Whitby and Staithes

..I left the magic of La Rosa after long chats with Amanda and braved the driveway to get on the road to Whitby. Here I discovered the Magpie Cafe and dived in for some fish and chips. Delicious. Scores of day trippers stood around outside pushing great succulent white battered flakes of cod and haddock into their traps. I more or less picked up the whole piece of fish with both hands and just sort of launched it at my face, Louis Winthorpe style.

I waddled off to see what I else I could discover and was amazed at how many people were rocking the rocker look. I'd always heard that this was Goth central but was still surprised to see really old men with flat caps donning Cradle of Filth t-shirts...well, I like to think it said Cradle of Filth but, on reflection, maybe it was AC/DC.

Caffs are everywhere in Whitby and. Teas n Tarts was full of really solid rock buns and tired Battenberg. A dejected looking cherry cake with a dull square of cling-film resting on top might very well have been sitting there for some years. How would anyone know? But there are also lots of great looking restaurants and shops. Justin's chocolate shop is a Rocky Horror of a place - all dark and gilded, bursting with obscenely large truffles and strawberry fondant 'coffins' and Green's has a delicious sounding menu.

The wind was pretty chilly and I had plenty more uppy downy in Jimmy to overcome before supper so I got back on the road. Not the most direct way of going about things but down I went to Robin Hood's Bay, then back up to Staithes - birthplace of Captain Cook. A couple of kids came banging on the van wanting an ice cream and I couldn't resist getting out the camera...

La Rosa Campsite

Burning rubber filled the air as I screeched into Goathead, barely managing to control Jimmy's heavy bulk. Further out of this moorland village were more obstacles and the La Rosa Campsite felt hard won after a, frankly, terrifying rocky road down. At one point I was clutching onto my door handle with My Life Flashed Before My Eyes cued up and ready to roll. But when I stepped out of the van it was pure magic.

Imagine this, somewhere near Whitby, down in a moorland valley lies an enchanted campsite with special touches to make your jaw drop. I wandered wide-eyed around in the dying sun. Amazed. You sleep in caravans and can choose between the tinker's truck, the Virgin Mary caravan, burlesque or Elvis. Being a Tues night I found myself in the enviable position of being able to take my pick. Of course Elvis was the obvious choice for a devotee like myself, but there was something about the smell of the burlesque one that won me over. It was the sort of sweet, dusky smell of holidays - the scent of warm concrete floors in a scruffy whitewashed house in Greece. It even had a pole. My friend Vee yelled at me down the phone to try it out - "Jesus, you're the only one there - get on the pole!". But it looked a bit flimsy so I resisted.



Elsewhere lies a huge tee-pee with great luscious white rugs on the floor, a mini circus tent, a caravan sweet shop with Jelly Babies, Jelly Tots and Dolly Mix and an outdoor bath and showers that you have by candlelight with a gramophone on the side to crank up and listen to. I selected some old gypsy lament and, after showering, couldn't help but run myself a bath as well. Submerged in steaming hot water, looking out across the caravan strewn valley, the peace was incredible. Bless the wonderful Amanda for making such a place happen and roll on next June when I return with enough friends to fill the place.

Up hill and down dale in Yorkshire

All we were trying to do was go and find Joanne. Jayne and I had set off in search of the creator of Chocolat when a dastardly hill presented itself...and my laptop went flying, possibly followed by a big cake tin which was probably what dealt it its final blow. My hangover was hellish after my evening with the Rusbys and life without the computer seemed harrowing, but we got our act together, rescued the hard drive and, actually, a return to the simple life of pen + paper seemed quite appealing.

I left the Brighouse lot and got on my way. It was time for a B&B again and I'd found a really sumptuous sounding one near Thirsk. I was late as usual and didn't arrive til 9.30pm. The owner greeted me with an enormous plate of spag bol (more like bol spag actually) and a large glass of warm Blue Nun and then bolted off to bed with her wife-beater donning Polish lover. I slept long and hard and woke up excited at the fact that I could end up anywhere I chose that day.

Off I went, straight onto the small roads and soon enough, as is becoming customary, there was a trail of slightly pained looking people behind. I feel like I know how it is to be a tractor driver now - especially up north where the hills are so steep. Changing down into third...and then second..and then, crikey - first gear. What if first fails me also? Am I supposed to turn the beast around and reverse up these obstinate inclines? So far it hasn't come to that but I wouldn't be surprised.


Ampleforth appeared on my map and I seized the opportunity. I rolled onto the marvellous campus, had a brief chat with Brother Henry who was doing the gardening (never seen a monk in shorts before) and then proceeded to the main hang-out area where I sounded the chimes and opened up the hatch. A mob descended - big, boisterous, beautifully behaved boys. Lots of pleases and thank-yous and endless ice cream orders. I toiled away, somewhat chaotic in the freezer, shifting flavours about, labouring over the pesky white chocolate ice cream and the churlish mocha. They jostled for space at the counter and every now and again an adult face would crane through the driver's window and ask if they could have a word.



"Do you have permission to be here?"
"..errm, well I asked a couple of monks...I'm just passing through...I'm doing a tour"

The first one's face softened in seconds. Back to biz I went with a cheer of relief from the boys. Then came a more determined teacher - he wanted me out of there, sharpish. He relented in the end just as my ice cream was also loosening up and I promised to not come fly-pitching again without permission. All done and dusted I steered Jimmy off towards the moody Moors. I'd decided to book into the La Rosa campsite on Jayne's recommendation and had to be there PDQ - not very easy when confronted with mile upon mile of cranky, severe gradients, nor when I wanted to stop all the time to lose myself in the bleakness.