Made the most of the Yorkshire Day weekend by going on a trip to Scarborough today, the first time there for each of us.
It wasn’t quite what I was expecting, though I’m not sure what I had in mind. It was like a cross between Llandudno and Bournemouth, my only reference points coming from the western and southern shores of our sceptred island. Maybe slightly better-to-do than I’d imagined. And the beach was much shorter. End of first impressions.
Even though we hadn’t planned a trip to the seaside, J-Bone has been excitedly talking for days about making sand castles on the beach. He must have sensed the psychic tremors, or perhaps he was pushing out the self-fulfilling prophecies. Either way, useful life skills.
I’m not much of a beach Dad: sand in my socks rubs me up the wrong way; I skulk moodily with tidal toes when others happily take the plunge. Dr L is never happier than when in water. J is all about the silicate; the sea can wait.
He set straight to work with his bucket and spade. Though he is much keener on squashing his creations than I would like. Truth be told, I joined in with some tunnel action of my own, cosying up with my inner architect.
There was also ice cream (a very decent rum’n’raisin), a long walk that included a short pier, a peer at a pirate ship (J announced that he is going to have ‘loads of boats’),
On his return home, J decided that by wrapping a towel round his waist he was no longer J-Bone and was now ‘a man’. It’s really that simple. Wish he’d been around to tell me that when *I* was two!
(He was J again when he took it off, by the way.)