Travel

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Five reasons I love Huddersfield

Posted on by Farrah Kelly

Reading Weeks are fabulous things. We’re given time off our intense series of lectures (read: six contact hours a week) to catch up on all the required reading, and to pen the perfect essays. So obviously, I’ve done the responsible third year thing, and gone home.

Pulling into Huddersfield train station is always such a relief. As wonderful as York is, it just doesn’t have the “proper Yorkshire” feel to it- not like the Hud does anyway. And although I’m only really an honorary Yorkshire lass (MCR girl through and through), living here for the past four (or is it five?) years has infatuated me. I love Huddersfield. Here’s a short, and by no means exhaustive, list of reasons why.

1. Festival of Light

Probably the best annual event in Yorkshire, The Festival of Light sees St Georges Square and the town centre filled with giant illuminated flowers, cranes dangling opera singers and harpists from the sky and marching bands parading through, emblazoned with lighting costumes and manic face-paint grins. There’s tonnes of food stalls showcasing Huddersfield’s best dining experiences (no, not you Jumbo’s) and street entertainers round every corner and on every building. If you can only visit HUD for one night, make it one of these. Really, really spectacular stuff.

2. The Bus Station
If you’ve ever spent more than half an hour in this infamous bus station- and trust me, I’ve spent an unhealthy portion of my life waiting for X6′s and 321′s that never showed up- then you’ll understand. The booming announcement voice that dutifully reminds you, every four minutes, not to walk in front of moving buses and/or smoke, the odd soundtrack featuring Westlife’s Xmas Hits and Classic FM, and most notably of all- the people.

The people of Huddersfield Bus Station are so ill-explained and so awe-inspiring, it’s hard for outsiders to understand. There’s the lady with a giant afro, complete with forks, cigarettes and small mammals living inside. There’s the woman in the baseball cap who swears at you for walking past. There’s the guy who wears swimshorts every time you see him, no matter what the weather’s like. To put it into a context we can all understand, here’s the top tweet generated from searching “Huddersfield Bus Station”

3. The Nightlife
A standard Wednesday night out in Hud compromises three essential factors:

1) We meet in Verve, where the barmen remember us from the days of drinking in our college lunch hour, and know our usual drink orders by memory (mine’s a jagerbomb, but with a full can of redbull and a straw). We then go to Parish once we stop caring what the booze tastes like, and the boys are longing for some heavy metal and a pool table.

2) I don’t know how Tokyo Huddersfield does it, but it could give Tokyo York a lesson or two. The top floor is ace for dancing like you know all the words to Azelia Banks’ 212, the middle floor is for if you are having a bit of a Beyonce moment (don’t pretend this doesn’t apply to you) and the bottom floor is for belting out all the words to whatever made the Libertines famous. There really is something for everyone, and if you can excuse the disgustingly sugary drinks and the kinda sticky seats, it’s a good night out guaranteed.

3. McDonalds. Wait for one of the boys to order a forty box of chicken nuggets and swoop in. Try to hide your Happy Meal from the taxi driver, cos he will be pissed if you get McFlurry all over the back seat.

4. The Views
Huddersfield is beautiful. Tiny cobbled streets, long winding hills and the ever presence of Castle Hill. In the snow, it’s to die for. Driving over the Penines and seeing Hud all lit up- easily my favourite view.  I could gush all day about how damn pretty  the place is but that’d get boring so here’s a picture of what it looks like in the pub garden of my local.

5. The Independent Shops
Pink Cadillac is the best place to go for clothes, the Oxfam books is the greatest charity shop of them all, and the Topshop stall on the Saturday market is basically where all my clothes are from. If you fancy a charity shop haul, get yourself to Holmfirth for the best second-hand collections, if you fancy a homemade lunch go to that courtyard-y place tucked away behind Halifax and pig out on all their amazing fresh food, if you fancy some chilled music and great coffee go to Coffee Evolution and laze away an entire day in their unbeatably comfy ambience. Check out Byram Arcade for cool vintage and new designers’ work, and if you’re not too busy after all of that shopping and eating, go see a local band at 1.22 or try the cocktails out in Zephyr or Vox. For a tiny town, we’ve got an awful lot going on.

I’ll leave my list at that. I could go on- I’ve not even mentioned the food festivals or the college rivalries or the camping opportunities- but I don’t want to spoil the surprises for the Huddersfield uninitiated amongst you. And for those who’ve been here longer than me, what did I miss?

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Piff the Magic Dragon- Harrogate Comedy Festival review (Yorker archives)

Posted on by Farrah Kelly

“Sometimes I think I need a gimmick”, says the grown man dressed as a dragon. Holding a chihuahua. Who is also dressed as a dragon. The irony sinks in, and the audience guffaw again. Welcome to Piff the Magic Dragon- bringing a touch of magic to the Harrogate Comedy Festival.

Securing his place as a cult favourite on Penn & Teller’s Fool Us, Piff is the absolute last comedian-come-magician-come-dragon you’ll lose in a crowd. Despite his bright and cheery outfit, Piff is anything but a happy dragon. He’s broke, divorced, and his only source of income is Mr Piffles, his slightly less than magical glamorous assistant.

When Piff pulls up a member of the audience to inflict some magic upon, he swiftly falls in love with her and decides he must find out if she is a true princess- via all the usual routes. Does the boot fit? Is she sensitive enough to sense a pea? Can she guess Mr Piffles’ real name?

The show is quite unlike any other. Think a younger Jack Dee in a dragon costume, and with the ability to sneeze fireworks. The entire show is based on anticlimax- thrillingly so. You never quite know whether the tiny dog in a dragon outfit is genuinely about to be shot out of a cannon, or whether there’s another punchline on its way.

The magic tricks were definitely a personal highlight for me- and were brilliantly set up. For instance, in handing a random member of the audience a giant box, he casually remarked that he was sure “it probably holds no relevance to the rest of the show, so you needn’t worry”.

My only minor criticism of the night would be that the magic/comedy balance was slightly off. As a comedian, Piff is great- with excellent timing, good audience banter and some cracking one liners. Yet, short of pretty cool Mr Piffles tricks- one disappearing dog in particular which was very impressive- and a handful of card tricks, there wasn’t as much magic as I would have liked.

Mr Piffles, the bored looking chihuahua, makes a fabulous glamorous assistant. Allowing himself to be laminated, shot out of cannons, and forced to moonwalk (Piff declares him as “Putting the RSPCA into “Call the RSPCA!!”)- he earns his treats by performing adorably.

With a whole host of dragon puns up his sleeve (not to mention the finger puppets or phone aerials), a cheating ex-wife who lives in his briefcase, and a broken heart- all this dragon needs is a hug and a round of applause- which he’ll certainly manage to get at his forthcoming shows.

A night with Piff is an unusual night- how often can you say you’ve seen a real-life adult dragon make his chihuahua levitate, after all? The show is cute, funny and deadpan. Wonderful stuff.

The Harrogate Comedy Festival continues at Harrogate Theatre throughout October



Originally published on The Yorker, Oct 13th ’12, here.

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These city streets (The Yorker archives)

Posted on by Farrah Kelly

So, welcome to your new city. We know trying to discover all the best offerings of a new place can be a bit of a pain, so the Lifestyle team have been real generous and are giving you a helping hand in your path to unearthing York’s most interesting spots.

York is FULL of gates. No, not kissing ones. It’s a fancy way of saying street, basically, and it can be quite difficult knowing your Coppergates from your Colliergates. We’ve handpicked the most interesting ones you need to know about!

Jubbergate.
It may sound like something from a Lewis Carroll poem, but it’s not in Wonderland, it’s just off Parliament Square. Home to York’s main market, pick up fresh flowers, fix your phone, and browse local artists’ work.
Swinegate. 
Swinegate has an unusual history; originally a lane where pigs were kept, it later developed a slightly seedier nature when it became home to brothels and prostitutes- then known as “Swingate”, with neighbouring Grape Lane being known as “Grope” lane (charming). Now home to more respectable joints, you’ll find student musts Vudu Lounge and 1331 here.

Hungate. 
Here you’ll find York’s largest and most ambitious excavation site. DIG is literally unearthing York’s astonishingly long history, and although the guided tours have stopped there’s still plenty to be marvelled at over at the exhibition that’ll be hanging around all year.

Whip-ma-whop-ma-gate. 
Short street, long name. The plaque that lives on this street tells us it means “”What a street!” and is probably the only street name to be considered this quirky & adorable anywhere. The “Whip” element comes from the days of public humiliation as punishment- stocks were erected here so petty criminals could receive a good old fashioned flogging.

Shambles. 
No guide to York’s best streets would be complete without heralding the famous Shambles. This cobbled lane has pretty much the coolest namedropping potential out of all York’s streets, having been mentioned in the Doomsday Book in 1086. Usually full of tourists- because it’s plain gorgeous, make sure you check out the incredible chocolatiers, and head down for a romantic stroll at night.

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Originally published in Y Magazine, Issue 1 (view here), 29th Sept ’12
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Was my summer worth it?

Posted on by Farrah Kelly
I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it, but I’ve had a pretty eventful summer. 
I’ve jumped into ice cold lakes, been to a rave, cleaned and emptied an entire house, been kicked out of a hotel, scaled rockfaces and bookshelves, defrosted my first freezer, been a translator, gotten lost, made unlikely friends, eaten a steak at 10pm covered in mud, moved house again, read approximately one thousand books, written approximately ten thousand articles and blogs, dived into the Med, almost been kidnapped a couple of times, stargazed listening to Czech folk music, slept in tents and cars and mansions and left my teenage years behind me. And that’s just some of the stuff I was sober enough to remember.
With all this excitement to try and draw some kind of life experience from, I don’t really know where to start. It’s been a haphazard whirlwind of rushing trains, buses and flights. Countless bags packed and unpacked, outfits changed and taxis home; always on the way to somewhere else. I’ve not really had time to take stock of it all- and now I’m about to hurtle myself into a whole host of work- of Yorker, degree and part time varieties.
So have I learnt anything? I’m not sure. I definitely feel more grow-ed up, though I’m a far cry from a proper adult just yet. I now know not to get onto a boat with creepy men, not to snigger at people sincerely singing into the middle distance, not to take pyjamas to a rave. I can more or less bake bread, I’ve memorised the rules of Fuck the Dealer, and have endured the pain of a triple figure phone bill.

I’d been joking that my mini gap-yah was a soul searching mission, that I was going off to find myself in a bookshop, south of France. I wasn’t genuinely expecting an epiphany while sunbathing in a hammock, but I think I secretly was hoping to find something out about myself. I blame reading Eat, Pray, Love. Truth is, I’m not sure I did. No- I’m not struggling with an existential crisis, I just don’t think these three months have been a life-changing event for me. Not overtly, anyway.

That’s not to say I haven’t really, thoroughly enjoyed myself. I’d do the whole “memories that’ll last a lifetime” spiel, but it’s a bit cheesy and tired so I’ll just take it for granted that you’ll all agree I’ve had a great time. Saves on me using up a load of clichés and gushing about how fabulous my life has been. You’d only get jealous.

Looking back, there is one change I’d make. I was certain at the beginning of summer that I’d do just fine on my own; and while Regina, Alex, Jerry & Kevin will always house a lovely little alcove in my heart; I don’t think I’d do it alone again. For one thing, there’s no one to take picture of me when I’m gallivanting around, but more importantly; it would have been cool to have always had someone with me, experiencing the same things at the same time- and who isn’t going to get sick of me constantly retelling anecdotes.
I’ve especially loved having Anna with me in my last week in France- someone who’s cool and funny and interesting- there to take the piss out of my accent and to have “you had to be there” moments with. I’ll forever refer to distant places as “Ain’t no man collecting your bins”, and tell people that they’ve got the wrong end of the leek.
One of the best things about my summer has been all the reunions I’ve been having. Stressed Mecca Bingo experiences with the BFF, fancy meals in London, nights out with the boys and walks round Sainsbury’s with my mum. Those are the little moments that have really stitched all the antics of my summer up together- and I don’t care how disgustingly cheesy that sounds. I love coming home just as much as I love getting my one way ticket out again.
Though I’ve come out a little battered, I’ve come out in one piece. In related news, my mum is now giving away all the kittens she had while I was off making a fuss somewhere to any good home. Back to normality; to work and studying and facing up to graduation (gulp). It’s time for the tan to fade(!)