The People’s Republic Of Yorkshire


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I always have good intentions to put pen to paper (as it were) upon returning from our travels, however life tends to place greater importance on completing more mundane, but arguably more important, activities. So it’s been a few weeks now since Mrs Weir and I travelled North in search of a week of indolence whilst nestled in the shadows of the Howardian Hills.

Highlights of our time in “the only area of Jurassic limestone landscape in the north of England” were many and included, taking in the “finest view in England” over at Sutton Bank, standing all alone on the South Beach at Scarborough (with the exception of the exceptional Mrs Weir), visiting one of Britain’s least inspiring historic houses (sorry Temple Newsam) in order to see Grayson Perry’s ‘The Vanity of Small Differences’ exhibition (which was great albeit hideously lit), celebrating my birthday in the company of Mr & Mrs Weir snr, traversing the mighty mighty Humber Bridge and stumbling upon Giant Bradley in the village of Market Weighton, on the way home through Lincolnshire.

All of which went some way to raise my spirits after the heartbreaking news about the model railway.

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