We're back from our Yorkshire adventure! We missed little Sadie lots -having said that, she's wimpering for me now when she should be dozing off and I'm going "ARGH! Please sleep!"- but she seemed to have a fab time in Sleepy Sleaford with her Narnie and Dad Dad. She's come back having learnt to rap- my dad really is quite a dude.
This week, Andy and I enjoyed luxurious BnBs (aside from the Royston Vasey-esque toothy woman we encountered in our first port of call 'Bottom House Farm' near Robin Hoods Bay), walking on the -spookily reminiscent of American Werewolf in London -misty moors towards our oasis of a cosy pub, eating pie in Heartbeat's Aidensfield Arms (we were very disappointed Gina wasn't working that night- only a couple of nice young Hungarian chaps who kept saying "WHAT?" to everything I said), sweating buckets in semi-nakedness at the mixed night at the Turkish Baths in Harrogate, charity-shop shopping for warm fluffy clothing in Pickering (see above pic of Andy sporting his choice of what looks like a dead rabbit on his head), spying on all the creepy goths who were hovering around the graveyard at Whitby Abbey in preparation for their Halloween celebrations, and discussing the life-preserving qualities of whisky (my 90 year old grandma swears by it) with two 87 year old Yorkshire men in Thirsk.
At our last BnB in Sinnington, run by Jane Otter, who practically became our cuddly great aunt while we were staying there, we sat up one night, like the pair of wannabe pensioners that we seem to be these days, with our long walks and early nights with a good book, reading Jane's collection of 'Christmas Crackers' - an assortment of anecdotes compiled by John Julius Norwich- whoever he is. He quoted some hilarious menu translations and here's the one that made me wet myself laughing:
(from a Polish menu): 'Salad a firm's own make; limpid red beet soup with cheesy dumplings in the form of a finger; roasted duck let loose; beef rashers beaten up in the country people's fashion.'
Brilliant.
