Whitby

We have just returned from Whitby and the Goth Festival - we took a stall up at the Spa, which is perched on the very dramatic West Cliff, opposite the Abbey.

We started out at 4.30 a.m on Thursday and arrived in Yorkshire by half past 10. It was a lovely day, so we drove down to Goathland (Heartbeat was filmed here, if anyone watches that) and followed the old Roman road on foot into larch woodland for a bit before heading into Whitby itself. We visited a number of the town's pubs over the weekend - it's an old-fashioned town and the first pub had a petition on the bar asking for support for Whitby's fishing fleet. We also admired Whitby's magnificent steam-powered bus.

Trade was very slow, but we managed to get out to the various other stalls of the festival and had plenty of time to people-watch. There were some stunning costumes - a high percentage of people in their sixties and even seventies, dressed in full Victorian gear. First prize from me went to an elderly lady in full mourning rig, and a steampunk couple (he was in copper armour with a whirring top hat and his partner was a balloonist of some description). Wandering around Whitby with all this going on was a lot of fun. I had lunch in a tiny cafe called Sherlock's, which did bear a close resemblance to the Baker St rooms, with added cake, and which was full of women in hats, buttoned boots and mobile phones. Ah, modern life.

We went to the Spa on both the Friday and Saturday evening, but alas, although I have dressed like a Goth for the last 25 years, I do not care for the music (there are exceptions - our good friends in Cauda Pavonis being some of them), so we hung out in the bar above a raging sea and caught up with people instead.

We stayed with some old friends in one of the nearby villages - great to see them and all their cats, too. Also excellent to visit J and B and menage, including amazing dog, on the way back. We decided to cut out the motorway as much as possible and headed back over the Peaks, having lunch in a place called the Lamb Inn (Derbyshire), which the wide-eyed barmaid informed me was 'ever so haunted.' Got back about 6 yesterday afternoon, and now have con crud.

Huge thank you to the home team, who did a sterling job of dog-minding. What the dogs have managed to do in our absence is somewhat sobering: Lily somehow got locked in the spare bedroom today, when T was in the house, and has ripped up the carpet. Our lodger managed to cordon off the stairs with clamps, but even so. Beyond the call of duty, guys, and I am somewhat mortified that our animals have caused our friends so much trouble.

If anyone is waiting for this quarter's short stories, which many of you are - they are on their way, but the dogs have eaten the router cable to the living room and I need to sort my connectivity out. Aiming at getting the stories out tomorrow.