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Here cometh April
The land of Vampires.
My Dad is 70… I am amazed he’s made it to be honest. Everything I have learnt about drinking and the art of good eating came from him. I can only assume the man survives by way of being pickled in goose fat and alcohol. Which gives me something to look forward in terms of my own, erm, term on this world, but also the horror that he may yet live for another 70 years.
Why is this important I hear you ask… well, for his 70 birthday I took him, and my sister, and her two girls, and us of course, to Whitby for a long weekend. Apparently he loves nothing more than spending time with us… which is understandable.
We went on boat trips, we paddled, we went round the Dracula house of horror (quickly). We ate fish and chips (obv.), we ate pasties, we had a fabulous Italian meal. And we drank… oh boy we drank. Red wine, beer and grappa. I also managed to fit in a run.
I set the alarm for 7:10 on Sunday morning for a pre-twitten run before not doing the Twittens. It was early because I needed to be back by 8:30 to meet the family for a big lardy breakfast in the Youth Hostel café.
I woke, I changed, I didn’t wake the slumbering family, and set out in the appearing dawn for a run over the cliff tops. I had imaged that this was going to be a beautiful run along pristine, dry cliff top paths. And it was beautiful with a lovely breeze blowing in off the sea… but it was also very, very muddy. Muddier than some of the muddiest runs I have done on the Downs. It wasn’t sinky-in mud, but it was very slippy and splashy mud. There were stretches impossible to run – and a struggle to walk.
But it was lovely… even running through a large caravan park at 7:30 in the morning was quite pleasant. I had three miles in mind, but ended up doing four as I spotted a lighthouse on the cliff tops which seemed a suitable turning point. It was.
Other than a couple of people up early in the caravan site doing whatever caravan site people do… heading to the communal bathrooms I’d image… I saw and passed no-one. Had the whole of the north east to myself.
By the time I got home the family were just being to stir… enough to grunt: “Christ, look at the state of you, you filthy ******, get in the bloody shower… and have you just walked through the Youth Hostel dressed like that…”
I enjoyed my breakfast. We then went to Runswick Bay for the morning and I pulled a muscle skimming stones… such is life.
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