The Road to Whitby

Now Bridlington’s well past its best 

Old amusements, arcades and the rest

Jumbo portions of fish

Mushy peas in a dish 

I just about passed the test

Another full breakfast in’t morning 

To go with t‘bad weather warning 

At Flamborough Head

I’m filled with dread

The day’s horror slowly dawning 

We stop for coffee at Filey

“Alright to come in?” we ask shyly

We’re soaked head to toe

But still they don’t know 

We’ll be using the hand dryer slyly 

We’re now a bedraggled pair

At Scarborough no sign of a fair

No parsley no sage

It must be our age

But at least there’s convenience there

Then we land on Route 1 with glee

At last we are traffic-free

It’s a rugged old trail

That I climb like a snail

Dodging puddles and branches and scree

At Ravenscar Victorian Folly 

Some respite, I briefly feel jolly

Then it starts to unravel 

Descending on gravel

And I nearly fly of my trolley 

Now I’m tired of the rutted Route 1

And I long for some tarmac and sun

Something’s amiss

I didn’t bargain for this

Will someone please get me a gun?!

There’s not much more to report 

All endurance and not much sport

A pretty finish again

A break in the rain

And a hotel that comes up short!

Hardwicke