I am back in Canada, but still thinking about my holiday (in this case, York)

Yes. It is Sunday. I returned from the Britain, place of my birth and holding-centre for most of my 'loved ones', on Friday night. I drove nearly 1,500 miles in 9 days in a Ford Focus Titanium 1.6L (whatever the shit that means) and did not break it.  My companion was the ever-magnificent French-Canadian veterinary pathologist to whom I am married (today is our first anniversary!): he responded well to being in Britain, saying "pretty!" regularly and, by the fifth day, asking to "stop for a nice cup of tea" unprompted. Progress indeed.

We went from Inverness to Skye (v. lovely drive), from Skye to Glasgow (v. lovely drive, apart from the sudden-death risk of windy too-narrow roads down the side of Loch Lomond), from Glasgow to Windermere (efficient motorway, nice finish), and from Windermere to Yorkshire through the Dales.

I love Yorkshire so much that all I can do is put pictures up for you to look at with your eyes, because if I write about it I will start squirting inappropriately on my screen, and it is still a new computer that I would not like to break.

Here we go then.  (NB: sensible combination of Wensleydale cheese and fruit cake; Poppy the puppy; the house, which was our v. excellent B&B).

As excellent as mosaics are, however, there are some things that need to be in the 'close up'.  The photograph I am about to share with you, my loyal and adoring readers and/or fans, is of a man who sat in the window of Starbucks near York Minster for at least two (2) hours. No, I don't know either.

Talking of  York Minster, I spent more time there on our holiday than I ever did when I was at university (in York, obv).  It is GREAT. I spent a lot of time looking at the gargoyles, some of whom were surprisingly cheerful, and an inordinate amount of time looking at these memorial stones (is that the right word?).  I would very much liked to have know the last lady.  She sounds ace.

And to round this splendid post off, here is a Fat Rascal. What used to be called Taylor's - a place where I would have tea with unsuitable suitors who were either on army scholarships, double-barrelled and Christian or future Telegraph journalists -  is now Little Betty's, which annoys the tits off me, but no matter: the only thing that matters is that Fat Rascals exist, and they have almond teeth, and that I can eat a whole one with butter and a pot of tea and feel that really, all is right in the world. 

Pip "I wish I were in Yorkshire now" Pip

NWM

P.S. I know this is pathetic but I can't help it. Here is a photograph of some chickens talking about whether to cross the road or not. I laughed so much when I saw them I nearly drove into a pair of matching old ladies in tweed hats.