Today is my first back at work after a 4-day break in North Yorkshire. It's the first time I've ventured so far into the county; we went right up into the North York Moors National Park. And as always with Yerk-shuh, it was even better than I'd dared to hope it would be. The scenery, people, historic sights, food and drink were all exemplary. I could happily spend my dotage in Yorkshire I think, and I speak as a dyed-in-the-wool smut-faced cockney urchin.
The great thing too about Yorkshire is its sheer size. It's England's largest county, and by a mile. And within its generous boarders, there is a wealth of variety. Cityscape, countryside, peaks, valleys, coast, moorland - if you want it, Yorkshire has it. Finally, it's a place that esteems tea and real ale above all other libations. This just about pops the tin hat on it for me. It's my kind of place.
There was a fair bit of drama, along with the gentle walks to and from pubs while we were there. Driving back to York to deposit the hire car yesterday, we witnessed a Land Rover and trailer of cattle overturn on the A64. It's very hilly around that part of the country. I didn't see what caused the spillage, but I did see it happen. Two cows went scudding across the carriageway at a fair old rate of knots. Luckily, the other road-users were alert to the danger, and none of the bovines was hit. In fact, they didn't seem hurt at all. A motorist who stopped obviously knew his cow onions and corralled them into a neighbouring field for safe-keeping. The driver of the Land Rover also appeared unhurt. He scrambled out of the passenger door of the vehicle, which was now moonlighting as the roof. I read later on the local newspaper's web site that indeed none of the participants in the prang was hurt. Phew. Moo.
So that's Yorkshire for you. It's like Las Vegas, but with flailing, confused livestock instead of topless dancers. LV's loss.
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