Welcome to B-List Britain, a new and exclusive Metro Travel series with Ben Aitken, the author of the book Shitty Breaks. Ben argues it’s time to ditch the UK’s hotspots and explore unsung cities instead. This week, he’s in Bradford…
When I declared live on radio that Bradford is one of my favourite cities in Europe, the broadcaster almost terminated proceedings to check I was alright.
The Yorkshire heavyweight is currently the UK City of Culture, a designation that’s awarded every four years to a place that isn’t getting the attention it deserves.
It was Andy Burnham – then Labour Culture Secretary, current ‘King of the North’ – who came up with the idea of a City of Culture back in 2009. Derry got the nod in 2013, Hull in 2017 and Coventry in 2021.
When plotting the itinerary for my latest book – which takes in the UK’s least-visited cities – it’s telling that those three were nowhere near my radar, suggesting that a stint as a COC can have a lasting effect.
And so it stands to reason that one of the first things that struck me about Bradford was the sheer stature of the place.
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At every turn, there was a puffed-up edifice, august and Victorian, cut from the honey-coloured sandstone.
Bradford grew rich and powerful off the backs of sheep, and the prosperity it spun allowed for the construction of some almighty buildings, the old Wool Exchange not the least of them.
The building is now a branch of Waterstones, and arguably the best-looking bookshop in the country (closely followed by The Rabbit Hole in Brigg).
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Around the corner from the bookshop is Pizza Pieces, an underground institution marshalled by a heavyweight Italian, Antonio Barbiero. Queuing to order, I read a framed newspaper snippet, in which Tony offered the following: ‘To make a business last in Bradford, you have to be a larger-than-life character.’
From what I could tell, the guy was a case in point. There was something colossal about him. Like he could govern an entire city by recourse to facial expressions alone. I had the minestrone soup for £2.50, then a vast slice of margherita for about three quid. Both were spot on.
Bradford isn’t short of diversions. The Media and Science Museum – which is a mecca for movie and telly and internet buffs – boasts three cinemas, including Europe’s first IMAX.
You might be surprised to learn that Bradford is a UNESCO City of Film, and was the first such city in the world. My favourite film set in Bradford is Rita, Sue and Bob Too (1987). I saw it when I was about 10, and I can’t say it made me want to hasten northwards, or meet anyone called Bob.
In front of the museum is a statue of local lad J.B. Priestley, who died aged 89 in 1984, after a career as a playwright, novelist, screenwriter and general left-wing bigmouth.
At one point in his life, Priestley found himself on George Orwell’s famous list of suspected communist sympathisers, basically for saying that we ought to spare a thought for the poor, and think twice before acquiring an A-bomb. What a wally.
Another famous figure from the city is David Hockney. Voted the most influential UK artist of all time in 2011 by thousands of his peers, Hockney did many sketches of Bradford as a teen, and had this to say about the place: ‘This big city I live in may be grey and black, but there is magic in it if I look at it closely.’
Hockney’s work can be admired (or frowned at) at Salt’s Mill or Cartwright Hall. The latter gallery is also currently playing host to the Turner Prize exhibition, which runs until February 22 next year.
Bradford’s old art-deco cinema – once the largest in the country outside of London – lay dormant for a while but is now a significant platform for music and performance.
Bradford Live, as the venue is known, opened its doors earlier this year. I’ve got two dates in my diary already: Kaiser Chiefs next Feb, and Love Actually in Concert this coming November.
I bought a pair of tickets for the latter, but my partner is refusing to come on the grounds that the film gives them ‘the ick’, whatever that means.
There are several other destinations that a city-breaker in Bradford might want to keep in mind.
Up on Baildon Moor, just a few miles outside the city, I walked a rescued alpaca amid top-drawer countryside (see altreka.co.uk).
At the Odsal Stadium – which is where Colin Firth gave his King’s Speech – I caught a game of Rugby League, which is a sport that grows increasingly mysterious the more I attend to it.
And at St George’s Hall – which would grace any city in the country – I enjoyed a mind-boggling PowerPoint by the telly scientist Brian Cox.
While hanging around outside the venue after the Cox gig had finished, it was great to see and hear a thousand Yorkshire folk heading home under a full moon, saying such things as, ‘It’s them quarks that get me, Paul,’ or, ‘I don’t care what he said, Mary, if I walked into a black hole I’m quite sure I’d notice.’
Bradford may well be the capital of curry, but the best meal I had in the city was actually a spicy spaghetti bol, which I had it at My Lahore, a self-styled British-Asian kitchen that began in Bradford but now has outposts in London and Manchester.
The restaurant welcomed Kate and Wills a few years ago. Apparently, they shared a cornflake tart.
In terms of accommodation, The Great Victoria Hotel isn’t the Ritz but it won’t let you down, while for liquid refreshment I can highly recommend a craft beer joint called Boar & Fable.
I only popped into B&F on the off chance it might be half-decent, and yet ended up staying there for hours… That’s Bradford for you.
At risk of sounding dramatic, I’d visit Bradford now if I were you.
While there’s more space, and the locals are happy to see you, and the whole thing is affordable.
There might not be a chic boutique hotel on every other corner, and there might not be ceviche at every waking hour, but in their place will be novelty and learning and character and whimsy.
Heck, what have you got to lose? (That’s the first time I’ve used the word heck in a professional context, btw.)
I mean, you’ve already been to Munich. You’ve had a look at Lyon. You’ve seen Venice four times, for crying out loud.
Go on, give Bradford a chance. And if you genuinely can’t stand it, I’ll give you your money back. (Or some of it anyway.)
Ben Aitken is the author of Shitty Breaks: A Celebration of Unsung Cities.
