AKIN to the brave colonials who created the blessing on the Earth that was the British Empire, the Conservatives are sallying forth to open a headquarters in Leeds. Here’s my guide:
The city is home to a wealth of Victorian architecture, such as the Corn Exchange, Town Hall and Thornton’s Arcade, all built on the thriving cotton trade of the 18th century which made Britain the world’s most important mercantile nation and we’re now supposed to be ashamed of. Let me remind you our Parliament outlawed slavery.
The natives of Leeds live stunted but industrious lives, working long hours in mills and factories in terrible conditions, and if they do not currently they soon will again. All men wear cloth caps, which they doff in deference to their betters. One has the right – nay, obligation – to issue a damn good thrashing if they do not.
They do have rugger here, but it is not the gentlemanly amateur game to which one can take one’s corporate clients, but rather a savage, inferior, Northern version that participants are actually paid to play. How vulgar. Also, the ball is I believe a Saracen’s head.
My trusty first edition of Pears’ Cyclopaedia advises that September to November brings thick fog, December to February heavy snow, and March to June torrential rain. The summer weather is unknown since all gentlemen are in Europe taking the Grand Tour.
Not even the suppers endured at Eton would prepare one for the ghastly regional food. Additionally, there is the constant threat of typhoid, cholera and lead poisoning, so avoid eating locally. A good manservant should have already telegraphed Fortnum’s to arrange for weekly hampers to be sent via the Great Northern Railway.