It all started because my wife had decided to change her car. The new car would not be ready until the middle of this week. As usual she could not wait…

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Much to her and my surprise she was loaned a car for five days and it turned out to be an Alfa Romeo Spider with less than 1000 miles on the clock. This was on the Friday and it was a glorious weekend. For once the sun shone for two whole days and we made the best of both – I even gave up my golf and this has never been heard of before.

On the Saturday we drove. No, that’s not right. My wife drove me across the moors to Whitby via Sandsend. At Sandsend the sea was out and there was a vast expanse of sand occupied by only a handful of people and their dogs. From Whitby, looking back, you could just see the cliffs beyond Sandsend through the remains of the early mist.

At Whitby the donkeys, no not us, had arrived to begin their day on the beach.

Even at 10.30 there were lots of people about on the pier and waiting to start their tours on boats and the steam-driven bus, the Old Glory. I couldn’t get a picture of this for all those tourists.

Others though had their own form of transport and this fellow had got it made.

The barque Endeavour, the replica of Captain Cook’s ship entered the harbour as we strolled along. Neither of us are sailors and although there was a flat sea we were not brave enough to put to sea in either the Endeavour or on one of the many ‘pleasure’ boats.

We fought our way along the front through the throng and passed the Whitby’s famous Magpie restaurant where queues were forming ready for it to open at 11.30. We crossed the bridge to investigate shops selling Whitby Jet. Well my wife did; I managed to get lost in a second hand bookshop from which I had to be dragged kicking and yelling back across the bridge for a magnificent lunch on Whitby fish and chips – if you eat anything else on a trip to Whitby you must be mad.

I was mad after lunch, mad enough to force my wife up the 199 steps to view the ruins of Whitby Abbey. This was not a good idea as I struggled to reach the top; it was not a pretty sight and bad for my heart rate. I intended to get me some shots of the Abbey but was foiled by the high wall and the admission price.

Finally my wife lost her patience with my photographic jaunt. Mind you she had to bribe me by promising me a trip across one of the remoter moors where I would be able to get some shots of her without her top.

This wasn’t what I had expected at all!