39. Knaresborough

CC Site
June 29 – July 1

Just a short trot along the A59 through Harrogate. Knaresborough is a quaint little town on the River Nidd three miles outside Harrogate and the caravan site is at Scotton, two miles outside Knaresborough. I was very early, so drove into Knaresborough and had a good look round. The river passes through a rocky gorge at the bottom of the town and there are some lovely stone houses with balconies overlooking it.

Just across the bridge as you leave the town is Mother Shipton's Cave. Mother Shipton was a fifteenth-century lady who foretold, apparently, lots of forthcoming events such as iron ships and the Spanish Armada. The website claims that the cave is Britain's oldest tourist attraction. The main attraction is the Petrifying Well where objects left in the lime-saturated water are turned to stone. The website says “It takes between three and five months to petrify a teddy bear.” Now, I can't even begin to imagine the degeneracy of a creature who would want to petrify a teddy bear and I'm hereby declaring a fatwah against anyone who does. I thought of holding my clenched fist in its waters and then punching David Cameron very hard on the nose, but they wouldn't guarantee that the petrification would wear-off and I decided against.    

It was quite hot by now and I spent the afternoon relaxing in the sun and reading. The bird-feeder again is a great success, mobbed by tits and finches and by a small bird I couldn't identify. A pair of blackbirds waited at the feeder's foot to pick-off seeds dropped by the smaller birds. Although the birds were only about ten feet from me they weren't disturbed.

"Mit der Dummheit kämpfen Götter selbst vergebens", as Schiller said. "Against stupidity the gods themselves struggle in vain" In my case they can struggle until they are blue in the face. I went into Harrogate and found that I had left the camera at home. I wandered around, noting all the things I wanted to photograph, did my food shopping and then went back to the bus station to catch the bus which would drop me outside the site. It was very hot and unfortunately I fell asleep and missed the bus. I got a bus to Knaresborough which dropped me at the end of the road to the site. I had thought it was less than a mile to walk and set-out with a swagger. It was very hot and my bags were very heavy and it was two miles and my swagger became a stagger. You see what I mean; the gods have no chance with me. Doh!

 

So the next day I went to Harrogate with my camera and had a lovely time. It really is a cracking town, one of the best. In fact, someone told me it had been voted “The Best Place in England to live” or some such award. The bus takes forty minutes to do the three mile journey, but it's well worth it. Buses like this remind me of the old Guinness advert, my facourite of all time, where the young bloke is trying to dance his way up to the bar but keeps getting repulsed by gravity or something. The music is great, too. Da DA da, da DA da da DA da da DA da. And so on. This bus got nearly to the town when it shot off down a lane and went into a technology park with Harrogate College and a big shiny glass pyramid building. The pyramid, if you think about it, is a perfect metaphor for a company. A big floor at the bottom with lots of toilers and then progressively smaller floors as you proceed upward until at the pointy top there is room for only one. At last the bus broke free and made its way across the Stray into the town. The Stray is a huge common (very like Clapham Common, in fact, but without the muggers) and its common status is protected in perpetuity. A bit like Horsham's football ground was before they built houses on it and left the club without a home. Sorry, I was in positive mood until that slipped out.

 

I saw the queue outside Betty's Tearoom and counted the blue rinses through the window. Actually, there were lots of young people in there, which was nice to see. I spent the book token Matt had given me for my birthday on Rod Liddle's recent book “Selfish Whining Monkeys” which is very entertaining. Because of my shrinkage I also had to get myself a pair of trousers and a pair of shorts. I've lost six inches round my waist since Christmas and when I wear my old trousers and shorts have been going round with all the spare material bunched-up at the back, looking, I imagine, like Quasimodo with his hump having slipped.

 

Like everywhere else, Harrogate is festooned with Tour de France bunting, but with one notable difference. The bunting here is made from tiny knitted jumpers. I was so impressed I went to the Tourist Information and asked the lady who had knitted them. “Oh, just local ladies”, she said. “How many are there?” I asked. She had no idea, but said she had knitted nineteen herself. Well, I told her I thought it was a brilliant idea and I hope she was pleased. Well done, the Local Ladies of Harrogate and Knaresborough.

 

I saw one strange thing. Someone had gone to the trouble of painting an old bike but they had painted it blue. Blue?

I was enjoying myself sitting in the sun on the wall outside St. Peter's Church in James Street and having my lunch. It's quite a wide street and totally pedestrianised, but I noticed that most people were walking on my side of the street and getting too close to me for comfort. I thought this behaviour strange, thinking they just wanted to be close to me, but then noticed they were all engaged in Chugger Avoidance. Poor chap, it's a dark and lonely job, but does anyone really have to do it? There must be a more honourable way for charities to raise money, surely?

 

The magnificent Odeon Cinema

 

I love Harrogate. I first went there in 1965 and have been since, but not for quite a few years. It just gets better.

Wonderful. I managed to catch the correct bus this time, too.