So… Annie and I are on a windswept, arty farty, retreat in Whitby. I managed to pack lightly (a rucksack, a bag of shoes and a computer case) as I was on a train as far as Grantham…. luckily Annie had been in a packing frenzy and filled the rest of the car already. (no mean feat in a Discovery)… (though not as bad as it could have been had she not been leaving space in the boot for Henry the dog.
We’re a road trip couple made in heaven as I could only bear so much of Annies dual carrage way politeness and she much preferred not hear me make all the sensors on the car go ‘beep’ as we passed through small stone walled towns.
I’ve driven an automatic once before but not for a long time…. I got my confidence up and then we hit a big hill…. literally (Annie thinks its called Sutton Bank)…. the car came pretty much to a standstill until i realised you have to press the ‘go pedal’ harder. There was definitely one sharp bend on it that I shouted ‘fuck yes’ at as we rounded it still in motion.
We gained top…. I felt like I’d been through rebirth therapy and emerged via the art of struggle into a brand new altitude.
And thence to Whitby… were we did a bit of a recky on foot to see just how narrow the cul-de-sac was were our cottage was.
The answer is VERY. (but there is a turning point at the far end…. teetering jollily on a cliff edge with a rather flimsy looking fence) – (so I let Annie insist on doing that bit).
The house was sweet…. but…..
wait for it…..
had NO INTERNETS!!!!!!!!
(they’d said there would be…. and it turns out BT had come to put internets in…. but only managed to fit a phone line)
But very nicely they offered to move us to a larger, far more expensive house accross the road (lets just say we’re now in a house usually rented out for nearly four times what we’re paying)…. and it has sea views.
We even managed to wait for the door to shut behind the man from the letting agents before we both air punched and shouted ‘YES!’ and then made a dash for the stairs to explore.
Having calmed down a tad we’ve celebrated our coup with chips and rosé (and in Annies case some mushy peas and a pineapple ring).
And now we sit back…. each on our own sofa… the lights of Whitby twinkling in the harbour and the sound of the waves interspersed with the tippety tappity’s of two very contented ladies of a certain age.