After a brief sabbatical close to the town of Whitby, I’m back in Leeds. My maison de vacances for the last few days located a five minute stroll from Skinningrove beach, North Yorkshire. It’s unspoilt cove the outstanding feature of this coastal village; a locale which exists in capricious harmony with the North Sea’s unforgiving waves and bracing winds.
Gust-sourced sandstorms providing a perfect remedy for clearing ones woolly heads resultant of previous evening’s over-indulgences. That being said, as a consequence of walking amongst these sand spouts, I’m penning this journal with more sand hidden upon my person than reside in a factory of egg timers.
Even the undertaking of several post walk showers haven’t negated me having the most naturally exfoliated posterior in northern England. I know that’s a highly subjective boast (of sorts), however, if anyone north of Leicester and south of Hadrian’s Wall currently has a smoother arse than mine, I’d like to see it……Erm, not literally, of course, moreover by verbal affirmation.
Actually, I don’t want to know about your butt, scratch the above….. When I say scratch the above, I don’t mean your ass, I mean ignore the inappropriate comment in the paragraph above.
Although, I’m sure you’ve got a perfectly pleasant posterior dear reader, I’m not prepared to go down that avenue….. When I say going down that avenue, I don’t mean……… Anyhow, the hole digging stops here!!…… When I say……. Oh my god, everything is a double-entendre.
Moving on swiftly………
Skinnigrove itself is nothing to write home about. It’s amalgam of contemporary featureless red brick residences, aside the older more aesthetically interesting housing, mean its manmade architecture produces far less exhilarating scenes than bestowed by Mother Nature.
Surrounded by imposing Cleveland Hills to its north, south and west, the village grew from its agricultural and fishing economy until the opening of local ironstone workings in 1848 initiated an industrialisation boom.
In fact, there’s an iron museum in the village, however, I was unable to visit during my odyssey to North Yorkshire as it’s currently undergoing refurbishment. Which was a bit of a shame really as I could’ve done with a visit to its merchandise shop to purchase an iron sand removal stick.
Seriously, though, if anyone is ever in the Cleveland/North Yorkshire area seeking a quiet, sparsely populated beach I’d thoroughly recommend the cove at Skinningrove. In fact as go as far as positing it’s without doubt the best beach I’ve ever visited whose location is an anagram of Grinning Vokes.
Anyway, my brief hiatus is over and I’m back in my natural writing habitat; a coffee house in a south Leeds shopping centre. Yours truly has had a great break, however am irked with the discomfort of my sandy backside and frustration at being robbed of reworking the decade old book I started editing last week.
Unfortunately, but probably for the best from a data security perspective, I’m not going to be able access the document requiring the rework on a public network, a consequence of having no access to OneDrive.
Ne’er mind….. As Nelson Rockefeller once said “You can’t leave footprints in the sands of time while sitting down.”
