We're always told that family is the most important thing in the world, and that we should treasure every moment with them, and really that's one of the main things that my belief system consists of, among many other things. I love every member of my family, and my grandparents ae no exception. I guess now that I've lost two of them I've grown a lot more attatched to the two remaining. That fact is really the only reason that at twenty past nine this morning I found myself squished on the back seat of our car between my Nan and my Grandad, my phone in my lap and a folder full of revision tools placed awkwardly between my legs, which I didn't end up using at all on either of the journeys.
I woke up this morning to the sound of mum threatening to leave me behind if I didn't get up soon, because she intended to leave in less than half an hour. After two minutes of pointless arguing we establihed that she'd come in twice previously to wake me, and I'd spoken to her in some way, but I had no memory of this at all. This had, apparently happened before, and I think she accepted it better this time, which I'm incredibly grateful for. Eventually I dragged myself out of bed an got dressed, while still being shouted at for not going fast enough. It irritates me beyond belief when my dad feels the need to shout me from downstairs to tell me to get up, when in actual fact he has no idea that I'm already dressed. Mum then came in to steal some of my CDs, which admittedly I borrowed from her a while back. I hadn't even listened to all of them because for some reason my docking station/FD player was taken downstairs for Christmas where it promptly stopped working. Again, mum began to shout at me that I'd lost her Simon and Garfunkel CD because it wasn't in the case and she'll never let me borrow her CDs again etc. which we go through every few weeks, and I always find it in it's case within two minutes. However, I really hadn't seen the Simon and Garfunkel CD, it was one of the few that I hadn't gotten around to listening to. She still doesn't believe me. Paul Simon, for the record, had/has an amazing moustache. I mean really, it's incredible, but I don't know if he still has it. I hope so.
I deeply considered staying at home today. I knew that staying home to revise would certainly be a wise thing to do, but that I'd regret not going, and I'd probably waste most of the day anyway if I stayed. I tried to get mum to convice ke otherwise, but she understood that I'd want to go with them from about ten minutes after they left, if that. At this point going seemed to be the logical thing to do, and so I went.
We were out the door on time despite yet anoher debacle over where the car keys were, which turned out to be in my Grandad's car for some reason that none of us can quite work out.
The journey was long, but it gave me time to think. What I was doing with my life, why I wasn't revising (conclusion: I'm lazy), what I was going to blog about, and why The Pogues are so damn good? I nearly fell asleep in the last ten minutes, stress on the word 'nearly' because as I am now fully aware, I cannot sleep when I'm moving or when it's light, so I've got no chance in a car.
I love Whitby. I love its history and the beautiful old streets, the quirky shops and the people to go with it, but of course like everything, I found flaws in it. The first thing that irritated me about Whitby today was the fact that it was so cold. Apparently it was reasonably warm at home, but no matter what time of year you go, it is ALWAYS incredibly cold, except for the area direcly outside the kipper smoking house, which radiates not only warmth but the most delicious smell of smoked kippers.
Whitby is of course famous for being the town in which Bram Stoker wrote Dracula, and so it features quite a lot of vampire memoribillia and creates a gothic atmosphere which appeals to me for reasons I can't quite explain. Part of the character of the town is also given by the buskers situated in various places on the street. For example, today there was a man stood on a corner playing the accordion and singing Irish shanties. He had vast and obvious talent, and his music was brilliant, or at least to me because as I have mentioned, I love Irish music. Unfortunately the most noticable thing about the talented musician was that attatched to his belt, on a long wooden pole, he had suspended a marrionette, of about the size of a two year-old child, which quite honestly freaked me out. I couldn't tell whether the face was made out of china or wood, but it was creepy with huge, staring eyes and a fixed smile. I suspect that it was wood but I didn't really want to look close enough to tell. It, or rather she, was wearing an old style grey dress, which had been sewn to the wooden hands to give the impression that she was holding her dress up to dance, revealing creepy little wooden legs that had a mind of their own. When I first saw the puppet from a distance, I admired it and the man's act. However when we had to walk past it, I started to notice all of these little weird characteristics, and how they contrasted with the man operating it, who seemed like a nice enough person. Eventually I was forced to come to the conclusion that if you give any normal looking person a creepy marrionette, they instantly also become creepy.
For the record, I don't like bridges, piers or boats. Basically anything suspended over water where there tends to be high winds. I refused to go on the boat like always, and we got halfway down the wooden half of the pier before I claimed that my ear was freezing, which to be fair it was, I just also didn't want to go any further. I used to argue about the bridge but there's really no point anymore, I always lost that argument.
I'm glad I went today. I spent time wih family, I realised a fear of creepy old puppets, and in the end, I still didn't get a lot of revision done.
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