Whitby
04 August 2005
Highlight: Bagdale Hall Hotel & Bottle of 1989 Ch�teau Lafit Rothschild I drank there. Dracula.
Lowlight: Watching some local yobs kick a dog to death.
One of the settings for Bram Stoker’s Dracula, this small town appears quaint on first laying eyes on it. After driving down through the beautiful North Yorkshire Moors and through the village of Sleights one could initially be forgiven for thinking that we’d arrived in a pleasant Spanish fishing town; the small of the sea and the beautiful architecture are a treat for the senses.
It is only on leaving one’s hotel, or for that matter, the car, that you actually realise where you are. No longer do the views of the Abbey matter, or the cry of the gulls in this rustic Algarve, what matters is that you’ve landed in the middle of commoner land and are surrounded by people whom you wouldn’t let lick the crap of your shoes.
Wednesday and Saturdays see the local ‘club’ and pubs heaving at the seams with slappers and slags who have nothing else better to do than get pregnant, being let into pubs after giving the doorman/fisherman a blow job. The place is also apparently famous for being THE place to buy dirty heroin, on the outskirts of the town you can see all of the council and Barrett houses which are the homes of the local smack heads, I advise not staying around and to leave to Robin Hood’s Bay (Seven miles south and full of upper middle class whom I can tolerate quite happily).
Anon
Is this ironic?
"The answer to how to live is to stop thinking about it. And just to live. But you're doing that anyway. However you intellectualise it, you still just live."