My little corner of Paradise seemed anything but paradisiacal when I awoke from my slumber this dark November morn. In fact, it was pretty bloody bleak — one of those half-arsed English winter days of misty hills and intermittent drizzle, actual sunlight (or daylight, for that matter) a seemingly long-forgotten memory. I sat staring at my chapter outlines, which have been progressing nicely, looked out of the window, shivered, drank tea, stared at my outlines a while longer — and then gave up, had some lunch and went to Whitby for the afternoon.
Even bleaker, but somehow right. Slate grey skies and seas, the sense of a place abandoned (up on the West Cliff, at least — down in the harbour it was much more lively.) A welcome break.
A dark, rather poor quality video of the piers from the West Cliff follows. It gives a fair impression of what the day was like.