York to Bridlington. Rain. A lot of it. First to Stamford Bridge – if Harold Godwinson had lost that battle in 1066, would we be speaking Norse rather than semi-French? Kanskje.

Over the Yorkshire Wolds in heavy rain, gratefully stopping at the café at Sledmere House. I confess that if I had passed anywhere near a railway station, I would have abandoned and sneaked home; this was most definitely Rainer Newberry’s category Type 2 Fun. Brief look at the strange WW1 Waggoner’s memorial, before continuing onward to Bridlington: the sea churned brown by the strong north-east wind.