fuck the 39 steps… Whitby has 199. Well…. coming down them for the first time ever yesterday I counted them – as you would. I made it 198 and am tempted to contact Whitby’s tourist board…or trading standards… or both. Or maybe alternatively next time i try counting them and realise i’ve lost count I should go back up and start again. But that way I’m sure lies madness if not death.
The house is at the bottom of the steps… the car park at the top (we could park it on the level but that would cost money) – every time we get in the car we need to take the steps… walk for about ten minutes passed some fairly stunning gothic crumbly thing and an equally impressive youth hostel to get to the car.
It cartainly stops us jumping in the car to post a letter or buy some chips.
So my challenge this morning was to get up the buggers without hesitation, deviation or repetition.
And you know what?
I did it…. there was a point where i had to stop talking and save my breathing for more important things (like staying upright), my thighs burned and my head went all floaty (possibly lack of breakfast) but I got to the top…. and there some dead person (or most likely their relatives) had placed one of those boxy gravey tomb things [do they have a proper name?] just right for a lady close to expiring to collapse on.
The met office say its going to rain later tomorrow (how come just living by the sea makes you automatically more interested in the weather?… i’ve even been reading the shipping forcast) so we’re off for a walk in the morning up coast a tad. We’ll be timing me up the steps…. and then again at the end of the week. Any bets on the time difference one way or the other are gladly received and pooh poohed.
Me and Annie… we really know how to live it up large on holiday.