Ramblings From Robin Hood's Bay

I am currently thawing out after a very entertaining half hour trying to break into a house. Our house, for clarification, I have not suddenly taken up burglary as a career. I can tell you, in no uncertain terms, that standing outside in the freezing cold, calf deep in snow attempting to break into the house is not fun. Made even less fun by the fact that we had the keys, they just decided not to work.

Anyway, as promised here are my ramblings from my week away. It's likely to be a long one. Prepare yourselves accordingly.

1. Fire

One of the main reasons we rented the cottage we did was that it had an open fire. Mr B and I have been dreaming of said open fire and the cosy warmness of it after a day out walking ever since we booked it. So, when we first moved into the cottage, the first thing we did was attempt to light the fire. I say this like we did not know what we were doing, which is not the case. We piled the fire up with paper and kindling, lit it then added coal. The coal then proceeded to do ... absolutely nothing. Had we only been relying on the open fire for atmosphere, this would have been fine. As it was, we were also desperately reliant in it for warmth due to the fact that the living room storage heater was broken and the cottage was quite drafty (but when you ask for a 350 year old cottage, that's what you get, warts and all). We gave up at 9pm and went to bed, a mere 5 hours after we had attempted to get the fire going. The bedroom, by contrast, was like an oven due to the volume of heat coming from its storage heater (which was, ironically, in perfect working order). So perfect in fact, it woke me up in the middle of the night to "store" pointless amounts of heat to heat the house during the day, when we weren't in the house. Helpful. Day two did not fare much better. We had purchased vast quantities of kindling and a bag of logs, thinking that the coal might just not be up to much. After another couple of hours attempting to light the fire, we gave up and went to the nearest Homebase (thus ruining any delusion of living in the wilderness) and purchased an all in one fire lighting thing. This made spectacular flames but gave absolutely no heat. Cue another early night. By day three we were desperate for heat. Mr B had even decided he was going to take up drinking and spend the night in the pub for heat if that's what it took. Fortunately, it turned out that the problem was that the fire needed a good scrub. After that, everything was great and the fire burned. And burned. And burned way past our bed time. Turns out, once you get one going, it takes a really, really, really long time to get it out.

2. The Non-Event That Was Pickering

Day two was a trip to Pickering. It was nice to wander around and I'm sure it would be great if everything hadn't gone into hibernation (tourist attractions included). However, as the whole of Pickering was in hibernation, our visit there consisted of having tea and cake in an empty cafe, walking around an incredibly boggy forest and collecting leaflets for other places to visit (which it turns out were also hibernating for the winter). Note to self : January is not a great time to holiday in the UK

3. Heartbeat (Cue Singing)

On the third day we decided to take a trip to Goathland. More commonly known as Heartbeat, because that's where they filmed Heartbeat. At this juncture, I should point out that neither Mr B or myself watches Heartbeat, nor have we watched it since we were incredibly young children forced to watch whatever our parents wanted on the television. We visited the Heartbeat tourist attractions. Although, that is somewhat over egging the pudding. The so-called attractions were : a local store, some old cars (presumably used in the filming), the garage from the programme with "Scripps Funeral Directors" above the door and the pub, which had a sign for the Aidensfield Arms on one side, and The Goathland Arms on the other (talk about having a split personality). We then decided to take a walk around the moors (a very depressing place to be in the winter, but an enjoyable walk nonetheless). To entertain ourselves as we walked, we sang the theme tune to Heartbeat. It's a good job there was no-one else around!!

4. The Horror of Ravenscar

If you think I'm exaggerating here, I'm not. It was a horror of epic proportions. On day four of our break Mr B and I decided to be adventurous and walk from the Bay to Ravenscar. A mere 3.5 miles. This should have taken approximately one and a half hours. As I'm writing this, Mr B informs me that The Times has listed it as one of the great coastal walks. Yes, there was a lovely scene over Robin Hood's Bay as we walked over. Only, two hours later, we were still looking at the same scene. Except by this point, we were looking at it after having scaled three sets of horrendous stairs (by which I mean as I was climbing them, my knees were touching my chin). Oh, and at least three quarters of the walk was up a relatively steep incline. It was hell. I was on the verge of jumping into the sea and calling the Coastguard to take me home, until Mr B pointed out that that may be more perilous than finishing the walk, getting some lunch and a hot drink, and catching a bus home. At the promise of food, heat and a bus ride back, I was so happy I virtually skipped the rest of the way there. Only to find that Ravenscar's great tourist attraction is ... nothing. Literally nothing. In fact, it prides itself on being "the tourist resort that never was". There is even a visitor centre, which was, predictably, closed. The tea shop was also closed. The only other thing in the area was a hotel. A little ironic, I felt. There was also no bus. I therefore spent a good half hour sat in the hotel eating an overpriced croissant with a cup of hot chocolate (also over-priced) in an attempt to psych myself up for the trauma of walking back. As it transpired, the walk back was much better. Almost all down hill. And it only took an hour and a half, so we were back in time to fight the fire again. Hurrah.

5. Magpie Cafe - The World's Best Fish and Chips

On our last day we had a wander around the Bay before visiting Whitby. It was like visiting the arctic. We walked towards the pier with frozen sea spray hitting us in the face. Mr B watched a very determined elderly lady wandering down the pier (looking as though she would be blown away into the sea at any moment) before deciding that fish and chips at The Magpie Cafe was a much better idea. I have to say, he made the right call. Their fish and chips are simply amazing. It would have been lovely, but for the family sat behind us discussing their latest holiday plans, which included an overnight stay in a hotel. I swear that if the man had said "and the bairn will get a good night's sleep" once more, I would have had to sacrifice my lovely fish and chips to shut him up. Luckily, we escaped in the nick of time!!!

6. Local Potatoes and "Too Close To'T Window"

My final holiday highlights are little conversations Mr B and I overheard on the two nights we ate out. The first was at a hotel where two locals were discussing the virtues of potatoes. I feel that this needs little comment, save to say that one of the locals left for a while and returned with a carrier bag full of "fresh local 'tatas" (that's potatoes to the rest of us) which he just happened to have rattling around the back of his car. I am yet to decide whether there is any situation that requires you to have a secret stash of local "tatas" in the back of your car. If you think of any, please do let me know. I would hate to be under-prepared.

On our last night in the Bay we ate in a lovely pub called "Ye Dolphin". Their food was fabulous, and the entertainment even more so. There was a family also eating that night where the children appeared to be on some kind of scam : it appears that they got their holiday by lying to the school about the reason for their absence and somehow the friend of one of the children was on to them. The parents were helping the children devise ways of dodging this issue with the aforementioned friend whilst not getting into any trouble with the school. I bet they don't teach you how to do that in parenting class. This, however, was not the topic of our amusement. Approximately ten minutes after arriving and sitting at a table, the family abruptly stood up to move because the father of the family was "too cold" (he was only wearing a t-shirt and appeared to have no other clothing with which to warm himself - a very sensible idea if you ask me). The reason for him being "too cold" was that he was "too close to't window" (and you have to imagine this in your very best Yorkshire accent). It resembled something rather like a Peter Kay sketch with the dad skipping around going "it's too cold, too cold, too close to't window, too cold, too close to't window, we've got to move" and then promptly moving to the table directly next to where he had previously sat (and no closer to any source of heat). It made me and Mr B laugh for hours!!

That's all folks.

Highlights From The Best Kept Secret Place Ever

You will no doubt be disappointed to hear that I have returned from my week away with lots of stories to tell about the best kept secret place in the UK. You will however be pleased to know that I am still very tired and achy and not entirely compus mentus. So for now you will be spared my inane ramblings, but you will have to suffer some of my favourite holiday snaps. Ah well. You win some, you lose some. Enjoy!!

TTFN

Dear All,

I wish to inform you that due to a very exciting and much needed week away to Robin Hood's Bay, I will not be blogging (or in fact doing anything internet related) until the weekend, when I hope to have some great new pics to post.

In the meantime, I will (hopefully) be enjoying long walks and relaxing by the open fire, not to mention playing with my snazzy camera and the polarising filter I bought today. I was very disappointed that the local Jessops did not have the new lens I wanted, but as it cost something in the region of about £200 I think Mr B was quite relieved. I have since been looking on the internet and discovered they have it at another close by store. Along with an enormous lens at a cost of only £11,099. Mr B is pooping himself. I really must get a less expensive hobby (or a richer husband).

Ta ta for now,

Mrs B x

Birthday-ness and Jasper

I am now (just about) over the shock of becoming 25. Had a marvellous day ... at work. However, it was a nice enough day and taught me one very important thing : there is some kind of correlation between my (lovely) migranes and the managers. Wednesday = no migranes and no managers. Suspicious, isn't it? Ha ha.

On Thursday I decided to behave like an intellectual and, along with the aforementioned and lovely LB, went to a book signing event at the City Library, where Jasper Fforde was promoting his latest book "Shades of Grey". He is a very funny man, and a big bag of crazy. My favourite part of his speech was the bit where he told us how he goes about writing his books. You would expect the author of a very witty and intricate book to have had a suitably detailed outline plan, right? Wrong! Jasper goes about writing his books by setting himself a series of writing "dares". The "dare" which inspired his latest creation being: "There is a spoon shortage. Everyone is having soup for dinner. The Rules state that you cannot pick up the bowl to drink from it. Write your way out of that one". It sounds like a terribly sadistic English essay question to me!! Second only to the essay question which CA had to answer when she was at school: "Describe the inside of a ping pong ball". Some English teachers are just not well in the head.

Following Jasper's speech was a short Q & A session in which some of the audience attempted to make themselves sound much cleverer than they really were, and in which Jasper informed us that the best question he was ever asked was by a school child who, following his speech, put his hand up to ask "exactly how many kilos do you weigh?". Hillarious!!

We then headed back to CA and LB's where Mr B and CA had ordered in Dominos - the fourth emergency service. Yum. Followed by a rather delicious hot chocolate cake and cream and a glass of wine and presents!

By way of celebrating my 25th (as though the above was not enough) Mr B and I went to a Belgian restaurant for a lovely meal. There is nothing much to comment on. The meal was lovely. The only mildly irritating point (and it is a point which irritates me every time we eat out) was all the waiting between finishing the meal and getting the bill. Waiting between courses is fine - there is something left to look forward to. However, when I've finished my food, I just want to go home. Immediately. Inevitably there is a (long) period of sitting around waiting for the bill. Then when the bill arrives you sit staring at it (as though it is either going to disintegrate or turn into something significantly more interesting) and then you have to attract the attention of the waiting staff so you can actually pay the bill before leaving. No thank you. I would much prefer to just leave. So if all my favourite eating establishments could hurry along and invent some kind of "pay at the table" device, that would be just marvellous!!

Happy Birthday to Mrs B

Today is the fourth anniversary of my 21st birthday. At 25, I don't feel tremendously old (despite my lovely husband reminding me that I am now a quarter of a century old and at least a quarter of the way to being dead - he's so funny sometimes).

I overheard a colleague of mine using this phrase a couple of days ago. She was on the phone to some Mr Fix It and, after about 45 minutes on the call, invited him to celebrate her 21st. At this juncture, I should point out two things. Firstly, that she was joking. Secondly, that she is ever so slightly over the age of 21, a fact which Mr Fix It had no problem figuring out. He must have said something quite rude to her as she then exclaimed : "It is too. It is the anniversary of my 21st birthday". This was followed by a short pause then a very indignant "never you mind how many anniversaries". This amused me greatly and I have been desperate to use that phrase ever since.

As usual, I have attempted to resist celebrating my demise but, as usual, Mr B has tried to encourage it at every possibly moment. This year he has planned the big surprise. I have been getting "clues" to this surprise present since Christmas. Until today all I have known is that it is big, has "leads", all our family have contributed to it and think it is a lovely idea, and that (in typical fashion) Mr B purchased it with only 48 hours to spare. This morning I have discovered that it is a Sony CD player with iPod docking station and a built in radio. Now, this may not sound particularly brilliant to some people, so let me explain. I used to have a CD player which I very much liked. I could come in of an evening and think "hmmmm I fancy listening to that CD" and I could play that CD. Then, several months ago, my trusty CD player broke. I say "broke", but what I actually mean is that in order to play CDs on it, you had to wedge the CD drawer open with a cardboard DVD sleeve. This was no great hardship to me, but a source of constant annoyance to Mr B. He decided enough was enough and that we were going to trade in our (well, actually MY) old CD player for an iPod docking station and a purple iPod Nano. I have to say, the purple Nano was welcome. Being able to listen to music on the long metro ride to work seemed like a great plan. As did the idea of having lots of CDs put onto it so I had plenty of choice. And, obviously, the fact that it is purple Little did I know that I would rarely play music in the house because the effort of loading a CD into iTunes to then load it onto the iPod Nano (and potentially the effort of having to decide what to delete to make room for the latest addition) was just too much. Cue months of me whinging (every time that I wanted to listen to something) that there was nothing wrong with my old CD player. Now, the problem is solved! Magic.

P.S. Having read that back, I would like to point out that I posted this at 7.45am on the 20th January 2010. Not at 9.38pm on the 19th January. Talk about living in a time warp!!!

The Pharmacist Strikes Again

Just thought I'd pop in to reassure you that I am not deserting my newly found blog. I am in the process of recovering from my second migrane this week. Life is wonderful. Ha ha.

Perhaps it is a bit misleading to say "the pharmacist strikes again" as that would imply that I have encountered the same (mildly irritating) pharmacist twice in the last week. And whilst I admit to being a little lacking in the brain department on some occasions, I am simply not self-punishing enough to head to the same pharmacist who prescribed me medication which made me very ill. This time, after consultation with a fellow migrane sufferer, I headed to another pharmacist. As I was close to collapse, with somewhat iffy vision and severe nausea, I sent Mr B in to acquire the latest miracle migrane drug, only for Mr B to emerge approximately five minutes later with a questionnaire. Just what I needed given the circumstances. After filling in the questionnaire, I had to go back to visit the pharmacist. The lovely, lovely Mr Pharmacist spent a good five minutes pouring over my completed questionnaire, whilst I did my very best to remain upright and not collapse in a Mrs B shaped heap on the floor (which could have been a little messy, and a bit of an inconvenience to the other people waiting to see Mr P). He then returned with a little tick box chart and my questionnaire to ask me the symptoms of my migrane, which I explained, and which Mr P agreed were in fact migranes. He then proceeded to ask me not once, or twice, but four times (!!) exactly how many migranes I get per month. I explained (all four times) that they don't happen to a pattern, they come in clusters of two or three, usually every three to four months. To which Mr P replied "well, real migrane sufferers tend to get them regularly and in patterns". I wonder, if I am not a "real" migrane sufferer, what does that make me? A pretend sufferer? A casual user? Or perhaps a hypochondriac? Yes, that must be it. I purposely give myself severe headaches, complete with visual disturbances and nausea, just so that I can continue to have pointless (and increasingly frustrating) encounters with pharmacists. Thank you so much for that diagnosis; I feel that my life is now complete.

General Stupidity

As a general rule, I don't intend to write much about my work. Not least because it is largely quite dull, and if I tell you about my work, I will have to kill you. Ha ha ha. Well, not quite, but it is very top secret all the same. However, today two things occurred which I simply cannot allow to pass without comment.

1. Whilst on route to the kitchen for lunch, I decided to make a brief stop at the little girl's room (bear with me, this isn't heading anywhere scary, I promise). I was half-way through the door when a colleague shouted down the hall to me. I waited for her to make her way up the hall then stood in the the doorway to the ladies for several minutes whilst she outlined the problem. When she finished, she said (without any hint of sarcasm) "oh sorry, were you going somewhere?" ......

Does this need further comment? I think not.

2. Some people came today to fix a minor problem with the telephone system. Within five minutes of entering the building, they managed to cause a major problem with the phone system : breaking it completely. Now, the absence of the phones is not something I care to complain about. In fact, it was very welcome. However, in our line of work being able to answer the phones is quite important, so the manager requested that our calls be directed to another of our offices. It later transpired that they had not redirected our calls to their office, but instead managed to direct their calls to our office, which was broken. Absolute genius.