Last week we went back to London.  It was a work thing and a flying visit.  Friday night stay over followed by an exhibition on Saturday.  It’s been nearly seven years since we lived in London, longer than the time we spent there.  I’ll always have a soft spot for the place and at times, when there is a lack of plays to be seen or when the departures board in Piccadilly Station spins round just when I’ve found Levenshulme, I’ll wish I was back there.

And so last Friday afternoon I found myself on a Virgin Pendolino train, on my way back to London.  I remember the first time I visited London.  It was the day of my interview at SOAS. My second visit was to find a place to live.  The first thing that struck me was the shabbiness of the approach to Euston Station. I mean this is our capital city and that’s not a great first impression. The same thought struck me again last week as I arrived just in time for rush hour. Incidentally, I love the approach to Manchester Oxford Road Station. As you come out of the main entrance and walk towards Oxford Road, you have that wonderful view of the Palace Hotel. But I digress.

Back to London.  Because of the exhibition luggage I was carrying with me, I decided to take a cab to the hotel in Belsize Park. I never took cabs when I lived there. I always took the tube. But you miss things that way and it gives you a slightly warped view of where everything is. So we trundled through the traffic through Chalk Farm, Camden and Mornington Crescent and on to Belsize Park.  It’s like being in a different country.  There are people everywhere.  Walking in the street, meandering in and out of shops, in cars, in buses, underground in the tubes.  It’s either a real buzz or extremely claustrophobic, depending on your mood.  The houses are different too.  Not as much red brick.

It was a tiring weekend. We went out for a meal to a Moroccan place in Hampstead on Friday night and then Saturday was taken up with the exhibition. By the time we made it home late on Saturday I was shattered.

I miss London. I do. I miss the shops in Muswell Hill, the theatres, the pubs in Hampstead, the ferry across to Canary Wharf and Greenwich, our old back garden with the crab apple tree and flat roofed sheds. Mostly I miss the choice. Yes, I’ll always have a soft spot for London.  But that’s all it is.  A soft spot.  Manchester is ingrained in me.  It’s in my blood and bones.  Samuel Johnson once wrote, ‘when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life’. But I expect a week of taking the Docklands Light Railway from Bank Station to Canary Wharf may have changed his mind.

You know those pictures I mentioned?  Well here they are.  At last.

That day we walked along the beach to Sandsend.  It was one of those days you only get at the seaside.  We were both slightly sunburned but it was cold at the same time.  And windy too.   You could see the wind gathering momentum.  The sand rippling as though emanating the sea.  Eyes firmly closed against its stinging force.  And the sound of it.  At times I wasn’t sure where the wind ended and the sea began.

At the end of the beach we were surprised to find an art gallery.

After a warming cup of tea we decided against the bus and walked back again along the beach.  The sun was getting lower in the sky and the sea crept slowly back up the beach, reclaiming sand and rock.

That night I opened the windows in the apartment to listen.  To the wind and sea.  That distant roar.

I’m in Whitby. We travelled up on Friday after a hellish week at work.  Whenever we manage to get away for a day or two, we end up working those days in advance.  On Wednesday we worked sixteen and a half hours and got home at midnight.  So to say it was a little fraught is an understatement.

We arrived a little early on Friday and couldn’t pick up the keys straight away, so we walked down the cliff onto the beach.  Whitby has a beautiful beach. Long and sandy and quite wild.  I don’t know what it is about the sea but it somehow makes things seem better.  We wandered along the water’s edge and the stresses of the week (and of leaving my laptop in the car at the top of the cliff) fell away.  When I was standing there I tried to think of the sound the sea makes, to try to put it into words.  But I couldn’t come up with anything that hadn’t been used beforfe – crashing, roaring – all cliches.

We’re staying at the Metropole again, though in a different apartment this time.  I’m fascinated by this place.  According to our welcome pack it was built in 1897, largely for the wealthy German tourists travelling here at the time.  Many of the original features are still in place – the ballroom, the grand staircase leading to each of the four floors and imposing mirrors and old bells are still in evidence in the corridors.  The rubbish chute is also still functional.  Though I wonder if this had a different function in the hotel’s heyday – laundry perhaps.  Our apartment is spacious and comfortable with sea views out of the kitchen, lounge and bedroom windows.  It’s also split level with a room occupying one of the building’s turrets.  Unfortunately this room isn’t accessible to visitors, which of course makes it all the more appealing.

Today we’re walking into Sandsend along the beach.  It’s about 3 miles, I think. I’m looking forward to that. I’ll post some pics when I get back.  Until later then.

And so here we are in Northumberland.  We finally managed to get away from work for a few days to relax and get some sea air.  Of course these things always start with the inevitable ‘pre-journey row’. Preparations have been left until the last minute.  The house needs to be cleaned as the cat sitter is coming and the packing needs to be done.  Of course the clothes should have been washed in advance to give them enough time to dry, not the night before so that they’re still damp as you’re dragging them off the maiden to put in the cases. And of course the cats know instinctively that you’re going away and immediately start to play up.  On Thursday morning I put down two large bowls of Whiskas Oh So Fishy (their new favourite). Twenty minutes later they’d eaten their way through a day’s worth of food.

And so after, “What on earth are you taking that for,” and “Because I am, get over it,” suddenly you’re on your way.  The computer is off, the out of office messages are set up and the boot is full of books and booze. Now I’m not good with journeys.  Or, to be precise, I’m not good at sitting still for four hours doing nothing.  Generally after about half an hour I’m asking, “How long before we see the sea?” I’d be hopeless on a canal barge.  The thought of spending a week on a journey where you never actually arrive would drive me insane.  But four hours and one mild Haribo haze later we arrived and opened the door to our new home for the next few days.

I haven’t stayed in a caravan since I was a child and so wasn’t sure what to expect.  Everything else in Seahouses was booked and so we thought we’d give it a go.  It’s much more peaceful than I expected. The kids are all back at school and people seem to be quite private.  Not like the caravan park in Towyn where I stayed as a child and my mum and Auntie Irene tut-tutted at a woman who stepped out of her caravan in her dressing gown to go to the shower block. This caravan has two bathrooms, a lounge with flat screen TV and DVD, a fully fitted kitchen with cooker, fridge, freezer and microwave and two bedrooms.  It also has central heating, which has come in handy given the weather over the last few days. Yes,  the walls shake with every gust of wind but that all adds to its charm.

Yesterday we went to Bamburgh to look at the castle and the beach.  This part of the coast is rugged and unspoiled, with wild sea grass, sand dunes and crashing waves. Later today we’re going to Alnwick to look round the second hand book shop and Hogwarts.  But for the next hour I’m content to sit here under the blanket with a cup of tea and Lindor chocolates, while the rain beats against the caravan walls.

I’ve been meaning to add a post about our weekend in Whitby. If you’ve never been it really is a beautiful part of the world – wild and unspoiled coast lines, narrow streets and ginnels, a busy fishing port and a ruined abbey. In fact, I wonder why The Famous Five never visited?

Anyway, here are some pics.

We stayed in a beautiful sea view apartment in a complex called Metropole Towers.

Metropole Towers started life as a hotel back in the early 1900s and has period features in abundance – grand corridors and stairways, ornate mirrors and vintage door bells.

The sea, the sea!

There are lots of back alleys like this. It reminds me a little bit of Hampstead but with beaches and less Prada.

It was a lovely weekend with lashings of sea and sunshine and not a smuggler or wrecker in site.