The North East Yorkshire coast, Whitby, Scarborough, Filey, Bridlington.  Ah yes, that time of year, to get away from it all, leave the rat race behind, enjoy summer, supposedly summer anyway, and the annual pilgrimage out of the county to visit exotic locations, enjoy a real outdoor experience appreciating nature’s finest.  Exotic as in basing ourselves near Scarborough, outdoor as in camping and nature as in wild weather.  In other words, we went camping, relegated to the muddiest waterlogged field, like a leper colony as most tent campers are treated on camping and caravan sites, given sea views which we err…couldn’t see because of the weather, to act as windshield for the already protected caravans on the perfectly manicured pitches below us.  We did phone up the place prior to make sure they hadn’t been washed away by floods.

It’s a pity that the entire concentration of rain in North East Yorkshire focused its attention and attempted to punch fist sized drops of rain consistently through our canvas shelter and follow us around.  One can only assume that the Viking raiders who settled here thought the weather was far better here from whence they came.  I will also assume they didn’t have flat caps and whippets.  I will assume that’s why everything was shut despite being high season (Vikings and/or weather).

Now Scarborough is supposed to be the oldest resort in the country, parts of it at times look like it.  Even the Timelords were hit by austerity as you can see from the TARDIS they abandoned at the seafront.  Couldn’t even afford to give it a lick of paint before they left it.  To be fair, Bridlington, Scarborough and Filey do have nice beaches though that Nelson enjoyed bounding along on.  Even ventured to get his paws wet a couple of times, alerting us to a stranded fish in the rocks at Thornwick caves, Flamborough.  A couple of squeals later, mainly from me, and fishy was chucked back in the North Sea doing fish things.  This makes us heroes.  Hopefully it didn’t die from brain damage of being smashed against the rocks or being chucked back into the ocean.  Couldn’t bring myself to order fish and chips that day despite it being my 41st birthday, I’d have felt guilty.

It’s a shame they didn’t let dog in lots of places up there.  Our dog, Nelson, is better behaved and cleaner than some of the middle class Jemima and Jeremys terrorising the tourist traps.  Whitby and Robin Hoods Bay do get a thumbs up for allowing dogs in pubs.  Good job really considering the ridiculously steep roads in Robin Hood’s Bay and the heart stopping prices of fish chips on the seafront at Whitby at £13 for two of us.  Needed a drink to recover, obviously in one of the dog friendly pubs which wasn’t where we were camping. At times, due to the weather, I believe the term used is ‘bracing,’ we were forced to retire to the airbed.   Spooned by the dog who craftily could not be budged using his evolutionary equipped advantage of sandpaper like grip on his pads that prevented him from being moved, the same evolutionary advantage that makes him the right height to head butt me in the balls when I walk in.  Still a holiday is a holiday even if you go mad from inhaling seawater and is the wettest summer on record.  Time to choose the next destination.  Looking forward to it, rain or shine.


Nick Cook. Amateur astronomer, space, history, nerd, extreme dog walker, cat slave, severe tinnitus sufferer. 13.7 billion years in the making - not that much better for it.

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