The Bells Have Made Me Deaf

Whatever germ I picked up in Whitby at the weekend seems to be finally leaving my body. Barr the incredibly annoying tickly cough and hoarseness that’s still lingering. There’s a lot to be said for working up a good sweat, but I can think of more enjoyable ways of doing it than being ill.

There’s not a lot I can say about Whitby. My enthusiasm for the place was somewhat dulled by the circumstances and having no means to escape to the moors for some solitude but a lovely little town it is. I rather like the idea of meeting people in the street in gothic dress. Some were pirates which was even better and nobody batted an eyelid apart from the conservative visitors who pursed their lips with egotistical disdain, judging all the books by their cover.

Not one photo to show for the trip. That says it all.
Apologies to tyrel for not dropping by unannounced for tea and wee buns. I didn’t think you’d appreciate the entourage.

I came home to a treat from Herman who kindly sent me a few DVD’s. Aren’t I the spoilt girl!

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Don’t you just hate when the suitcase wont close. It’ll be all those tins of beans and Ray Mears book on how to open them. Being stuck in a car with three oul duffers, one of whom insists on bringing a case like a trunk so his dress kilt wont get wrinkled, leaves little space for luxuries like suit bags… so some passengers will have to be scruffy and happy with it. I plan to be entirely rude and keep my ears plugged in to some manner of contraption playing music for the duration of the journey. I’m also reliably informed that somebody has spilt milk in the car and it now has that baby boke kind of aroma that anyone can do without when travelling the breadth of Scotland and England. They’ve booked the 3.15am ferry on Friday since it was a whole big £20 cheaper. I would have happily paid the £20 for a nights sleep. Of course they have all peaked at the age of perpetual insomnia and only require a quick snooze at the wheel. I on the other hand, still need 8 hours per night or I turn into a venomous witch!

One of the main reasons for my accompanying them was to help with the driving but now they just want me to go along as a mascot and breakfast chef. The driver is a lovely man but sometimes gets disorientated, the kilty has anxiety attacks over anything and everything (lucky me will be sitting beside him in the back) and my Dad is of course entirely sane (not that I’m biased or anything) and keeps the other two focused unless he actually shuts up and dozes off. I doubt if I’ll sleep much on the way with all the back seat driving from Mister Anxiety and the need to watch for the right junctions so we don’t end up in London.

Survival tips welcome.

I woke up this morning with this in my head.

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