retiredmartin

May 2026. Whitby.

Too many pub crawls artisanally curated exploration of public houses over-focus on beer and miss the point of visiting pubs. Always visit a Sam Smiths pub over a pokey micro called “11 o’clock craft bock” or something.

Equally, never forget why you’re in Whitby, rather than Wokingham, say, or Walsham. You’ve come to see the marvellous North Yorkshire coastline in Spring, or at least to hit a little ball round a bit of it.

Joan, Dave, Paul M and I had taken the bus (ugh) a mile north of town to get that view, admire posh Whitby,

and a pint of Theakstons in the White House.

Yes, imagine who might retire here in 2028 with a golf course next door.

An unpretentious small hotel,

unfussy but comfy seating,

cool pints of Best that were probably just about GBG standard, even after the beer scoring system just got changed,

I guess let the lacings reveal.

I took even less notes than I took in the Plough, Dave took in the views,

and then we headed back along the coastal path.

Sometimes, I let the pictures speak for themselves.