Grassington, Yorkshire Dales

External Steps, Grassington
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It took five trains (including the underground) and a bus to finally deposit us in the pretty rural town of Grassington, nestling in heart of the picturesque Yorkshire Dales.

The town centre is made up of a small square (triangle really) with some parking, a water pump, a tree encircled by a wooden bench … and a beach. No our eyes were not playing tricks on us, there really was a small sandy beach, complete with deckchairs, buckets, spades and surrounded by cardboard cut out beach huts. Apparently it had been created as part of a recent fete. What a lovely idea!

We didn’t fancy having to sleeping rough under a hedge each night.

Sheep dog on guard duty, Grassington
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Not quite sure where to find our guest house, Y ignored the obvious locals and instead asked directions from a tall, dark and handsome young man selling ice creams. Given his European accent, it was perhaps not surprising he didn’t know, but he kindly went off to ask someone who might. After the nearby shop owner had given Y rather lengthy instructions we had set off, turned right and that was all she could remember. Luckily we kept going straight on and found it a few hundred yards up the road on the left.

Cobbled streets, Grassington
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We were met by our landlady, Agnes, at the door and led downstairs to our rooms. Not in the basement, but on a lower floor thanks to the steep hill that the house was perched on. Sadly our group was one down this trip so we had two rooms, a twin and a double that we were using as a single. Luckily we were able to avoid any debate as to who should have the single room, by my great friend and holiday room mate making a dive for it. “You won’t mind keeping J company will you?” were her parting words. It’s good to know who your mates are! However a few seconds later she relented – realising she hadn’t inspected the twin room yet. However, once satisfied that she wasn’t missing out she returned to her private room, with a promise to put the kettle on.

Neither room was particularly special, but at least they were clean, dry and warm. We would be sharing a loo in the hallway but had our own showers. Mind you, they were not exactly private, opening straight up into the rooms. We decided an early morning rota would be necessary.

For some reason Y seemed to have real trouble with our landlady’s name, rechristening her Angus. Y was forbidden to talk to her just in case she did it again to her face. We didn’t fancy having to sleeping rough under a hedge each night.

Having unpacked and made ourselves slightly more respectable, we wandered back into town and around the tiny cobbled streets. It really was as pretty as a chocolate box lid. There were small shops of all descriptions and tiny little alleyways that we soon discovered were not always public rights of way. It was really hard to tell where a road stopped and a garden began.

The weather had been pretty good, but it started to rain as we passed the Devonshire Arms. Oh what bad luck we had to dive in for a drink! In the end we stopped for several, plus some rather nice food. They had a very reasonable set menu of £8 for two courses or £10 for three.

Much later, when we were suitably fed and watered, we made our way home. And guess what? The rain had stopped!