Parking, Dr Death and Human Sea

Week Beginning 14th April 2025

Monday

I was so busy writing my diary that I nearly missed a crucial event in the village. We, ‘the village’, are researching the bottom end end of our settlement and there was a giant, blown up plans of the streets on offer. With fifteen minutes to go, I threw on some outside clothes (yes, the PJ’s were still on) and cheated by driving down in Mrs FLE. I continued with the cheating by parking in a spot I shouldn’t have. I seem to have gotten away with this one - not sure how? I have a purple/pink car with a distinctive number plate - but perhaps my anonymity was secure because I live in the other end of the village to the bit being scrutinised?

Tuesday

There wasn't much to tell about the sunny (I used the term loosely) part of the day but this evening ‘Im Indoors and I, headed to ‘Mansfailed’ and it’s Palace Theatre. Never was a theatre so misnamed. It is so not a palace but, in its defence, when compared to the neighbouring properties, it was luxurious. Now, those that wot know me well, will be aware that as a child of Chesterfield, Mansfield isn’t my favourite place but there was something on I wanted to see, so Mansfield was where I was hanging.

I wasn’t disappointed that my views of this ‘lovely’ town were not incorrect or up for any changes. As I began the short hobble up the street after leaving Mrs Fle (a little worried for her safety, I have to say), there were two or three fiftyish year old women, blind drunk being chaperoned by a daughter of one of them. The daughter was was definitely sober but drinking from the inevitable can of energy drink and just yelling at her mother to stop making a fool of herself. Normal for this part of town.

“I bet you think we are terrible?” one of the women questioned us. In my head, because responding out-loud to this type of creature is ALWAYS a mistake, internally I said, “No, you are just what I expect on a Tuesday night in April in this place.” Out-loud, I just said, “excuse me.”

Anyhow, never-mind the drunken greeters to the theatre goers, we were here to listen to Colin Sutton take us through his ‘The Making of a Murderer: 2” Show. He had been a lead detective in the Met before his retirement to punditry and TV stardom, and I was interested to learn of his techniques in detecting. It turns out that he wasn’t a great one for using the high tech side of the job, although DNA was starting to become important as he reached the latter part of his career. And, although he has been ‘retired’ for sometime now, he confirmed that the police often couldn’t afford to use the fancy tech that was now available. Do you know…. in 80% of homicides, the ‘perp’ is found but only 6% of ordinary, non-murdery stuff is resolved. Now, I haven’t fact checked this. Colin said it if anyone wishes to challenge these statistics.

Anyway, very quick review. It was an interesting and well delivered talk. On the downside, it was a little too expensive for what it was and the seats in the Palace Theatre need attention (I am sure other theatres will offer differing levels of comfort).

Wednesday

I had no choice but to swim during the day. Not normally a problem but ‘they’ are off school, so I was a little worried. However, the weather was rubbish so I was betting on not many of them (or their grandparents) wanting to bob about in my lane. I was generally correct so no pool rage to report.

Thursday

We had a planned departure for Whitby to be before 11.15. I had a doctors appointment at 9.45 and ‘I’m Indoors had another appointment at 9.30. We were packed and ready to go before heading off in a separate directions, full of confidence that we would be more than sorted before the witching hour.

Ha, ha, and again ha. I arrived early for my appointment with Dr Death, electronically ‘arrived’ myself and sat waiting. I was confident that I would be quickly seen because, I had been told earlier in the week, that this particular doctor wasn’t seeing patients on Thursday and I had been put in as an exception. Lucky me.

Anyway……I sat, I sat a little more, I watched the twee presentations they put up about four times and I continued to sit….waiting. Eventually, I arose stiffly from my chair and enquired of the receptionist “Is Dr Death actually in the building today?” You imagined how I laughed when she replied:

“Oh, no he isn’t. He was meant to be, however, he is poorly. He is working from home though.”

She followed this up quite quickly with, “I can see you are little disgruntled by this but he really can’t help it.”

Give her her due, she had read my face beautifully. I wasn’t, however, disgruntled because the man was poorly, even I ‘the grumpy one’, could be angry he was ill. I never, skip into see him anyway so not actually seeing him wasn’t the end of the world. Still, sitting in the surgery for nearly 30 mins, for no reason, didn’t contribute to me making me feel any better. However, she kindly said that I should go home so that I could sit in comfort and Dr Death would call me there. Lucky me!

For the record, he did call me, eventually and we eventually arrived in Whitby at about 16.00. An added bonus was ‘Im Indoors only threw the Sat Nav across the dashboard once on the journey (it was just as we came off the A64 for those of you interested).

Friday - Sunday

Before I give any sort of review of our stay in Whitby, I would like to share that I have always liked my visits here, although it has been some years since my last confession and all that…

I will do a review on A Class Adventures but my general advice for anyone thinking of visiting this place on a bank holiday weekend, in a motorhome or otherwise - DON’T. If you have any level of introversion, ADHD, you have any physical disability or you have ‘Grumpiness Syndrome’. Really don’t come here. Wow, this place is packed. There is nowhere to sit, unless you are in a pub by 11.00. You can only shuffle in time with the rest of the crowd if you haven’t made it to sanctuary very early.

It has made me reflect on what I want/ need when it comes to ‘adventure’. I do need adventure but I have to define it for me (and I suppose ‘I’m Indoors). Adventure isn’t sitting in a perfectly manicured campsite about a mile from a town, hobbling to the Park and Ride and then being overwhelmed by a sea of people. Sea, yes, I want sea but the wet, watery kind not one of other humans. I am declaring ‘introvertedness’ - is that a word? I may have some of the other stuff too but I definitely have a bad case of ‘introvert’.

I don’t want this to reflect on this ‘home’ of Dracula and spectacular fish and chips. It is just too small for all of us to fit in. The queues for fish and chips were, indeed spectacular, but would the food be as good as the hype? Well, the one time we attempted this culinary delight, I have to report, they were lovely once we got them.

The Abbey is dramatic and Gothic. I am also led to believe that Humpty Dumpty is buried in the church yard. What history you cry.

I end the week with a feeling of ‘something isn’t quite right’, that feeling of ‘I am not happy but I don’t know why’, the pit of stomach thing. I have no right to feel this way as I am definitely not hard done to (except by the odd GP perhaps) so I don’t know what is about to manifest. All I can do, in the now famous words of Mel Robbins is ‘Let Them’ and ‘Let Me’ and see what happens.