Microlight repaired and waiting for collection in Rochdale – so we took the chance to visit the North East coast where everything seems to be brought to you by the letter S – we went down via South Shields, Sunderland, Saltburn-by-the-Sea, Staithes and Scarborough – saw the sands, salty sea and scaled steep steps.

Starting with the Baltic Gallery with flat screens in the stairwell eerily echoing faces singing John Lennon songs. South shields harbour gave us a walk along the sea wall, we saw the Marsden coast, Sunderland sea front and went hunting for the Apollo Pavilion in Peterlee (named after the miner Peter Lee) – but the unpopular piece of architecture denied listed building status and any form of sign telling you where it is (the information signs lead to a multi story car park) so we gave up on this quest and headed for lunch in the Castle Eden Inn in Castle Eden which did not sell any Castle Eden Ale (or any real ale at all).

Through the Blade Runner landscape of Middlesborough we reached Saltburn-by-the-sea and its delightful pier. Its elevator was out of season so we marched up the 200 steps from the beach for a great view over the pier and sea front and cliffs. Staithes was next on the tour and is a picturesque fishing village down a steep road, where locals used to urinate on alum to make a dye. Racing the sun we reached Whitby and raced up the 199 steps to St Marys Church and Whitby Abbey where we clambered over the back wall to watch the sunset over Dracula’s castle (Bram Stoker never visited Transylvania and set Dracula in Whitby – the Count was an illegal immigrant and the novel is one of the Invasion Novels). I should have brought my wicker coffin. We managed to get a room with balcony overlooking a courtyard and with a four poster bed in the Shepherd’s Purse and headed to the Magpie Cafe for their famous fish and chips, via some pubs selling Black Sheep ale. The Magpie is only closed one evening a year and this was that evening, so after finding all the other fish and chip shops closed we headed for Greens which is a marvellous restaurant (where the owner weaves large willow unicorns with the help of the waitresses). Kim retired for the evening unable to buy any Whitby Jet as the shops were all safely shut, leaving me in the pub next door with a retired chemist who had a friend that had died of anthrax poisoning abroad, a barman who had a geography degree and a group of nurses out on the piss. Breakfast the next day was delicious in the restaurant next to the pub and my wild mushroom omlette set me up for the romp around Robin Hood’s Bay.

There is a plaque celebrating the time when a ship floundered in the bay and the whitby lifeboat had to be carried overland 6 miles in deep snow by 18 horses and 200 men in 2 hours to launch and rescue everyone. Scarborough is down the coast with a wonderful beach and victorian splendour with a spa and the surreal sight of people dancing a slowed down version of the Gay Gordons to an eerie tune in a huge but empty ballroom that reminded me of The Shining. Scarborough beach was very chilly, it was November after all, with people minesweeping on the beach.

Flamborough Head was the furthest south down the coast we were going – it is a set of chalk cliffs and the oldest lighthouse in the country – they used to set fires on top of it. It was windy and cold too so we headed for lunch which meant fish and chips at Bridlington and the Pride of Bridlington (seafish 2006 best north east restaurant). We found it using a combination of google maps, google which told us there were lots of estate agents in that road and driving around until we saw lots of estate agents and then the blue frontage of the best fish and chips. A lovely blonde girl delivered delicious fish and chips and a ‘bag of bits’ which we munched happily on the Bridlington sea front with its surreal art work and ‘as far as the eye can see’ beach.

We were racing against time now as Mainair shut at 4 – but the M62 delivered us in plenty of time to pick up the plane, meet folk from Perth airfield over coffee and drive back in pouring rain. We assembled the plane the next day in high wind in a hanger. Gordon strolled into the hanger asking if we wanted a hand, we said ‘thanks but we had instructions and thought we could manage’ – he pointed out that the wing was upside down….

November enters with the news that my drumming teacher has been impounded – her house in Smailholm is all sealed off in a search for anthrax. There is even an air exclusion -

NAVW: Q)EGPX/QRTCA/IV/NBO/W/000/030/5537N00233W003
FROM 06/10/30 12:44 TO 06/11/06 14:00 EST J4544/06
E)TEMPORARY RESTRICTED AREA OWING TO AN EMERGENCY AT SMAILHOLM (SCOTTISH BORDERS) RESTRICTION OF FLYING REGULATIONS HAVE BEEN MADE UNDER ARTICLE 96 OF THE AIR NAVIGATION ORDER 2005 IN THE AREA BOUNDED BY A CIRCLE RAD 3NM CENTRED ON 5537N 00233W. PILOTS ARE FORBIDDEN TO FLY WI THE DESIGNATED AIRSPACE WITHOUT PERMISSION OF LOTHIAN AND BORDERS POLICE (EMERGENCY CONTROLLING AUTHORITY). ATC UNITS CLOSE TO THE INCIDENT AREA ARE REQUESTED TO ADVISE ACFT ON THEIR FREQ OF THE CONTENTS OF THIS NOTAM. MIL ACFT SHOULD COMPLY WITH JSP 552 201.135.9
F)SFC G)3000FT AMSL

So we can drive past the house or walk along the road but cannot fly under 3,000 feet over it… They have now found minute quantities in the village hall where we play and it is being decontaminated – not us of course.

Conspiracy in Kelso – the local alternative energy supplier, who was one of the Tweed Horizons Sustainable technology winners along with us, was going to reveal who the antichrist was and was supposedly bumped off with a heat ray – he was talking at the same conference as David Icke. Kelso was also home to a devious paedophile who shaved his beard off as a disguise and had a cell in his house. He is now banned from the town… I am not sure about the logistics of banishment these days – does he get put in the stocks if he is found within the town walls, or thrown into the castle dungeon?

In other news red wine contains the ingredient which stops the bad effects of gluttony which mystify my doctor, and so another excuse to tuck into my stock of Lebanese wines

Coffin Making workshops are not normally something that would attract my attention, but since I recently crashed my plane, capsized a seakayak and escaped (still) anthrax poisoning I decided that it was more interesting. It interested nine other people too, who converged on the Lauder Village Hall. The end results were different – some had full sized coffins (I measured up one lady for hers – she was here for the long term), some had magnificent displays of craftsman work on half sized coffins, some had works of art (as defined like something noone else had ever seen which would be mine). The instructors comments of ‘not as asthetically pleasing as the other ones’ (hey depends on your asthetics of course, they said the same to Pollock who just captured the most expensive work of art record in the world) and ‘gosh this is amazingly robust given its shape’ (which I tended to agree with since it survived the car journey back). Advertising the coffin on ebay for deformed dwarves – it will be a race between the bidders and my aging dog. If the folk who lost out on the Pollock bid want to garner a competitive art exhibit please email me immediately…

Our neighbour’s Border terrier was savagely attacked by another neighbour’s boxer (the breed and not a gloved opponent bound by Marquess of Queensberry rules) – we went to visit the patient to find it bleeding and there was almost a ‘too many paramedics spoil the dog’ incident – but it ended happily with us dabbing the terriers bleeding vulva in the sink with antiseptic.

Stuart has now found out that when performing a musical critique it is best to be well outwith the swinging circle of the instrument – as Alasdair deliberately hit him hard with the guitar. Of course they chose the day when granny had her annual visit, for their display of brotherly hate.

Our water aerobics instructoress/domanitrix has been on a Hopi Ear Candle course – which is as dodgy as it sounds.

Early morning mondegreens with Scotland the Brave lyrics on the radio misheard as ‘Bladders Leaking’ from ‘Blood a-leaping’.

There was an old Mike who swallowed his crown, I don’t know why he swallowed his crown … yes with a loose crown held on with dentafix until the dentist cements in it correctly, it was perhaps on reflection unwise to tuck into a lunch of beans, kebab and potatoes. The crown disappeared silently leaving a worried Mike – worried from reading Google search results about what to do if your patient swallows their crown (contact your liability legal team immediately, as your patient may die, seems to the best answer for dentists) to the sickening thoughts of recovery by goldpanning through my excrement. Kim corpsing on the floor is not helping. Whilst wearing a black balaclava and using a ‘poo’ stick to prod the highly rated excrement, a knock came at the door – it was a women doing a survey – ‘can I speak to your father; she asks Alasdair, ‘err no’. She pressed on ‘we just want to know what your father does of an evening’ – my son just said’ You really, really don’t want to know, really, trust me’ and shut the door. I gave up eventually presuming I had missed it or it was still stuck to the side of an intestine, better than it stuck to my gums. To keep to the excrement theme there is a crossword where the answers are all fecal.

In an awful climbing accident in horrendous weather conditions in the Cairgorms, two Aberdeen university students were killed. One of them was in Geography lectures with Stuart and had gone to Aberdeen uni at the same time. Stuart had looked at the climbing club but chose sky diving instead as there was a bit too much camping involved. Stuart’s flatmate did join the club and was at Glenmore Lodge when the boys went missing.

On the vampire theme, BBC radio have a new Dracula adaptation; Transylvania is joining the EU and at the same time British Airways bans stewardesses from wearing crucifixes – there is no update as to whether garlic chicken has been banned from the menus.

Since I have a coffin I went online shopping at the Coop and see they do online funerals – have chosen my headstone – such a likeness.

November ends with Saint Andrew’s Day. Andrew is the patron saint of Scotland, mainly because at the Synod of Whitby St Columba was deemed less important than Saint Peter so in a desperate race of oneupmanship the Scots picked Saint Andrew who was Saint Peter’s older brother. Like all things Whitby there is a vampire connection too as Andrew went around preaching in Transylvania (he is patron saint of Romania). In any case his alliterative Apochryphal Acts of Andrew are worth reading, translated by the ghost story author M R James.
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Music of the month is definitely British with the wonderful Scottish composer, Judith Weir, and the Englishmen George Lloyd, the remarkable Cyril Scott and William Alwyn. Most enjoyable. And Imogen Heap who is truly wonderful, especially with her remarkable Hide and Seek.
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Poetry from Felix Dennis who is planting tens of thousands of acres of trees – which sounds the best use of land (other than for runways).