I've just been re-reading Virginia Woolf's account of her visit to Haworth in 1904 (to get me even more in the mood for my expedition there on Friday). She's got a nicely wry streak in her account:
"I understand that the sun very seldom shone on the Bronte family, and if we chose a really fine day we should have to make allowance for the fact that fifty years ago there were few fine days at Haworth, and that we were, therefore, for the sake of comfort, rubbing out half the shadows in the picture."
I'm hoping for a fine day on Friday, before the evening event I'm doing at the Parsonage, and then some brilliant early morning sunshine on Saturday morning, so that I can walk up to Top Withins and imagine myself into Wuthering Heights, before catching a minicab from Bronte Taxis back to Keighley train station.
It's true. They are called Bronte Taxis. No sign of Branwell at the wheel, though... He's too busy swigging gin and telling tall tales to the tourists at the Black Bull.