Evidence that my loyalty to Tenby is a fragile, fragile thing ....

Regular readers will know that Tenby in South Wales played a big, big part in my life earlier in the year, even if its only attractions were A Big Wall and a Library and Enough Icecream to replace all the melted ice at the North Pole and reverse Global Warming.

You can read about Tenby here and and in other 'Me Travelling' posts if you like.

Now, promise me you won't mention this to Tenby, but Whitby, in North Yorkshire, where I've just been for a week, has No Boring Wall, a Bigger Library, and just as much Icecream.  It also, though, has another staple foodstuff.


Here is a picture of Whitby.

Here is a picture of what I did in Whitby.

Here is a picture of what I saw everyone else doing in Whitby.

Here is a picture of Me after a week in Whitby.

As you may have gathered from my subtle hints, fish and chips are not just a staple foodstuff in Whitby, but are so revered and worshipped that, as you walk along the seafront, you can see all the fish just leaping out of the water, desperate to be caught, and singing this little song ...

Take me, take me, and cover me in batter

Fry me, fry me, so I can make you fatter

Eat me, eat me, along with lots of chips

Then hate me, hate me, for what I do to hips.

We spent a week in Whitby, eating fish and chips.  Then we travelled back by train on Saturday evening, got back into the house at 7pm in the evening and just couldn't face cooking, so I persuaded the husband to go and buy a takeaway.  

Here is a picture of our takeaway.

Actually, I lie.  Here is a picture of our takeaway.

Fish and chips are like blogs.  It's just so difficult to drop the habit once you've started ....