Sometimes you can be so close to something and not see it. Even when it’s staring you in the face. I’m particularly good at that. Mrs S can vouch for the many times I start a sentence with “Cheese? Have you seen my . . . “
Conversely, to see something, you have to at least look in the right direction. For five years our eyes and intentions having been aiming south. Backs turned away from these chillier northern delights. Blindly shunning. Preferring the attraction of southern suns.
We must come back to the Dales – our new mantra.
We’re currently two-nighting at Knaresborough Camp Site. Scoot is with us, but with ample large spaces in York Place car park, Beastie becomes our warmer and more comfortable travel-mode for today.
Knaresborough centre, sits high above the River Nidd. A stone’s throw from its ruined castle we’re facing this iconic view.
We drop down to riverside. Negotiate the millions of steps (I exaggerate slightly), like a couple of Slinkies. Head downstream along the waterside Abbey Road and drool over the salubrious properties that edge both banks like adorning jewels.
With ninety minutes left of the afternoon we Beastie into the spa town of Harrogate. Search out Montpellier Quarter and the Pump Rooms. Only to discover they are now occupied by an upmarket Chinese restaurant!