The Grand Hotel, Scarborough

Today the coach took us to York. Once there, Dave and I took a walk along the banks of the river Ouse, until we stumbled aboard a boat for a short cruise. The commentary was informative, and it was a relaxing way to see some fine buildings and trees. Dave's walking is unsteady now, to say the least, and he hadn't brought a stick.

I'd already established that the National Railway Museum and the Castle Museum would be closed today, so had taken the precaution (on the boat) of booking us into the chocolate museum, as I figured we could walk there. Just as well as I did: if I hadn't, then we'd have been turned away on arrival.

Our walk to the museum took us through the Shambles, York's original open-air market stalls area. I wanted to see it because I trade in Stroud's Shambles indoor market. York's version is cobbled, hilly, cramped and full of tourist shops selling fudge. Stroud's version is wide, flat, paved with York stone (!) and has no Olde-Worlde Shoppes. Guess which one I prefer?

The museum tour was good, about an hour long, and included some hands-on lolly-decorating. I realise that I already know far more about chocolate than I thought I did. There was no time to discuss why Quaker families thought it was ok to use sugar that had come from slave-owning plantations in their chocolate-making, while they eschewed other forms of work because they involved armaments. Indeed, Quakers were never mentioned. Neither was Nestle's controversial role in supplying baby milk to people who don't need it, ensuring that their breast milk supply dries up. It wouldn't have been mentioned, because Nestlé now own Rowntree's! (The three original great confectionery families of York were Terry's, Rowntree's, and Craven's, who made toffees and Humbugs). A few 'digs' were also made at Cabury's and Hershey's, while the manufacturing of contraband KitKats made of soldiers' rations of dark chocolate and Ryvita during World War II was not directly referenced. I did, however, learn about the wasabi Kitkat, the salmon KitKat and the cherry blossom KitKat made for the Japanese market. We live and learn.

I also found out that during the Aztec period, wars were fought over Xocolatl and cocoa beans. This is depressing, as my half brother S, who was born in Michoacan, Mexico, had to relocate to the US as a teenager because of the violence in his home town caused by wars over avocado production. Some call avocadoes 'green gold' because other countries can't get enough of (smashed) avocadoes. S's education was disrupted, and his prospects diminished as a result of the move. Plus ca change... since Aztec times. I feel a political book and tour about chocolate coming on.

After all that traipsing around the factory, I bought some bars of (ethical) chocolate as presents, then we strolled back to our coach, via a Riverside cafe. Dave disappeared up the spiral staircase to the loo ... I'm finding it difficult with Dave and TMI. I have told him often enough that I don't need to know exactly what he's doing in the toilet, or whether or not he had a shower today, but he lacks inhibition. I've even tried saying they every time he mentions something, I imagine it, whether I like it or not, but this makes no difference. I wonder if he actually has a stock of mental visual images or not. Some people , including people I know, don't. They have a condition called aphantasia. Memories or thoughts are not accompanied by visual images. This means that, among other things, they cannot experience flashbacks. Interesting, I must ask him.

When we got back to Scarborough, I went for a walk from my hotel to the South Cliff, from where there is a cliff railway/tram to the beach. I chose the meandering paths instead, through ornate gardens under reconstruction, to the sandy beach far below. I passed the imposing Spa entertainment complex, where I discovered that New year in Scarborough will be sung in at the Spa by an Elvis impersonator, Tony Skingle.

When I tired of walking with the waves, I went back up to the cliff to walk over the Spa bridge over a gully, and that's when I turned around to snap the Grand Hotel, another landmark building in Scarborough. Eventually I arrived back at my not-so-grand hotel just as a wind was whipping up. Dave and I had an enjoyable dinner, before retiring to the bar for some questionable entertainment of the singer-with-guitar sort. I have noticed an improvement in my overall stamina since giving up drinking over a year ago: I managed to do some creditable Irish dancing for the whole of "I'll tell my ma" which is more than three minutes long, without a single slip up, in front of an audience of octogenarians. Elvis had better look to his laurels!