Is there not an appointed time to man upon earth?

Last Saturday saw me leaping out of bed (in Darlington) at a sufficiently early hour that I'd fed the cat, done random household jobs, had a shower, talked to the neighbours (and filched some home grown cherry tomatoes from them) and driven round to collect the uncle by about half nine. Him and his many instruments (forgive me, I knowingly transported a tenor banjo) having been safely stowed into the car we trundled off, stopping for a cup of coffee atop Birk Brow and rolling tidily into Whitby well before lunch.

( Whitby Folk Festival )

( Worms )

Still not bored with Whitby.