Three more Whitby snaps those who enjoy such things things.

It is a curious place, one half gentrified, bookish and expensive, and one half garish, noisy and chip shop festooned. The town is cut physically in two by the channel which runs through it from the sea, and the two sides seem almost totally unrelated to each other. It would be easy to believe that in the off season the locals stage fierce turf wars, north versus south, each side's warriors glorified by ceremonial dress, their headgear a mass of seal totems and longboat prows.

Wednesday - PM

The end (or the beginning?) of Whitby abbey, site of vampirism aplenty and Gothic attitudinizing.

Pictured here with Whitby town in the background, and my sister's learned head to the fore.

The ruin - though hugely atmospheric - was marred by the presence of nasty, dumbed-down audio guide nonsense. We were expected to put on headphones at various points along our stroll to hear a succession of low-rent actors impersonating figures from the abbey's history.

This isn't such a bad idea in theory, but alas English Heritage hadn't put enough thought into the script, so the various friars and nuns chattered away happily in neologisms and 21st century cliche.

Apart from laziness, I think the cause of this apparent oversight might lie in the fact that English Heritage (who maintain the abbey) are a public-sector organisation who had their begetting in the Blair years and are as keen as all their kind upon the politicisation of language. A convincing script, free from anachronisms, would have made the characterisation of certain female figures as empowered, authoritative and - pre-emptive shudder - "feisty" women much more difficult.

Wednesday

Tis Wednesday and it's about to rain, and my throat is slightly tight.