Memory lane again, again

Over 50 years ago, when I were a little one, 11years old to be precise, I started taking the train from Harrogate to Leeds, to St Micks, my Jesuit secondary school (Read down the old boy list and you'll see three of my contemporaries, Tony Hart who got the train with us (now deceased), Paul Cavadino and Dave Prentis). They all went on to be leaders in their field. Er....not like me, who didn't.
None of your namby pamby cotton wool coddling of your kids here. It took me and a few more of my catholic mates (Steve, Tony, Richard and Neil) about an hour and half to get to school, choking all the way on diesel fumes. Still, we had fun terrorising the other hapless passengers throughout the journey, never mind copying our homework from anyone who had bothered to do it.
This morning Jan and I took the same train on our way to London for a party tomorrow.
I took advantage of the journey to help Jan with her elocution lessons. She will insist on saying Caastleforrd instead of Casulfud. Getting her to talk proper is taking longer than I thought but I'll persevere for her sake.
I'm writing this from The Mint in London. Well, not the Mint, cos I'm sure they wouldn't let me in, but a hotel of the same name in Westminster and jolly nice it is too.
I'm not sure what the poor people are doing tonight but we're off to the Ritz for drinky poos. I knew it would be useful getting Jan hosed down yesterday.