And where are we? Saltburn on Sea. We did a 2 hour walk to build up our appetite for fish n chips, did a quick up and down of the pier, and had a look round the shops. Saltburn is a lovely seaside town, but I have to say it was very quiet, probably due to the bad weather. But it wasn't cold, and our hostess with the most-ess Pauline, looked after us so well.
We walked right to the end of the cliff, known as Hunt Cliff, before descending to the beach for a bit of beach combing (fossil hunting).
We walked back up to the town, but the Funicular was working, at £1 per person.
A plethora of knitted sea creatures etc decorate the railings of the pier.
Here she is, friend, Pauline. She made my birthday really special, and kept me out of the pub, the smugglers cottage you can see at the bottom of the cliffs.
Once a tour guide, always a tour guide!
I wonder if this was my Face Book friend, Jay Tee?
So close, yet we did resist the temptation.
The rain was passing over here. But the day before it was torrential in Great Ayton. No chance of a photo of our trip there. However we enjoyed every minute, and got to see the Schoolroom Museum where Captain Cook learned to read, and I discovered The Cleveland Bard, John Wright, who in 1862 built a house in Great Ayton called The Recess.
Where did you get that Hat, where did you get that smile?
Yes! I did get my cider fix. And we went to the wonderful Chocolini's chocolate shop in Saltburn, where I bought scrumptious gluten free dark chocolates. Check out their Face Book page by clicking on the link above.
And Pauline cooked the most wonderful meal for us, with a surprise birthday cake.
So, another year has passed, full of fun, thanks to friends and family.
Here's the 'rainy day' poem that came from our trip to Great Ayton:
Rain in Great Ayton
It started as summer drizzle, hardly
enough to make our hair frizz, a subtle,
soft, refreshing mist that could have been bought
at the supermarket, or the more expensive
sort, aqua-vitalis, from Debenhams.
Spray direct to face, avoiding eyes.
Then the crows disappeared, and the sky turned
grey: north-sea-grey, harbinger-of-doom-grey,
a dark, mercury-grey, a grey that gained
momentum, a mineral-laden grey,
a Chernobyl-grey, an isotopic,
acid, car corroding, window-wiping grey,
a shwishy, puddles-on-the-pavement grey,
a virtual Turner, Fishermen at Sea grey.
And by the time my friend had ripped open
the Velcro fastener, and wrestled with
the mechanics of her old umbrella
there was a deluge, substantial enough
to fill the beck with rafts, enough to drive
rats into holes, enough to raise man-hole
covers. We ran, scurried in fact, to the
nearest shop. That’s when my umbrella
(probably older than hers) refused to open.
I fought back to the point I thought it would break,
but it remained stubborn, it flapped half-mast,
my hand inside it over my head.
When I reached the door, the spokes were stuck in
pose. I shook it, held it out full stretch,
and prodded the rain, like some deranged fencer,
with my makeshift rapier, en guard. That’s when
a gust of wind ripped it inside out and left
me holding a giant squid on the end of a stick.
My hair frizzed beyond curls.
So, onwards and upwards in my clickety-click year. Actually the umbrella survived, you have to allow me a bit of poetic license.
July is not over yet, and I have more adventures planned, so I hope you will return to my blog to find out what happens next in this poet's life.
Love and hugs,