to pose for a daft photo or two.

From there we went into Bradford centre and the National Museum of Photography, Film and Television. Seeing Bron's little face light up at all the vintage cameras was a joy to behold. I love it when people overtly display their passion. We live in a sadly cynical age.

We then went in to watch a film in IMAX, involving a safari in, as the theme song put it, "Yeeeeeaaaaah, Africa". This was much fun, although the highlight was the gratuitous sex scene. Trust me, until you've seen two leopards indulging in a hot dicking in glorious 3D on a giant cinema screen, you haven't lived.

On the way back we popped in to see my parents, have a drink and listen to my mum chide me over the length of my beard. Okay. It was getting a bit out of hand.

I trimmed it today, which in itself was contender for most memorable event in what has been a dull old day. The only other highlight was buying some new trousers and a cracking purple jacket at TK Maxx as part of my ongoing campaign to do something about the blandness of my pastel colour infested wardrobe.

I'm going to do some thinking about tomorrow night's gig now - I'm back in Bradford again for my monthly residency at the Bag of Quips. I have some new routines to try, so I'll try to edit them in preparation.

Peace. X