Filey Brigg is one of Yorkshire’s small-scale geological gems: a natural jetty of rock sticking out into the North Sea which, I was pleased to find, you can cycle along, right to the end.
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If ‘you’ are Danny Macaskill, anyway. If you’re me, you can cycle halfway along, after which the hitherto flat grassy clifftop plummets down to a series of rock slabs.
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Cycling from Scarborough, on a beautiful clear but cold winter’s morning where the blue of the sky mirrored that of my lips, I was delighted to find Carless Lane. It wasn’t carless, of course, but it did make me feel smug. I haven’t had a car since the last century. You don’t own your car. Your car owns you.
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In Filey itself I was charmed by a festively yarnbombed postbox. Last knitting date for Christmas: 18 December. I was further charmed by an equally festive pub, which had Bradfield Blonde on tap and a sign promising stew and dumplings for £4. Happy Christmas everyone.