For the past three weeks I have been here there and everywhere which has meant scheduled blog posts and little to no chance to read up on anyone else's stuff. I hope you've all been behaving yourselves, but Google reader informs me that you've been busy blogging about it at any rate. So my apologies (and thanks for your lovely comments :D)
This post is an attempt to recount recent adventures in Whitby. Never mind writing the journalling first, I'm writing the blogpost first. And then I can sort all my photos, pair them up with the relevant paragraphs and go to town. Thanks go to Sian and Sandra for the idea...
So, the family and I tootled on over to this lovely seaside town partly to spend a cheerful day by the sea but mainly to eat fish and chips. Or that is how certain of us viewed the prospect.
Everyone knows they don't make proper fish and chips in the south. They just can't. But they do it rather nicely at Whitby. Very nicely indeed. So having found our clifftop parking space, we descended into the town and the first thing that strikes you is the delicious aroma of freshly cooked fish and chips. It being lunchtime, we hit up our usual haunt and tucked in. Yummy!
The seagulls cheerfully attack the tourists as well. I maintain they wouldn't if the chips weren't really good. QED. Plus this on eyed my camera in a particularly malevolent fashion.
We explored the town and made the obligatory trek up and down the 199 steps to the abbey and back again. And then it was time to take tea, naturally, although I intend to devote a whole post to that another time...
Post cuppa, we climbed back up the cliffs in order to play crazy golf. I, obviously, trounced everyone except Dad. The only explanation must be that he cheated.
Rivalries put aside for the present, we sauntered down the cliffs again, beachward, singing "I have often walked down this street before" from My Fair Lady at the top of our lungs. No particular reason, but it had been going round in somebody's head all day and things like that are catching, so snatches of tune and hastily patched-together words could be heard drifting along in our wake all afternoon. On the cliffs, no one can hear you sing as the wind carries your voice away. And words like "Oh, the towering feeling!" suddenly take on a new significance.
Reaching the brightly coloured beach huts, we quietened down and gradually headed back along the beach into town. The sun reflected off the damp sand, the pier arced gracefully out to sea, lively waves tumbled and crashed, and spray lent a hazy edge to the scenery. It was lovely photography practice.
(We debated having chips for tea too but didn't in the end. Probably good for us. Still, it's always nice to leave things to be accomplished in the future)
And then it was time to go home...
P.S. This was my 200th post. Cool beans and fabcakes! I think this means it's time for a giveaway-bloghop-challenge. Check back soon to find out more!