So Justin Welby's father wasn't who Justin thought he was. Sounds like a familiar biblical story.
The Duchess of Cambridge is coming in for some stick from the tabloids for looking frumpy - it had to happen at some stage, they turn on everyone and are just animals. She's not a celeb who has to dress up like some of the trollops who attend Ascot, Aintree or Cheltenham - she's a member of the royal family, for God's sake. I don't think she looks in the least bit frumpy, but the great British public, with its penchant for allowing itself to be led by the nose by the tabloids, will probably think otherwise.
Hay has taken it into her head to visit Whitby for a few days with her dad and his girlfriend later in the year and asked if I want to go; however, the prospect of a total of 10 hours in a car, the presence of a Goth festival during that weekend and a mental scene from Great Expectations or Get Carter made the choice easy - wild horses wouldn't drag me to Whitby, although it looks quite nice (for Yorkshire).
The Duchess of Cambridge is coming in for some stick from the tabloids for looking frumpy - it had to happen at some stage, they turn on everyone and are just animals. She's not a celeb who has to dress up like some of the trollops who attend Ascot, Aintree or Cheltenham - she's a member of the royal family, for God's sake. I don't think she looks in the least bit frumpy, but the great British public, with its penchant for allowing itself to be led by the nose by the tabloids, will probably think otherwise.
I don't really know why, but anywhere on the east coast, with the possible exception of Norfolk and Suffolk, fills me with gloom and doom and the expectation of scenes of miserable, grey desolation. I think it must be the North Sea, which I have never seen clad in any other hue than that of mud. For me, a few days by the sea must comprise the west coast.
It might also be something to do with my preference for a blushing and crepuscular sun setting over the sea in the evening along with having something alcoholic and red in my paw, rather than seeing it rising over a muddy, east coast sea on a chilly morning with coffee.
There's Romanian bloke who sells The Big Issue on our High Street - we usually give him a quid without taking the magazine (he always looks startled when we see him, as if he doesn't recognise us, which makes me think he has mild cognitive issues). Anyway, when talking to him once it transpired he's from Transylvania in Romania, but when Hay told him she was going to Whitby to see the abbey the reference was completely lost on him.
8 comments:
May contain traces of satire,irony and sarcasm; could include shortsightedness and stupidity.
Whitby is a real treat and I 'm not a Yorkshireman or, is it you don't want to spend time with the oulaws?
Keep amusing us Richard
Richard - combination on the drive, the Goth festival and the North Sea. Give me the Yorkshire Dale or Devon any day.
Richard - combination on the drive, the Goth festival and the North Sea. Give me the Yorkshire Dale or Devon any day.
But you never liked the Yorkshire dales until you went there and from what you've said, you have not been to Whitby. No mud there , not a large beach but golden sands and same North sea as Norfolk and Suffolk.
Have you ever been to York? I can't believe you would not like it ( it's on the way To Whitby)
Richard
No, that was Hayley who didn't know about the Yorkshire Dales. - I've always loved them (they're practically in Lancashire).
Naturally I've been to York,but the north east coast just makes me shudder. Bit like Redcar. Desolate.
No, that was Hayley who didn't know about the Yorkshire Dales. - I've always loved them (they're practically in Lancashire).
Naturally I've been to York,but the north east coast just makes me shudder. Bit like Redcar. Desolate.
No, that was Hayley who didn't know about the Yorkshire Dales. - I've always loved them (they're practically in Lancashire).
Naturally I've been to York,but the north east coast just makes me shudder. Bit like Redcar. Desolate.
Sally forth CB! Visit the lodgings where James Cook studied his trade, eat artery hardening chips fried in beef dripping and drink Whitby ales. What more could a man want?!
Beneath the madding crowds, lies a charming little town...
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