The Scarborough trip July 2012
It’s been mostly about survival, in the past at any rate. Beer and wine and as fewer days and nights as possible. We kept it to the evenings this time and fell asleep respectfully during one TV programme or another, though we both completed the rowing play from the 1948 olympics. So no Golden Ball or late night boozing down the foreshore. Merciful thanks.
Two visits to The Poachers Barn at Osgodby, the posh end of Eastfield, once with Andrew after an abortive visit to the bikers’ hillclimb at Oliver’s Mount. They closed off all the footpaths and roads and were determined not to let us in. And they tried to charge us £20 entry. Not very welcoming.
The path at the back of Eastfield is overgrown. The view from the street is not much better. Untended front gardens, discarded mattresses, skinny blokes with hoods. Whitby is looking tired, but we found a new pub on the front – Sam Smith’s. We went to the kipper shop, just to look. Pete went round the back, “Smells of smoke,” he said. “Would that be something to do with smoked kippers?” I wondered. Pete’s penny dropped with a clang. “The smoke coming out of the roof is a clue.” I enjoy rubbing it in.
Castle Howard is a smaller version of Blenheim, same builder/designer – Vanbrugh and Baroque. He wrote plays and one of the guides described the building as a drama. Another detailed the misfortunes of early family members – beheadings as a result of being on the wrong side. The titles all went with the guy who stayed with their primary home back in Carlisle. The current Mr Howard is an hon. Stunning entrance hall and dome, all still stained from the fire, but in the process of repair, depending on cash flow. Great gardens. Brideshead is overdone. Totally confusing bus service from Malton – but free so what!
Breakfast at the Clock Cafe. “I’ll have black pudding, bacon and eggs.” A dollybird young blonde serving on asks, “Do you want that on a plate?” I can’t answer. “Can I have toast?” Looking confused she says, “I’ll have to charge you separately for all that. Do you want a breakfast?” “Two breakfasts please, this is too hard.” Pete orders mugs of coffee, “Can we leave them until the food comes?” He does and when its time he goes back, “Can I have our coffees?” “Did you not take them when you paid? What size were they?” Lovely breakfast, but it does go cold soon out-of-doors.
Gravy had been made in anticipation of a meat pie which we didn’t have because the weather was made for salad. Cleaning up to go, Pete washed away the gravy which came out of the jug in one lump, beautiful and not something to waste. Later that day, back home, Jean said, “Why didn’t you freeze it?” Another penny quietly tinkled along the paving stones.