retiredmartin

May 2026. Whitby.

I’d told Mrs RM if she was ready to leave for Whitby at 6am that Wednesday morning I’d take her along.

I even threw in the prospect of a campervan overnighter opposite Loftus Police Station, where I parked up, alone, at 9am.

Ten minutes later I was on the X4,

a picturesque 41 minute meander around the North Yorkshire coast that I wouldn’t have survived had it been 41 seconds longer.

No cheap hotels, or camping slots here. Whitby doesn’t want old “leeches” like me parking up for free and using the facilities without putting much back. It’s a bit like CAMRA gold card members, I guess.

2 hours to wander till a meet up with Paul Mudge & the Southworths, and with cocktails not served till 10 in Macy Browns,

I started the day properly in Spoons.

I know you never tire of shots of the Freedom Breakfast, a quid more here than in Bradford or Sheffield but the staff were very lovely.

Let’s not even go there with the beer prices.

Whitby had just survived a Bank Holiday weekend Goth invasion, and felt much quieter this gorgeous Wednesday morning.

Plenty of pre-pub exercise walking up and down the lanes,

though this view was as close as I got to the Abbey and the 199 steps, sticking firmly to the North Bank.

Back down by the train station I bumped, literally, into Stafford Paul, who had been unable to resist the call of an early morning pint at the Angel, and we headed to the docks to contemplate life and train delays at Middlesbrough and honeymoons.

“This lady will help you & advise you on all matters” read Lee’s advert.

No thanks. I know a lady who can do that already.