Today I went for a walk around the city, but it was still a bit rubbish. Although now the snow has all melted, it wasn’t even covered in white fluffy stuff to make it at least a little bit more interesting. There are a few noteworthy buildings that look really awesome, but the centre consists of a nasty, nasty concrete stadium thing, and a couple of really nasty concrete shopping malls. I see the 1960s and 70s were as unfriendly to the good town of Halifax as they were to every city in the UK.

Quite why anyone still thinks it’s a good idea to make buildings out of solidified porridge, asbestos, MRSA and legionnaires disease is beyond me.

That night I headed over to the open mic night again and got to listen to some really great music. But then somebody handed me a Rubik’s Cube and I embarrassingly went into my Obsessive Puzzle Solving mode. I was a little drunk so it took me AGES to complete and once I did, anyone left to impress with my Rain-Man style qualities had left the room. Oh well.

Then a guy came on stage with a guitar, played a half-decent song and then proceeded to blow through a French Horn for ten minutes. It wasn’t like he knew how to play the French Horn or even bothered to operate the valves. So we were treated to a long discordant fart, which went on for longer than even a jaded Radiohead fan would find sufficient. I voiced my dissent. Looking back, it was an incredibly rude thing to do. One day I’ll return to Halifax and apologise for being a tit. Nobody likes a heckler.