Mini Yorkshire geography lesson: villages.

I'm going to shake things up today, to prove to the Home Office how bloody integrated I am: instead of the byways of Hungarian language and culture, I'll take you on a tour of lesser-known Yorkshire places.

You can thank me later.

I was told to start my journey in the home of reproductive confusion: Sexhow.

It's a nice place – sadly, but perhaps unsurprisingly, its population has been declining rapidly.

I fear at this point it may be too late for them to learn.

Anyway it was here where I met my trusty local guide, a stout fellow called Patrick Brompton.

"Come on up here, there's loads of things I Oughtershaw you!", he waved at me enthusiastically from the crest of a hillock as soon as he spotted me.

"I'll take you to Edstone first!", he announced, pointing westwards.
"The carven symbol of political dumbing down?"

"What? No, this is a different one. It is said to have been thrown by someone living over there."
"In Glasshouses?"
"Just imagine the cheek."

"So this here is the start of fantasy country", Patrick pointed at a road sign. "From Ravenscar all the way to Grimstone strange beasts roam after dark."

I hesitated. I wasn't sure I was ready for strange beasts.

"But there's lots of loot or XP for the intrepid hero", he added.

"And if one isn't an intrepid hero?"
"Come on, it is safe enough if we don't Follifoot around", he hollered as he set off with a confident stride.

We walked in silence for the best part of an hour when I noticed my guide's brow furrowed as if he were struggling with some long-repressed memory.

"Shall we have a break and a Fryup, Patrick?", I asked worriedly and because I was getting hungry already.

"That would indeed be a jolly good idea", he said, "but let's move a bit further down the road first. See, this is the exact spot I was mugged once by notorious ruffian twins Hutton and Newton Mulgrave."

"Great Heck!"
"No, that's over there", he pointed in the distance.

"Mugged, seriously?"
"Aye. Held up at Knipe Point", he nodded.

"Crikey, that sounds jolly dangerous."
"It was a hairy situation indeed. I may not even be here if it wasn't for the intervention of Constable Burton."

"It was a lucky escape for you, my friend", I said for I already regarded him a friend.
"He frogmarched both of them down to Sheriff Hutton, who threw the book at them. Anyway, we've come far enough to settle down for a picnic."

As I unpacked my provisions, Patrick produced from his knapsack a field kettle of the most delightful perfection.

"Blimey, that thing is the epitome of Kettleness!", I exclaimed with surprise.

"Isn't it just? No Crackpot, that's for sure", he beamed with pride.

And sadly this is where my story ends, I've run out of places to visit.

If you're disappointed and thanked me before, you can Unthank me now.