Today was an odd day on the beach.

Firstly we met a group of walkers who tried to get rid of a collie to us, then we saw a woman who looked like she’d escaped from a battlefield re-enactment society dressed all in tarten with large floppy tarten hat. This was probably more upsetting to us than to the dogs who seemed happy chasing sticks and running around in circles.

The point of the walk was to work up an appetite for Sunday lunch. Not just any Sunday lunch but the Sunday lunch at the Victoria Hotel with extra roasties and the famous Yorkshires. Being a relative newcomer to this world of food I was really looking forward to it. Unfortunately the expectation was let down by the cooking. “Frozen Yorkshires”, said L with one look at her plate. It wasn’t the best of meals with no stuffing or apple sauce for the pork, undercooked vegetables and the wrong type of Yorkshires.

All too soon the weekend was over and we were flying south. For me what could have been a stress laden weekend meeting L’s parents has been instead so relaxing. Thats really down to them. L’s Mum has a warm, welcoming home which is immaculate; her Dad cooks a mean breakfast; both seem to have accepted me.

After all that relaxing things took a downward turn. The taxi we booked to get home turned up late. He seemed OK driving on motorways but had an issue with roads with curves which he took at rally speeds. More concerning was his approach at traffic lights. Crawl up to the lights when on green; run the red light then stop in the crossroads to make sure nothing was coming.

Shame we left those drinks at Newcastle airport ….