A massive dickhead who dropped his new camera.
Last weekend we (Laura, Phil, Abby and I) wended our merry way to North Yorkshire for a couple of days. We had a big family get together with food and drink and it was lovely. The drive up there didn’t take too long, about 4 hours, although some gigantic moron forgot to bring half his stuff (cough, me, cough) so we had to stop at a shopping centre so he could buy clothes.
Sitting in the back is for kids, I hate it.
We were put up in a lovely little hotel called the Old Lodge Hotel in Malton, one of the nicest places I’ve stayed.
As it was short visit there was only time to do four things.
1.) Go to Whitby.
2.) Go to York.
3.) Drop my brand new Leica camera.
4.) Eat and drink sick amounts.
Obviously of these things the third one would have been better if it hadn’t happened. Now I throw myself at the mercy of the insurance company in the hopes I can get it replaced.
The point of buying the Leica was that it would in theory deliver images that are close in quality to my Nikon D200. The weekend was a good test of this because I had several opportunities to give the camera a workout. The good news is that I didn’t really miss the D200 too much, certainly not enough to warrant carrying all that weight.
The bad news is as I dropped the Leica it might all be moot.
Whitby Abbey at sunset, a nice place to visit but on the third of January it’s COLD!
Next up was a trip to York to wander the streets and take in the sights. York is officially great and the only problem was we didn’t have another day to spend there. A stroll along the Shambles was nice, a bit like being in a Dickens book only without faeces and piss lining the streets and no-one had rickets or polio.
After that it was off to York Minster to marvel at how on Earth they built stuff like that in the olden days, I can’t even use polyfilla without making a terrible terrible mess. Which basically confirms that men in Medieval times were far more manly and brilliant than me. But HA! I’ve got a whizzy camera so there. Oh wait, I smashed it.
We climbed the 4.2 billion steps to the top of the tower up what I can only describe as a staircase plucked from a nyctophobic claustrophic’s deepest nightmares and had a cold look around York from on high which was nice. And cold.
In summary, there are loads of amazing pubs in that area and ale is the greatest drink in the history of drinks. And that’s pretty much it. Except the M5 was closed on the way home, probably because a small bird died on the carriageway so one of those Highway and Traffic Officers closed the whole motorway in both directions, so we had a long detour to deal with. Sigh.
Did I mention my Sky+ HD still isn’t working? Bigger sigh.