The Tale of a Lobster Tail

I mentioned this in a previous post – Bridlington is the lobster capital of Europe, landing over three hundred tonnes of North Sea lobster a year and this staggering amount is more than anywhere else in Europe. 

According to the Government’s Marine Management Organisation, lobster fetches the highest average price of all species landed by the UK fleet at over £10  per kilogram, they account for only two per cent of the weight of shellfish landings, but twelve per cent of the value. Which is why Bridlington, which lands almost no actual fish, is Yorkshire’s most lucrative fishing port. The shellfish it lands is worth £7.2m  more than all the fish and shellfish landed at Grimsby and Whitby combined £4m of which is accounted for by lobster.

As we completed the beach walk and entered the town via the harbour I thought that I might find a fishmonger and get some lobster to take home.  

This proved to be rather more difficult than I imagined.  Almost all of the lobster is exported to Europe  because in the UK we don’t eat a lot of lobster and they certainly don’t eat a lot of lobster in Bridlington because it is just too expensive for a town teetering on the lower end of the UK deprivation scale – 5 out of 10, so just below average.

I found it difficult to even find a fishmonger and when I did the lobster for sale looked rather pathetic, not like a premier display of sea food that I was hoping for so I quickly abandoned the idea.

Instead I thought that we mind find a seafood restaurant and have some lobster for lunch.  We found a likely promising place on the harbour and scanned the menu in the window.  Plenty of fish on offer but by the lobster choices was a hand written note – not available today.  That was the end of the quest for lobster in Bridlington.

So instead I will have to tell you about my disastrous lobster meal in La Rochelle in France twenty years ago in 2003.

To set the scene I have to go back five years when I was there on a business trip looking at Semat Refuse Collection Vehicles and the company salesman took us out in the evening to a restaurant called Andre’s, a top class sea food restaurant on the harbour.

Back to 2003 now and with the family I was showing off and booked a table at Andre’s with the intention of eating lobster.  Everything was going to plan,  I ordered, Sally my daughter, selected crab and Jonathan, my son, went for the steak and then the evening fell rapidly part.

The waiter came to the table and introduced me to a live lobster for my approval.  I wasn’t expecting that and neither was Sally who immediately burst into tears.  This really spoilt the evening, no one wanted the lobster after that and I had to eat the whole thing myself and most of the crab as well.  Jonathan carried on as nothing had happened and made his way through his steak dinner.

For a few years after that every time Sally asked for money for this, that or the other and if I said no she would recall the expensive incident and just look me in the eye and blackmail me with the line – “Dad, do you remember – €50 for a lobster!”

On the final day at Skipsea Sands Holiday Park we drove north of Bridlington to Sewerby Hall, a Grade I listed Georgian country house set in fifty acres of landscaped gardens.  There is a very good herbaceous garden that Gertrude Jekyll would have been proud of but it was too early in the year to see it at its absolute best.

The Hall itself was interesting with rooms decorated and furnished in keeping with the period, a film show, a dressing up room and some interesting reconstructions and story boards.

When we had finished with the Hall we walked three miles to Bridlington, this time along the North Beach.  We planned to stop for a drink but there were some black clouds beginning to form so we walked the three miles back to Sewerby Hall in about half the time that it took to walk the opposite way.

This was our fourth time at Skipsea Sands Holiday Park and we agreed that it could well be our last but never say never again and who knows?  It costs less than £10 a night to hire a holiday home (caravan) at this time of year.  Maybe we will be back again same time  next year.

East Yorkshire and the Thirty-Seven Mile Holderness Coast

I begin with a question.  What is the longest uninterrupted stretch of beach in the UK?   I mean the longest stretch that can be walked end to end without having to leave it at any point to get around estuaries, rivers, cliffs, ports or towns?

To be honest I don’t have the answer, I have Googled it and there is no help but I am willing to wager that it is the Holderness coast in East Yorkshire.  It stretches all the way from Bridlington harbour to Spun Head at the mouth of the Humber estuary  and it is possible to walk the entire distance without ever  leaving the sand.  Few people know this because it isn’t in Cornwall or on the South coast and celebrities don’t make TV programmes about it.  Is it just me but does anyone else get fed up with programmes about bloody Cornwall.  

It stretches for a distance of thirty-seven miles.

I am more than happy to consider alternative suggestions of course.

I couldn’t manage the full thirty-seven miles in one day but today we planned to walk a seven mile stretch from the caravan park at Brampton  Sands to Bridlington, a distance of about seven miles or so, give or take a yard or so.

We set off just after high tide.  The weather was wild but not cold, big seas, a blustery wind that tugged at our shirt buttons and the occasional threat from a rogue wave that was in apparent denial that the tide was going out and not coming in as it swept in and rearranged the pebbles with a clattering sound like the percussion section of an orchestra.

For a mile or so there was no one else sharing our beach, deserted sands, pill-box remains fallen into the sea, a splendid lonely isolation as we walked on between the rapidly eroding cliffs on one side and the wild angry sea on the other.

Along the way we came across a colony of Swifts who had build nests in the cliff face.  I say cliffs but this is soft mud not solid rock.  Anyway they were going and coming at great speed and you will have to take my word for this because they are so fast that I was quite unable to catch a single picture of just one of them.  They are the fastest land bird of all, flying at a speed of seventy miles an hour in level flight.

After leaving the nest a young bird spends up to four years in the air without coming down, they eat and sleep on the wing, they fly five hundred miles a day and most impressive of all they also mate in the air.  To put that into perspective the only way a human can get a shag while flying is to join the mile high club on a Boeing 737.

A little further on we chanced upon some Oyster Catchers busy dining among the pebbles, they let us approach but not get too close before taking to flight but thankfully they were not as quick as the Swifts.

And then there was a problem.  We came to a field drainage outfall that due to the recent heavy rains was in full flow, maybe two or three inches deep and about five yards wide.  Maybe this was a turning back point?  No, surely not!

I ventured forth and attempted to jump the fast flowing watery streams,  I made the first and the second but then got carried away and quite forgot that what I could manage forty years ago I cannot manage now and took one optimistic jump too many and landed ankle deep in ice cold water with a resulting wet boot.

Kim was a lot more sensible and took time to collect rocks to make a stepping stone path and fifteen minutes later when she was eventually satisfied with her construction efforts daintily crossed over and we carried on.  I manfully kept quiet about my wet foot and soggy sock.

After an hour or so we arrived at Bridlington South Beach, as good as any beach in England in my opinion, a fabulous stretch of golden sand, busy I guess in the Summer months but quite deserted today.  Just a few dog walkers.  I really liked it.  I didn’t like the dog walkers.

From there we passed to the harbour, I was hoping to buy some Bridlington Bay lobster.  I told you about that in a previous post.

Ten Years Ago – A Street Market in Turkey

The market was about one hundred yards long and we made it to the top with only a couple of purchases but then of course we had to turn around and walk all of the way back and run the gauntlet of the stallholders for a second time.  Sally seemed to pick up the knack of bartering much easier than I did and I think we bought some tee shirts and a couple of bracelets but to be honest I can’t be absolutely sure.

Read the full story Here…

 

The Spalding Flower Parade

The history of the Spalding Flower Parade stretches back to the 1920s when the sheer number and variety of tulip bulbs grown throughout the area surrounding the market town became an annual feast of colour.

The crowds that came in created many problems for the town and coaches and cars caused chaos on the narrow lanes around the fields and this continued to happen until in 1948, the Growers’ Association became involved in organising a Tulip Week.  With the help of the Royal Automobile Club, a twenty-five mile tour through villages and country lanes was planned to show the best fields.

Read the full story Here…

Greek A to Ω – P (Rho) is for Ρόδος or Rhodes

The island of Rhodes is one of the most interesting and has been inhabited for six thousand years and due to its geographical position on the major Mediterranean Sea trade routes is situated at a natural crossroads between Europe, the Middle East, and Africa and this has given the city and the island many different identities, cultures, architectures, and languages over its long and varied history.

Read the full story Here….

Greek A to Ω – Π (Pi) is for Πειραιάς or Piraeus

A bus ride to Piraeus is a truly unique experience.

The roads were busy but the driver of the blue Solaris flexibus seemed totally oblivious to other vehicles as he charged along at high speed, switching lanes, clattering over tram lines and tossing the passengers about like the Saturday night lottery balls on hard unyielding plastic seats.  Luggage flew out of the overhead racks and passengers not gripping on tightly were thrown from their seats.  Suitcases were scattered along the floor and little children were thrown into the air.

Read the full story Here…

Entrance Tickets – Córdoba and the Mezquita

I began this series of posts about Entrance Tickets in April 2014 and this was one of the early ones.  I cannot really explain why but I have always kept my Entrance Tickets and they remain safely stored in a travel memory box.

The series of posts cannot go on much longer however.  I am running out of material, not because I no longer visit places when I am travelling but because so many places no longer issue paper tickets.  Booking is done on line and instead of a ticket there is a QR code on a mobile phone to swipe through a scanner.

I like the feel of a ticket, I like told it between my fingers and judge the quality, this one at Cordoba was especially fine and then I like to carefully put it in between the pages of my guide book to make sure that it doesn’t get creased.

I think that this is rather a shame.  Places generally need to be booked in advance with an allocated time slot.  It is no longer possible to wander up to a entrance booth, hand over cash and  receive a nice shiny Entrance Ticket in exchange.  Somehow it takes the spontaneity out of city break travel, everything has to be done according to a timetable.

Read the full story Here…

Entrance Tickets – The Talylynn Railway

The Talyllyn Railway is a narrow-gauge preserved railway in Wales that runs for nearly sixteen miles from the town of Tywyn on the Mid-Wales coast to Nant Gwernol near the village of Abergynolwyn. The line was opened in 1866 to carry slate from the quarries at Bryn Eglwys to Tywyn, and was the first narrow gauge railway in Britain authorised by Act of Parliament to carry passengers using steam haulage.

Read the full story Here…

Greek A to Ω – O (Omricom) is for Oύζο or Ouzo

Ouzo is an anise-flavoured liquor produced from grape must (the remnants of wine-making) and it can only be made in Greece and Cyprus .  No other beverage is as uniquely Greek or as closely linked to a culture as ouzo is to Greece. Greeks drink the most ouzo and ouzeries serve it alongside appetisers called meze. Often drunk on its own or gently diluted, ouzo has a very strong anise  flavour that takes some getting used to.

The ‘Boss Bar’ really had been an excellent place, the staff were attentive and friendly, the food was good, the beer was cold and the prices were reasonable.  It has taken me a while to get to the point of this story but there was always complimentary ouzo to finish the evening (except when there was complimentary melon which quite frankly wasn’t so good) but the place had my fullest recommendation.

Read the full story Here…

Bridlington – A Royalist Queen and the English Civil War

I never guessed that there was so much history in Bridlington.  I have discovered Lawrence of Arabia,  Saint John, David Hockney and next up a Royal Queen.

In early 1642 there were the early exchanges of the English Civil War.  King Charles was anxious to secure the port of Hull because (a bit of a surprise this) at the time it had the second largest store of armaments in England after London and was an important trading port with Europe, mostly for Yorkshire wool.  The Parliamentarians were also keen on the weapons and the gunpowder that was stored there and having control of the city denied him and his forces entry.  Their followed a rather ineffective siege and a hasty retreat to York.

Charles needed an alternative supply of munitions so implemented plan B.  He collected up all of the Crown Jewels and asked his wife Queen Henrietta Maria of France to make her way to Holland and France to use them to purchase arms.

The business concluded, the Queen, protected by seven Dutch ships returned to England in February 1643 but unable to use the port of Hull entered the nearby harbour in Bridlington instead.

The Parliamentary navy attempted to  intercept the Queen and her precious cargo and for some time it had been cruising in the North Sea and was then at anchor off Newcastle.  It immediately set off upon receiving intelligence of her arrival but did not gain the bay until the night after the Dutch vessels had entered the port. The Queen disembarked and escaped.

The Parliamentary fleet persisted and  determined on harassing the royalists and accordingly drew their vessels directly opposite to the Quay, on which they commenced a heavy cannonade in hope of firing the ammunition-vessels.

Some of the shots penetrated the house in which the Queen was sheltering and compelled her and the other ladies in her retinue to seek for safety beneath the precipitous banks of the stream which empties itself into the harbour.  The Gypsy Race is a rather sad little stream now, full of litter and abandoned shopping trolleys but four hundred years ago was a full flowing river.  Still is west of Bridlington.

Eventually the Queen escaped the town and made her way to nearby York with the valuable cargo.

Since my Dad bought me an Airfix model kit of Oliver Cromwell in about 1960 I have always been fascinated by the English Civil War.  I think this was a defining moment in my life, I immediately became a Roundhead, a Parliamentarian and later a socialist, on the side of the people fighting against wealth, influence, lies, privilege and injustice.  Just to be clear that is the modern day Conservative Party.

There was also an Airfix model of Charles I with a detachable head but I had Cromwell first.  Strange how something has simple as that can have an influence on a young enquiring mind.

I also blame a book my Dad gave me about British heroes in which Cromwell was included but Charles Stuart wasn’t.

An illustration from the book…

In 2002 the BBC conducted a poll to identify the Greatest Briton and Cromwell came tenth, hard to believe that he could come behind Diana, Princess of Wales  and John Lennon but there you are, such is the nature of these polls and the mentality of the people who vote.  Two thousand years of history and Princess Diana and John Lennon make the top ten.  It leaves me speechless.

I have always considered the English Civil War to be the most important conflict of modern Europe because this was a revolution which provided a blueprint for those that followed, the French Revolution of 1789 and the Russian Revolution of 1917.

The revolution begins with the moderates calling for reasonable and restrained reform for the exclusive benefit of the aforementioned wealthy and privileged who wanted even more power and wealth.  The problem with moderates of course is that they are on the whole reasonable people but by beginning a process of reform they provide an opportunity  for radicals and agitators to go much further and the English Revolution like those that followed swiftly gained pace.  After the radicals came the extremists, then war, then terror, then regicide.

The English Civil War swept away the supremacy of the Church of England, ended the Divine Right of Kings and embodied the principal of Parliamentary Sovereignty into the English constitution.  It was the end of medieval feudalism and paved the way for the agrarian and industrial revolutions of the next century.  At its most radical period it introduced the principals of socialism and even communism through the power of the New Model Army and the social ambitions of the Diggers and the Levellers, both proto-socialist political movements.

It is a shame that King Charles had his head cut off but even after sixty years or so of being given that Airfix model I confess that I remain a loyal Roundhead rather than a Cavalier.

Queen Henrietta Maria was exiled to France in 1649 upon the execution of Charles I but returned in 1660 upon the Restoration.  She didn’t stay long, returned to France and died nine years later at the age of fifty-nine from an accidental overdose of opiates that she was taking for pain relief in respect of severe bronchitis.  Another accidental Bridlington death.

A statue commemorating the English Civil War in the town of Newark in Nottinghamshire…