Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Ribblesdale
We got up feeling daring and frivolous today and decided to visit Morecambe on Sea, the coastal town that is the butt of endless cruel jokes and besmirchment. We were surprised that Mum was up to it but we decided that the bracing sea air would be a tonic. At least it didn't rain. Dad took the scenic route, up hill and down dale and went straight to Heysham cooing at the ocean as we drove past but not stopping until we reached the (blank) inn. The yellow peril was despatched inside as a forerunner to see if they would allow Samuel inside whilst we lunched. All was well. We sat feasting in a corner and Samuel had something cold and sticky from a jar. Dad is a great entertainer and Samuel was bedazzled. Then we walked on the miserable concrete promenade and stopped at a shop to buy a windscreen wiper for ailing Mandy. Mum was cold and tired and we ventured back to the car and home. I remember little of Morecambe though Mum says we stayed here when I was a child. Very cold. back home for tea. Later Ally and I walked to the Crown for the last hour but it was darts and dominos night and very uninspiring. We sat watching the solitary barmaid at work.
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