Stayed with Helen at a holiday cottage in Robin Hood’s Bay, though it was actually the loft of the railway station waiting room: surplus to requirements since the last train ran on the Scarborough & Whitby Railway in 1965. The accommodation has been brought up to a high standard - all mod cons - though the efforts to fit a kitchen, sitting room, toilet and two bedrooms into a confined loft space had led to some rather bizarre solutions. The door to my bedroom, for example, was only about four feet high, and triangular, which might have been fine for a small child or a hobbit. Is there some parallel universe where holidaymakers are happy to crawl to bed on all-fours?
We wandered down to the beach (can’t really call it a harbour) and had a pint in each of the pubs as we laboured back up the hill. We had a meal in a hotel at the top, and then unwittingly left without paying. Helen avoided all of the moral dilemmas which plague atheists, by calling the hotel, apologising and paying the bill over the phone. I have printed out a second draft of the book, which is the version I’m happy to show to people ‘in the business’. My next job is to find myself an agent…
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