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.
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.
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.
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.