Argh! It burns! It burns!

Well, I'm nearly caught up blogging. Thankfully. Last Friday I went to Whitby (pronounced Wit-bay if you are of the French persuasion...). It was most pleasant. Ridiculously sunny. More importantly, my car managed to make it there in one piece. And we beat Kathy's (sat-nav) original estimated time by about 20minutes. 'Hurrah', I hear you cry. Oh, no. This naturally meant that on top of being naturally early (force of habit), I was even earlier. Combined with Katie's lateness, and traffic encountered by Katie, this meant I had a good 45minutes waiting in my car. As I hadn't expected it to be a sunny day (they are so rare in summer in Britain), I had no suncream on my bare arms. They burned. Over the course of the day, two wet bums, and much sunburn later, the day ended. Not for good, you understand. Not in an apocalyptical way, we just went home. Whitby is nice, but it would have been much nicer if we hadn't sat and ate our fish and chips on the wet part of the beach. As a result of such foolishness, we had to endure wet bums for the rest of the day. It was most unpleasant. Over the course of the day, my face burnt too. For the first time. Ever. I never burn. EVER.

The following day, perhaps, I got bored, and decided to get my car washed. In fact, it was Sunday. Or maybe not. I really cannot remember. Anyway, I took it to one of these places that charge a fiver for a wash and for painting your wheels black, you know the sort. Actually, if you don't know the sort, where have you been? There are loads everywhere nowadays. I know of at least 4 within 3 miles of my house. Anyway, anyway, anyway, I took it to the one on Parkside. Obviously, this means nothing to you, unless you is local. Either way. It was all looking good and professional, despite the lack of english spoke there. Just a series of gestures followed by "here, please?" and "five, please". Anyway, anyway, anyway, I was quite impressed initially. I got a free smelly in my car. You know the kind, the kind that smell of "strawberry". The smell you know to be strawberry, even though it smells nothing at all like real strawberry. Upon further inspection later on, and when I say "further inspection", I mean looking at it, I noticed that they had failed to wipe of various bits of bird shit. Actually not amused. Naturally, I did nothing about it, but still. Later that day, me and Ruth tried to find somewhere to go walkies. We settled on the Old Coach Road near us. It's an old road, from a long time ago, and it goes through fields. It's about 3 miles round trip. If that. The first stretch was fine, nice normal farm public path. The second stretch was proper country lane. Muddy, and nettle-y. I wouldn't have minded so much if it had been brambles, but I fucking hate nettles. Naturally I was in piss-poor shoes and shorts, so the mud was a challenge, and in the art of avoiding nettles, I am now an expert.