We're freaks and miserable goths

Having left work late on Thursday, I hurled myself up the M1, along that really annoying bit of the A64 (why is it so long ? and so boring ?) and across the twisty turny moor road to get in to Whitby just before midnight.

I headed for the pub at a sprint, still wearing what I'd been wearing for work - blue jeans, a greyish jumper and a khaki jacket. Which had the interesting effect of rendering me invisible to almost all gothy types - I got edited out of vision as "local", and got (at best) pitying glances from people I ordinarily chat to. Bonus points to reddragdiva for looking particularly disgusted with me when I said hello :) Further bonus points to dmh for not only recognising me but buying me a pint (which generosity I repaid later in the weekend by queueueing for 20 minutes to buy him a drink that was nothing like what he wanted. With hindsight, maybe we shouldn't have had the "what you drinking?" conversation directly in front of the speakers).

Other than that, there was chatting, tea, cake, shopping, cake, beer, chatting, cake and tea.

( And some bands )

There's a Victorian tin I keep my memories in

I failed to take a single picture all weekend (unless you count snaps of deranged thrushes at Leicester Forest East on the way home). Instead, here are my imaginary photos; shots taken with my mind's eye over the past few days.

( Whitby Photo Gallery )