Back in the early 1970s I, along with a few colleagues, had to attend a residential course in Huddersfield.
One evening we set off for the bright lights of Bradford. We didn't find any. A visit to a pub with damp seeping down the walls was short-lived. We headed for the cinema. What a flea-pit. The film was terrible and we had the ignomy of being thrown out for being too vociferous in our condemnation.
Bradford, we decided, was not for us. Off we went to Harry Ramsdens in Guiseley for fish and chips. Excellent fare which made up for our earlier disappointments. On the way out one of our colleagues made the mistake of saying that he thought the fish and chips had been cooked in oil. Cue two members of the kitchen staff to frogmarch our colleague into the kitchen. He returned chastened to inform us that he was mistaken: not cooking oil but beef dripping was used.
We roared back to Huddersfield, literally. Our car had lost the rear end of its exhaust.