Another gentle and calming week with plenty of visitors old and new, and for the first time in weeks, ten consecutive days have now gone by without me seeing the inside of a railway station! Instead I have (at various stages) been out in the lovely weather for coffee and gossip with friends, started some new knitting, got a (very little) bit more DIY done and even bounced on a bouncy castle. I have also managed to drop a hairdryer on my foot this morning (ouch) whilst preparing for a rare Sunday assignation, with a very pleasant new friend who was good enough to tell me that my Gallery was not working in Firefox and possibly has not been for a month – aaargh. It ought to be OK now, and I am told was fine in Internet Explorer (which I haven’t used in so long I’d forgotten it existed), but huge apologies to anybody who couldn’t work out where all the blessed photies had gone! Bollocks, as the saying goes…

Preparations are well underway for my trip to Edinburgh from Friday onwards, and I am hoping the current beautiful sunshine travels with me! Readers of a certain duration may remember my Aberdeen/Edinburgh visit last year a fortnight or so earlier, which resulted in improbably sunburned shoulders, a lesson in how to perfectly aim a desk fan at a hotel bed and a frantic trip to Accessorize for flipflops to try and offset the blistering heat – this year the plan is to either A: pack everything from sunglasses and bikini to snowboots (bearing in mind that I am also visiting Inverness), or B: to pack nothing bar the bare bones (stockings, Kindle, proper tea bags) and then paddle around the shops obtaining the necessities as needed. I like the second one, especially since Edinburgh also boasts a Harvey Nichols.

This week has also brought the highest yet number of oddballs, timewasting and otherwise for a considerable period, and for the first time in three years* I was compelled to actually send a visitor home from the parking place without admitting him. It may therefore be an opportune time to remind eager potential visitors that what may seem like a flippant, lighthearted (or God forbid, funny) off-the-cuff comment to you can make you sound by turns intimidating, juvenile or just plain weird to us, and all of those things either singularly or in combination are likely to lead to a wasted journey, including for the gentleman who had driven from York only to fall at the last hurdle and be turned around again. As ever, manners cost nothing (and reap plenty).

Along similar lines, I would also point out that whilst it is acceptable to be late (and we all know that travelling to Scarborough in good weather can be a logistical nightmare at the best of times) if you are going to be half an hour late you need to say so, and not tell me you will be here in ten minutes. By the time the gentleman in question arrived I had long since got changed and was about to go out. Conversely, please don’t ring me with twenty minutes to spare to announce your presence – I am generally ready two to five minutes before start time and be assured, the cast-iron, unfailing, 100% certain way to get me in a complete flap is to turn up early. If you want an appointment at ten minutes to two, say so and I’ll be ready – just don’t then turn up at twenty-to! There endeth the lesson, although I am beginning to think that a follow up post to the previous ‘newbie’ one from way back when could be on it’s way. Watch this space…

To this week – I will be in Scarborough until Thursday (which is limited for purposes of packing and fridge-emptying); Wednesday is already booked bar the evening and as ever, I will not be taking any short notice appointments or same day bookings after twelve, no matter how many times I have seen you or much money you offer me (sorry, lesson definitely endethed now!) In the meantime, and for those not watching on Adultwork – a new picture! Rest to follow when I have time, impatient Formspring folk and others…*the last one, three years or so ago, telephoned at half past three to inform me that he was in Scarborough ready for his half past six appointment and when told he could come back in an hour but not before, spent the intervening time ringing me from telephone boxes to tell me where he was at all times along the route to the landmark near my old place. Needless to say he was on his way back to Whitby with a flea in his ear well before half past six, and I was on my way to the pub.

I admit I should have had an inkling when exiting my taxi (the interior of which was spotless, and would have been a far more agreeable place to stay) and having to fight my way through a throng of bored looking, sportswear-clad guests putting out their Lambert and Butlers in the window boxes outside, but I soldiered on to reception where I managed to check in and find my way to the lifts, the sourfaced receptionist offering neither helpful directions or clues of any kind. I was curtly told that the ‘dinner free on first night’ included as part of my two night offer was not in fact free, but rather a voucher worth £18 towards dinner, which bearing in mind that the restaurant’s main courses started at £12 with most hovering around the £15-17 mark, was hardly going to make much of a dent in the appetite of a hungry food fan who has been running on lattes, wasabi peanuts, a biscuit Boost and two mini pork pies since breakfast time; obviously I was not expecting to be given the run of the menu (God forbid) but two or three courses and a drink would have been, well, civilised. I should point out that the food was very good, especially for a free dinner (which cost me £14.15).

Regarding my room, and as my charming visitor that very afternoon discovered when arriving to my partly successful (but mostly just panic-stricken and weird) ‘brave face’ attempt, I opened the door to be greeted by the sort of timewarp decor I haven’t seen anywhere in years – not a disaster in itself but not exactly conducive either.  However, whilst naff carpets, analogue-only television, no fridge and no bathrobes I can live with (plus minimal tea and coffee and a horizontal pole on the wall with those hangers which don’t come off masquerading as a wardrobe), poor housekeeping I cannot and noticing a fine powdery swirl suddenly appear when trying to switch on the bedside lights was the final straw. Now, even I realise that should I have unwittingly become the target of anthrax-wielding nutters (and stranger things have happened) it is customary for the substance to be contained in some sort of receptacle, envelopes being traditional, rather than lightly distributed over each and every one of the accommodation’s surfaces but me being me, it was with not-particularly-reduced horror I realised that this was DUST.

The last time I was presented with a dusty hotel room was in South Kensington in June 2008, and as expected I immediately requested to be (and was) moved. However upon telephoning reception, it was explained (and the scene which had greeted me in the lobby gave me no reason to doubt this) that save for the suites, the place was packed to the rafters and no alternative was available (and as the suites were more than likely just larger versions of the same thing and therefore with even more dust, there seemed little point in putting my foot down) and I would pretty much have to lump it. The thought of ringing housekeeping to request a duster and some Pledge crossed my mind, but as the in-room phone displayed no contact details for anything (not even reception and even stranger, the moneyspinners like the spa and room service) I was unable to do so – obviously the phone was the only object in the room which had been thoroughly cleaned, at least of every possible useful number.

As those with whom I have spent any time may well be aware, I am Not Very Good with dust, crumbs, fluff and things not being at neat right angles to other things and, well, you get the picture and since by this time I was hungry, tired out and thoroughly despondent I decided to leave immediately. The only thing convincing me otherwise was a stern talking to from a gallant friend who ignored my pitiful pleas for rescue and pointed out that not only I had paid for three separate lots of food, things might look better in the morning and besides, I am never more than six feet from a box of Clarityn from the moment the clocks go forward. He was wrong. Having availed myself of two of the lots of food (both excellent with the onion rings warranting an honourable mention although the breakfast experience resembled something out of a sitcom – I have never before been brought a full coffeepot and ten minutes later had to ask someone for a cup), critical mass was reached and I left at half past nine. Slightly over nineteen hours in Coventry, one taxi, three trains and a brisk walk in the fresh air from Scarborough railway station (which I have not been that glad to see in a very long time) later here I am!

So now the difficult bit – HUGE apologies to those who have been unavoidably cancelled, but trust me when I say you had a lucky escape, and any ladies contemplating a visit to Cov please do get in touch for hotel details. And the good news is that I will be available here in Scarborough again from Sunday – yay! Fairly predictably Monday is already fully booked, as is the following Saturday with an exciting trip to Newcastle (for fun and catching-up over Easter eggs with a longstanding favourite gentleman) but as for the rest well, you know what to do!

For now I’m off to bed early to watch a DVD, sleep off my spaghetti and categorically not think about what hotel-room dust is made of…

The entire city has been swathed in a crisp and sparkly white duvet since my arrival which has made the atmosphere particularly festive, even several days into the New Year and not forgetting to purposefully ignore the lethal-looking quagmire of menacing coal-black slush banked up unavoidably at the sides of the road, a fair amount of which I am bringing home by way of unavoidable souvenir being as it is soaked (in quantity) up the back of my trouserlegs (all of the trousers which fit me nicely everywhere else are far too long for my woefully tiny legs). Fortunately, the gentlemen of Edinburgh are a determinedly robust bunch and other than the almost complete (but considering the appalling weather travelling-wise, not in the least surprising) cancellations on Monday (and a particularly grating no-show on Tuesday just as I thought I had made up the lost ground) I am returning home feeling especially invigorated, in no small part down to the charming company, delightful surroundings, plenty of (very) fresh air and a celestially good scone I had about an hour and a half ago at the John Lewis rooftop restaurant.

All in all a pleasant and revitalising trip and another welcome chance to explore and add to my expanding onboard Google Map; although my slightly ambitious plan to become a walking Sat Nav one city at a time may have been a little premature and I am concentrating on learning the bits I need to know properly for now, at least. As I type, I have no idea whether the trains back to Scarborough have been affected by the weather and a planned 24 hour London dash next Monday will hopefully not be jeopardised, especially as I have been promised afternoon tea, a guitar lesson and possibly a Lebanese meze, time allowing (and bearing in mind that the gentleman making this gallant offer has not yet seen the size of me since the last set of photographs and the subsequent combined efforts of Thornton’s, Mr Kipling and last but not least, a good friend in Scotland who plied me with fragrant Balinese roast duck, leek and potato curry with coconut and coriander, chocolate banana mousse and not forgetting a couple of bucketloads of champagne and a watch of Strictly Ballroom. I have, thriftily as ever, appropriated tickets for the National Express but only time and the Met Office will tell as to whether things go ahead or not, and I will be keeping a keen eye on the forecast over the weekend. I suspect I won’t be the only one.

So far as the remainder of the week goes, tomorrow and Friday are already almost entirely spoken for, weather permitting, and some fairly dedicated housekeeping is also beckoning if for no reason other than at some point soon, the apartment will need to be properly relieved of the last few Christmas tree needles, glitter and tiny shards of hazel and brazil nut shell (December also being the only time of year you can buy proper nuts and I have often wondered how long they keep once purchased; it is easy to assume that things which show no outwardly obvious signs of spoiling somehow occupy a mystical state of suspended animation, a bit like food purchased from Marks and Spencer).

My availability for London appointments towards the end of the month is disappearing fast, and as previously stated ad infinitum, no same day appointments will be taken after 2pm, or with less than two hours notice. Frankly in conditions like those currently prevailing, it will take at least that long to take off the one set of clothes and put on another (and I have wondered more than once if there may be an as-yet-untapped niche market somewhere in fetish-land for the  charming baby pink thermals I purchased around this time last year for my trip to Budapest). If this weather keeps up, a few unsuspecting visitors may be finding out – form an orderly queue, folks…

I have also had the opportunity to visit and view my lovely new apartment again – the urge to purchase en masse is kicking in with a vengeance and I have seen plenty of exquisite and impractically beautiful items to delight both myself and my visitors, although from a practical point of view, apart from hovering buzzard-like over a beautiful chandelier on Ebay and halfheartedly gathering some wallpaper samples and paint-colour booklets I seem to lack the motivation to do anything really useful, especially being STILL without a moving date. Perhaps adopting the uniform of T-shirt, trainers & tracksuit bottoms (de rigeur in the local superstores and DIY places; face like a smacked a**e optional, although from what I have seen, a popular accessory) would help me get into the spirit of things. The current kitchen especially is horrendous and is my first priority after my visiting areas – I can’t possibly eat out every night of the week! I have so far seen a sink I quite like and got no further; fortunately a gentleman friend who is extremely knowledgable about such things has been particularly gallant in his offers of help and assistance, and in fact has made many interesting suggestions which I am looking forward to exploring further (time and occasion permitting).

My worries about the moving of large items of furniture have also been somewhat allayed by the discovery of a large trap-door leading to the basement suite where I will be conducting my meetings - an exciting find indeed! Although fit (and very energetic) I am not particularly strong and the thought of trying to convey a kingsize bed and mattress down a spiral staircase was playing on my mind somewhat; now I find, as with so many situations, a firm grip and strong length of rope is likely to solve most problems. This afternoon I will be bagging up unwanted items for the charity shop – I am being as ruthless as possible, although some of my livelier garments will probably not be appreciated by the lovely ladies at MIND as much as others – these unfortunately will have to be binned unless anyone else would like them (do let me know!) As regards the move itself I have decided that instead of niggling about slowness and lack of progression, I ought really to be appreciating the chance to stop and take a breather before all the real action starts, as is so often necessary (especially during the warmer months). When I do eventually have a date, I promise you will be the first to know; after all, someone has to be my first houseguest!