This is pretty random but what isn’t! I love creating writing so here goes..
The scene is set. Leeds Festival. Sunday night turns out to be Bonfire night. All the tents are getting destroyed. Chaos ensures. The reports will be on BBC Look North the following night. All the Harrogate people in a doubled up campsite get together. I take my bag and put it in the crowd’s tent in the heart of the Orange camp site at Bramham Park. It’s 4am, and I want to go to bed. I find salvation inside, get my mattress and doze off…
The following morning, I woke up absolutely brimming of a freezing state. I knew that as soon as I woke up, I had to leave Bramham Park. It was Monday morning and some people were going home. I hardly had any money. I asked a friend what the time was and they said “6am”.

Branham Park (above) could I actually get out of here?!
I couldn’t be bothered waiting so decided to head back home and find a bus. Unfortunately the buses didn’t appear to be coming, according to the steward guys outside the festival. Thinking back to how I originally got to the festival, I decided to go down the bus route which had taken me to the festival in the first place. This involved walking down barren, green fields next to bushes. I might have been stupid, and indeed I knew at the time it was a silly idea. But I suppose I wanted a sense of adventure. I was shattered from a weekend of crazy partying, and I was keen to find out what civilisation was really like.
I ended up in the village of Bramham and went to the local shop. It was so weird to be back in civilian surroundings. Bramham Park although only across the motorway with the music blaring was a different world. I bought dairy milk and phoned my parents with the battery that I had left and proceeded to go on the biggest and weirdest walk.
I walked all the way from Branham to Clifford. I had my sleeping bag mattress with me, but I felt the pain from having to carry all of this. I continued up Bramham Road, and quite clearly was feeling the pain. I knew that there was a bus that would take me home somehow. But I wanted to continue walking exhausted and tired remember, in the hope I might find a big supermarket.
Now is the time to put on your best Yorkshire prowl when you read this. Maybe not in a dialectic way but certainly worth bearing in mind!
I eventually decided to stop at a local bus stop after asking a local man who I christened ‘Old Bert’ if there was a Morrisons nearby (It’s a Yorkshire custom). He told me there was one nearby but the nearest one was Wetherby. I was in at Clifford at this point and suddenly all the local people came out to play. I waited at the Bus Stop for what seemed like forever. I just wanted to go home. I was never going to pay a £10 ticket to get a shuttle bus from the festival to Leeds City Centre. I also didn’t want to wait around so just went for it. The buses were running inconsistently because it was a bank holiday Monday.
The hour was one of the most interesting perks of the weekend (well maybe not). It turned out that ‘Old Bert’ was going to Wetherby for a cup of tea and a look around the shops, like a gentleman in his cap and his shirt and tie. He belonged to another era. A polite one. I didn’t ask if he was a Leeds United supporter though I wish I did. His other retired friend soon joined him, and I wanted to believe there were talking about the horse races and betting. This didn’t turn out to be true of course. These people got the bus stop everyday it seemed and this was their way of life. Exciting!
More people joined including a lady who told me about all the noise from the festival that they had heard. They had heard Kings of Leon. I think they quite enjoyed it. She certainly didn’t seem annoyed about it all! A young couple with a baby soon came, and I think we were complete here, with a picture of British Image 3 of people waiting at the bus stop, from all different perspectives. David Hockney, please make a collage of this!
Picture the scene. I am wrecked and tired, and I am sat in a bus stop for an hour. I want food, shower and a bed and I am here with the local people of Clifford, listening to their chat and gossip on village matters. I feel like I know everyone already. It might be slightly journalistic but it’s more of an adventuristic view. Having walked all the way here, surely I count myself as an official Clifford citizen! It was actually really nice.
Eventually the Bus came. I sat in it and wiled away the time by looking at the scenery. Old Bert got off his stop, and we went past the hustle and bustle town of Wetherby. Famous for the Wetherby Wheller, and Wetherby Athletic FC…
There you have it, a journey from a festival, with no money and no food but it was brilliant! It was not entirely random but it was an adventure. I felt like writing something out of the blue for about an hour, and the blog was the best platform for this.
Thinking about it those Suburbia areas are rather nice.
Clifford, Bramham, Leeds, I love you Yorkshire, always in my heart!