No carbs before Scarbs
Just imagine me being awoken by my 6’3” giant of a son squawking, “he bit me, he bit me”. This was the kids’ room and we were not alone, the pet rabbit had escaped his cage and mistaken the toes that protruded from Reece’s duvet as breakfast. Still sniggering we slipped out into the dark where three more would join us, the changing numbers was something we’d soon become used to as each location had newbies to replace those that were left by the road side.
Following Gump, I was counting down the miles to Scarborough in my mind when he turned off the main road some five miles early by my calculation and pulled into a grassy car park where everyone piled out of the vans “I thought we were going to Scarborough”, “no lad, there’s owt going on there, ‘ere’s where you want to be Whitey”, Oh how I wish text could sound out his broad accent. ‘Here’ was called Cayton Bay and that car park was not only on top of a cliff but the home to a local surf school that was established back in 1989 and apparently you could rent long before then, though I doubt it would have been anything like we were unfolding.
