Wednesday, February 20, 2008


Saturday (Whitby, Day 2).

Both slightly dehydrated, we awoke at around 8.30am. Quick showers were followed by breakfast – big, English, uncomplicated, fuel for the day.

We were the last to depart the dining room.
Emma returned to the bedroom as I took a short walk to the car to fetch boots and maps and important things.

A sunny day, the abbey just visible on the horizon.

An important man of Whitby…

We don’t talk about William Scoresby Junior - eejit.
I approached the hotel.

We decided to walk to Sandsend. Heading north along the beach, the map suggested that we would find the village of Sandsend at the end of the… yeah.

A walk to the beach…
Ah, the grim pub from the crawl that dared not speak its name. How come we didn’t see the sign that said ‘Live Entertainment – Big Screen Sports – Late Bar’? If only we’d known! Everyone knows that that’s code for ‘Bar for Young Stupids’.

A fruiterer does what a fruiterer does best... a fruiterer fruits.

Looking towards the old town…

Along the harbourside…

A walk along the beach…

And most gorgeously...

Our destination – the Sandside Café at Sandsend.

And well worth the walk too.

All wholesome and wonder, we set off to return along the cliff-top.
But lo, what’s that?!

It’s a dead bird in the sidings.
And what’s…?

Ah yes, safety advice. Good.


Shane: We gotta get outta here!
Emma: I think we’ll be ok.
Shane: That’s very brave of you, but we can’t be so sure. Here, pop this helmet and vest on – there’s a love.

Closer to town, we relaxed a little.

It’s the rule, you’ve got to take this picture (whale bone, allegedly)…

And more opportunistically…

Off-season, roaring trade. One had to admire their work (and had done so the previous evening - see fish stain)...

And thence, we did roll back to the hotel for a couple of hours of lazing – sleeping, reading trashy magazines, getting the football scores and a call to my parents to arrange lunch the following day. We would meet roughly half-way, in the seaside town of Saltburn, though where exactly I did not know, as I didn’t know the town.

Saturday evening saw us take a meal at an Indian restaurant on the harbourside – the restaurant name eludes me. Though there were classier-looking joints, Whitby had given us appetites for hot food. It was good, we were good, and back to the hotel.
Sunday followed, in the way that it generally does.


OldHorsetailSnake said...

Fruiterer? Wouldn't "fruiter" work just as well? Oh, I see. I was just asking. Geesh!

What a very pleasant outing you must have had. Rousing, that.

PI said...

Thanks for that. I can imagine your joy at reaching the caff but who, pray, didn't eat up his/her breakfast? No sweeties for you today! And I see you've grown Shane - not Ghandi at all.

Shane said...

Hoss - If you were feeling familiar, then I reckon 'Fruit' would do.
Pi - 'Grown'... no. The sun was casting long (and really quite wide!) shadows that day. I'm happy to be thought of as a goodly Ghandi.

Loops said...

I used to holiday in Whitby every year until I was 12 - lovely place.

That is indeed a whale's jawbone.

And the Magpie Cafe - best fish n chips ever.