Patrick Brunty was born in Ireland to humble farming folk in 1777.
Being a bit ham-fisted, the blacksmith's apprenticeship didn't really work out so he re-sat his O-Levels and made his way to Cambridge University. Being a bit of a high-faluter, he swapped a vowel, affected an umlaut and the rest is history. Or shouldn't that be literature?
This is Brontë country, of course, the birthplace of England's best known, and only?, literary family.
 Technically it's a but, unlike Brunty, there's no need to come over all high-falutin'.
Pa Brunty ended up as some old rector or other of St Michael and All Angels Church.
The family home was the nearby parsonage and is now a pilgrimage for hundreds of thousands of people each year, browsing the graveyard for the Brontës' final resting places, as you do.
They're actually asleep in a vault in the church basement and at the last check, you're not allowed in.
Who's the best Brontë? Anne, Emily, Charlotte or the bloke one? There's only one way to find out, head to the old family home.
There's a slight theme park feel on Main Street and the George Formby impressionist has amassed quite a crowd.
The church and parsonage are just off, which is handy given that's why you're probably here, but there's zero chance of a Sunday dinner at 2 PM and best of luck finding a spot in that big car park.
No, it's time for a stroll so drive on through then up to Penistone Hill Country Park. Stop sniggering at the back! It rhymes with Dennis.
From there, it's a pleasant plod back down to Main Street.
Some old farm near here was the supposed inspiration for Emily's Wuthering Heights. The view certainly inspired a reflection on the mug of tea and the Full English taken earlier that day. Just like the song, too hot, too greasy.
A fair few folk up here as well although it's not known who .
Some equally careless and mysterious behaviour elsewhere as alighting in the remote car park, a lurid ladies' undergarment on the grassy verge.
 Or trod on a toad?
Guffer P.I. was straight on the case and suspected a holiday'ing couple looking for the local 24-hour launderette but taking the wrong turn out of town.
This was just a pit stop to check their bearings and on reaching for the tatty AA™ road atlas on the back seat, the contents of the overstuffed laundry bag must have been disturbed.
It was also thought to have happened at night, how else could such a brightly coloured item of clothing be overlooked?
An even stranger sight on returning to the car, the blooming bra was gone! Still on the case, it was suspected they realised doing this morning's ironing and simply retraced their steps from last night?
What other possible could there be?
Out on the wiley, windy moors and at more than 1,000 foot, you'll find Haworth West End Cricket Club.
Despite the height, the rarefied atmosphere doesn't seem to give their seamers an unfair advantage and, weather-wise, they somehow manage to complete more than two fixtures a season.
The nearest large town to here is Keighley. Keith Leigh is the brother of Mike Leigh. Mike Leigh is a well known British film director lauded for his gritty and unconventional approach. As is Ken Loach. Ken Loach directed the film .
It features a kestrel... here, have a kestrel!
This was taken at full zoom so no, that's not a rope it's sat on.
Now, Keith isn't Real-Leigh Mike's brother but how else can you crowbar in such an opportunistic snap?