Yesterday I went with Tracey to Darlington, to help move her son Ross into his new house. I took buses from there to Middlesbrough, then Easington, and walked on a fine evening down the coast toward Whitby.
Seen by the roadside at Easington.
Rain required …
… but not just yet.
A severe case of coastal erosion as I approach Staithes from the north.
Staithes.
Cat at Staithes.
Pub at Staithes, where me and my shadow are about to enjoy scampi and chips washed down with a pint of Theakston’s Pale …
… before emerging, around eight-thirty, into what photographers call the golden hour.
It’s ten-thirty before I stop walking. With no shortage of suitable pitches, I choose a spot set back from the cliff top.
I wake to the first grey sky in a month. Rain looks a distinct possibility but, in my infinite wisdom, I packed neither cagoule nor warm layer. In shorts and t-shirt I walk into Whitby via Runswick Bay.
Where I catch a super deluxe double decker to Leeds …
… whose phone charging facilities allow me to top up the juice levels, and whose wifi lets me upload all of this without further inroads into my 3Gb a month Virgin deal. Ta for viewing.
golden hour scenery looks good enough to make beer from đ
cheers x
Never thought of that Jim but, yes it’d likely make for a right good pint.
Super photographs, a very picturesque county is Yorkshire. Once stayed near a Theakston’s brewery near to where Richard 111 spent his childhood. Wakened early each morn to the thunder of horses hooves as the thoroughbreds were ridden out across the moor.
Thanks Chas. Could Richard have had a few too many, rendering him peculierly squiffy at Bosworth?
Maybe the pints of Mead he drank in Bosworth Meadow resulted in his eating his horse? As you know, Mead was served only in small glasse i.e. 6 glasses = 1 pint.