Whitby Review, November 2003:
International Dark Young Things

Whitby X: the tenth anniversary, supposedly the biggest and the best, though only people who haven't seen Star Wars: Episode One still fall for that sort of hype. Nevertheless, we were all looking forward to it, Donald, Erith and I, as we set off from Glasgow on a grey October morning. We made good time at first, though we were delayed in Penrith waiting for our lunch in Peaberry's Cafe, and afterwards Erith took a wrong turn towards Yarm; it was around then that we discovered we'd forgotten to bring the map. Turning back toward Whitby wasn't especially difficult, but did take a long time. However, we saw some stunning unfamiliar scenery en route. In one place we climbed up to a plateau along encircling forty five degree roads displaying signs marked 'HCVs use crawler gear now'. It was a little scary, but very beautiful.

We played our traditional Feathers versus Fur game en route, and spotted twenty nine dead birds, six dead mammals and one dead shoe. We saw one poor pheasant killed right in front of us as a dark red car full of neds smashed into it. As a result of the impact, their exhaust pipe was ripped partway off, and started trailing along the road. We tried to signal to them, and they seemed to understand, but they didn't stop. Later, we passed a smashed-up silver car lying on its back partway through a fence where the motorway ran alongside somebody's garden. We spent the latter part of our journey on dark narrow country roads where the view of distant headlights snaking across the hills looked like the fire-wyrm. We got into Whitby just as the twilight was fading, drove out to Captain Cook's Haven, and set up in our 'cottage', another of those ugly little pre-fab modern box-houses but adequate for our immediate needs.

We were all tired that night, and didn't want to do any cooking, so we had cups of tea and lovely fairy cakes baked by Erith's sister, had a laugh at the Tory Party's election mess on the news, then drove back into town and went to the Co-op to get in some supplies before trekking up the hill to the Elsinore. It was already crowded there, looking more like a Thursday night than a Wednesday, but the air was warm and (unusually) still, so we were quite comfortable standing around outside. I was glad to get a pint of Murphy's, which is becoming impossible to find in Glasgow these days. I soon located GothPat, from whom Erith had already obtained my netgoth tag (the last such to be produced, it seems), and we stood around talking for a while; I also hung out with Hirez and Laura J and Spooky and Mushroom and James E, with whom I talked business; and Scary Lady Sarah let me know the dates for the following year's Whitby events, so I could start to get organised; and there was much catching up with people in general before we gave in to our hunger cravings and popped into Bits n' Pizzas to get some dinner, which we took home. It wasn't the finest of food, but it sufficed, and afterward we retired to our very comfortable beds to make an attempt at sleep.

Poor Donald was already encountering the problems which would haunt him for the rest of the week. He woke up at half past four in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep. Fortunately, I managed to, and slept until quarter to nine, whereupon I decided it was time to get organised for shopping. When Erith joined us, we drove to the Spa and exchanged our tickets for gold-coloured wristbands. I also put deposits down on tickets for next year. We then began our trek through all the town's charity shops, though we were unable to access the first, as it was allegedly on fire. An unconcerned four year old stuck his tongue out at us through the window as a single fireman entered, shouldering his way past racks of uninspired purple velvet. Further along our way, however, the trip turned inyo a very successful one for me, as I found a beautiful white wedding dress in just my size. I have been looking for such a dress for six years, but they're usually so badly made, in cheap, ugly fabrics, that I couldn't stand to wear them. This one is beautifully cut and just about perfect. What's more, they only wanted six pounds ninety nine for it. I insisted on giving them a tenner. Afterwards we went to the Whitby Holiday Cottages office and booked our accommodation for next year - a small cottage off Church street, with a jacuzzi (this very quickly attracted party requests) followed by Jet cottage, where we've stayed before, just round the corner from the Elsinore. Ideal. :) This made me feel much better about being stuck in Captain Cook's Haven in the meantime.

On the latter part of our shopping trip, I acquired a warm grey skirt which should be suitable for winter, and then we crossed the harbour to visit our favourite bookshop on Grape Lane. There I obtained a copy of DC Compton's quaint AI fantasy The Electric Crocodile and some short plays by Moliere, plus the 'sequel' to Ray Bradbury's classic A Sound of Thunder, which I expect to find awful, but which will be invaluable to me for work, as one of next year's major films will be based on it. Donald found a first edition paperback of the novelisation of Hawk the Slayer, doubtless more awful still, but a superb prize to be given away by my 'zine, TBD. Afterwards, we returned to the cottage, where Donald took a much-needed nap. Erith and I watched Miffy animations on his laptop, then drove to the Co-op for further supplies. Whilst we were there, tragedy struck. Hobbes the science crab, famous scourge of usenet top-posters, was lost. Erith spent ages looking for him. Doubtless he has important work which he must carry out alone, but, nevertheless, we shall miss him. We sang The Song of Hobbes mournfully in his memory.

When Donald awoke for dinner, Erith made a delicious mustard and rocket potato mash with creme fraiche, which we ate with salmon and lemon. I was then annoyed by not having been able to find my wee PVC shorts before I left, as I couldn't get the top I wanted to wear to go with anything, so I settled for slinging on a purple square-sequinned 'thirties style dress which it turned out everybody loved, and we got a taxi to the Spa to party. It was overcrowded as usual inside, but not as bad as I've sometimes seen it. We found Trizia, who had acquired a table, and I got my first proper introduction to Catspur, the man who has been making her so uncharactistically happy for the past six months. She looked much healthier and shinier than usual. Having secured my stuff and obtained drink, I set about looking for others of my people. The atmosphere was not what I'd expected. I had been concerned that this uber-hyped festival would attract more than ever of the festival-hopping neon no-brainers who have no real concern for goth stuff at all; but, if anything, these were thinner on the ground than usual. The event had instead attracted a lot of people who used to go to such things but who had fallen out of the habit, so it provided an unrivalled opportunity for catching up with old friends - and, pleasingly, there was a lot more black about than usual. I found it quite strange discovering what had been happening to people over the years. Paul C has moved to London. I shall miss him terribly - indeed, I was already doing so in recent months - but he's quite correct in pointing out that I never managed to visit him in Edinburgh either. Odie is in the middle of a divorce, another friend split up with her fiancee who is moving to a different continent, a third had her lover of five years run off with a stranger quite out of the blue last month. Hatchet is single again and was hanging around looking quite edibly glamourous insisting there was no point in even talking to the assorted beautiful women who thronged the place because it would be too depressing that they'd never fancy him. Such is goth. I went in to see the bands. Faith and the Muse were gorgeous as ever, elegant and lyrical; Inkubus Sukubus sounded delightful but far too silly to be listened to for long. I can only take so much iambic tetrameter at once, anyhow. Despite all this, it was a quiet sort of night, not quite ready to pounce. When it was over, we stood waiting for a taxi in the freezing wind. I began to regret the cute little purple snakeprint ankle boots which had provided me with so many opportunities for sex, as I had no protection on the back of my calves, which are used to being covered. However, we survived, as we always do, and were soon enough back at the cottage and curled up in our beds.

On Friday we had intended to get off to an early start, but somehow things didn't quite work out that way, and it was almost noon by the time we reached the Metropole to begin our shopping at the bizarre bazaar. I'd taken along two new Leg Avenue items to sell, but they weren't accepting any more stock on the second hand stall, which was annoying as a lot of what was there was, frankly, shite, and was never going to sell at the prices it carried - observations over the rest of the weekend bore this out. So I dragged my stuff around with me, no easy task when outdoors in the very fierce wind. I was constantly peeling my hair out of my mouth and eyes and trying not to be enshrouded by my swirling skirt, but it was quite good fun, in its way, refreshing and bracing. Unfortunately there was no interesting stuff in the main part of the bazaar at all. The usually reliable Vagabonds stall had ruined a series of perfectly serviceable tops by sticking vulgar pictures to them, possibly the only way they could do worse than last year's tacky words. I'm sure the spookies love that sort of thing, but it's just an embarrassment for anyone over twelve. Hay-way had some very nice boots, as usual, and it was good to see New Rocks finally importing some of their superior Spanish range (rather than the usual crap that falls apart if one sneezes too loudly, unfortunate for the London speed freaks), but I wasn't looking for footwear for myself. We did find Donald a lovely see-through purple top with cute fuzzy spiders on it, Vortex I think, and I scooped up a bargain wee violet and black lace bodice second hand. I also got some bat and spider confetti and some bat envelopes for my multitude of goth-related business correspondence. We then drove back to the cottage, because the weather was just too fierce for us to manage anything else.

In the evening, as Donald had another nap, we were again late going out. We ate tasty bacon and onion pasta, then Erith and I squeezed into our black PVC catsuits whilst Donald put on his big black German bondage shirt. Erith had been exercising all week to lose weight for his catsuit, and I thought he looked quite delicious in it, but of course people at the Spa made more fuss about me, and I felt bad for him. I hadn't intended things to work that way. We couldn't get a table to begin with, so we made our base camp against the stair railings, where it was a hassle trying to keep boots from getting entangled in theme netting. Within an hour, we had conquered a table close-by. We soon met up with Edvamp, who was accompanied by his ex-girlfriend, Clare. She was enjoying her first Whitby, but soon seemed to get into the swing of things. We also hung out with Matt Ardill, who looks and talks exactly as I always imagined he would (Erith recognised him from my description, and I'd never even seen a picture of him). We searched in vain for young Joe Algie, even leaving him a note on the message board. We don't know if he made it to Whitby or not. One person who did make it was my own sort-of-ex, Laura D, looking stunning as ever and knocking back impressive amounts of alcohol. She assured me she intends to visit Glasgow more in the near future, and I look forward to hanging out with her again. I dunno, though - I found myself wandering through this whole Whitby looking at the remnants of relationships I screwed up. They're all lovely people, and for the most part we still get on well, but it's odd, especially as no new people made that kind of impression on me. Well, anyway, there's always drink; I ripped the back of my throat up on Giolla's poitin, following some weird suicidal urge, knowing damn well what the stuff would be like. Fortunately he also had sloe vodka with which to make it all better. I spent the latter part of my Hallowe'en in the band room, watching Wayne Hussey perform old Mission songs. He seemed to be enjoying himself hugely, and insisted he'd be back next year - before any invitation had been issued. I think he just wants to get out of having to pay for his ticket and accommodation like everyone else. The Mission were always a bit too swirly and girly for my tastes, but Wayne did his thing pretty well, and I enjoyed the part of it I stuck around for. Afterwards, we waited in the cold for a taxi once more. Erith ran towards one as it arrived, only to have the bunting that hangs along the seafront rip free of its moorings at that very moment and tangle round his ankle, sending him flying. Fortunately he wasn't much harmed, but he did damage the tip of one of his nice boots. Other people ran ahead and stole the taxi. Some folk in the queue laughed, then said they felt bad for doing so. "Don't." said Donald. "I know him." Ah, family holidays! We were saved when GothPat found a place for us in her own taxi, and it was a relief to get home without further freezing or injury.

On Saturday the bazaar was open again, though the second hand stall still wasn't taking new stuff, but I found a nice translucent spiderweb catsuit there, and a small odd whiteish top which Donald thought would suit me; and Donald got himself some really good quality lace-up leather jeans; and Erith got dodgy underwear; so everyone was happy. Our shopping time was limited, however, as we had to rush to the Resolution to attend Giolla and Elise's handfasting. It was a charming ceremony, with old friends and relatives gathered together and nice whisky to be had. Giolla wore a beautiful white and silver jacket. After they had taken their vows, I coated them in bat confetti, which Elise's slightly inebriated godmother proceeded to pick up diligently and redistribute. Giolla legged it to the bar, and only a hasty intervention prevented hir from buying hir own first drink as a doubly-married person. Preacher turned up after the ceremony was over, which was no great surprise to anyone, but neither were there objections, as he proceeded to celebrate appropriately. There were various arrangements made and photos taken, and it was really nice to be at such an event where not only was polyamory recognised but Giolla intervened to explain why someone's idea of dividing people into male and female groups for photographs wouldn't work. Elise is really lucky to have such a supportive family, and it was really good to see her so happy after all the bad things she's been through.

After the wedding, some people were going for food, but I was starting to find it hard to cope with being in public because of the pain in my knees. After a brief visit to the chocolate shop and some faffing about in the pub, we went back to the cottage, where I strove to massage my knees back into shape and get in some emotional recuperation. Sometimes the pain is so tiring that I find it hard not to be snappy at people, and I don't want to inflict that on my friends. Donald was exhausted, too - so much so that he didn't feel up to going out when Erith and I did. Erith made us mushroom and onion pasta. I persuaded him to wear his little tartan mini-skirt with opaque black tights, which looked very cute, and he once again spent an evening being tarted at by lesbians and having his arse squeezed by strangers. I wore my teal PVC corset with a reliable old lace ra-ra skirt and some shiny blue-green black lace edged underwear I got from Los Angeles. Regular stompy boots, so that I'd be fit to stay on my feet for a long time. After finding friends to drop off my stuff with at the Spa, I hurried into the band room, arriving just in time for the start of Sheep on Drugs' set. This was the band I had been most excited about over the whole weekend. Jesus Christ, it was Saturday night, and there they were. For some reason, it's always easy to dig one's way through to the front in the Spa, too. But I should not have been so foolish. As it turned out, I was quite disappointed. Sheep on Drugs' songs are always cool, but I might as well have listened to them as recordings in a regular club. They had less stage presence than Iain Duncan Smith and their patronising patter wasn't even insulting in a sexy way. Worse, they had some bint with them who, whilst she worked okay on backing vocals, tortured our ears when she tried to take the lead. I stuck around for about six songs and then gave up, as did much of the rest of the audience. Back into the lobby to talk to my friends and, delightedly, welcome the arrival of Donald, whom I hadn't expected would make it at all. I met some cool new people, and had, all in all, a good evening, though it didn't really go anywhere. Many attendees seemed to be flagging a bit, not sure how to pace themselves over four nights in the same place. Also, no netgoths had large enough flats close enough for parties. At the end, Siobhan and Astrid invited us along with them and Sheep on Drugs, but I was too tired. I also felt a bit awkward talking to Lee from the band, since he seemed like a cool guy, but I couldn't think of anything nice to say about his performance. Rock n' roll is a cruel business. I am reminded of the days when my friends played professional sport and were always being set up against one another for big piles of money (when many of them had no other income). How does one party through that stuff? Anyhow, there were no parties for my posse; we were tired, and headed home.

It being Sunday the following day, there was rather less cool stuff to be done about the town, so we had a slow morning of relaxing baths and showers. We drove into town in the early afternoon and got some fresh fish to eat sitting out on the seafront. From the seaside shops Donald and I rescued a small enslaved walrus. I got some very nicely priced beaded bracelets perfect with some of my 'twenties clothes. Erith got a cool plastic skeleton with a grotesquely enlarged ribcage which it could fold up inside of like an egg. Laura J and her man found us playing with it when they climbed off a tour boat, and immediately resolved to buy the only one remaining. It being Sunday, it was a day for arcades, but unfortunately Time Crisis was unavailable - the area it was in was far too warm, sufficient to make me dizzy and useless, plus it was being played for simply ages by a really talented ten year old, though he did momentarily look as if he might screw up when he was distracted by the sight of a large leather-trenchcoated goth guy bopping along to Barbie Girl on the dance machine beside him. We went into the next arcade along, where I hit crocodiles with a mallet as usual and did really well, but got bitten four times, since the way they emerged was more than usually vicious, so Erith took the high score. We then proceeded to whack-a-mole, where the sensor was faulty so one had to hit inordinately hard. This fascinated a small five year old girl who became our avid spectator, but unfortunately we weren't able to win a prize for her. We had to scoot when the game finished, in order to get to Scary Lady Sarah's place in time for the international alt.gothic scrabble championships. Competitors were Sarah, Justin, JV, Erith, Donald, Paul Oldgoth, Flick and myself. I won. Sarah gave me little foil-wrapped chocolate skeletons as prizes. It was a delightful civilised afternoon, with good wine and good conversation, and everyone stated a wish to do it again, after more practice. Donald said that he had gone along expecting me to win and that there really hadn't been much point in it as a contest, but I know I'm not the best scrabble player in the world, and I hadn't expected victory myself. I'll be happy with fiercer challengers.

After the scrabble game ended, there was only a small amount of time for getting home and eating and getting back out. Donald cooked a delicious bacon, mushroom and red wine casserole with pilau rice. I put on a wee silver sequinned slip dress, because it wouldn't require much effort, then spent the time that the others were using to sort out their outfits working on my make-up. Donald wore his new spider top and was stroked by lots of strangers when we reached the Spa. I found Siobhan and Astrid right away and got their party gossip; they were keeping drinking to keep going at the stage, though Siobhan was quite undaunted, it it was good to see her looking so much healthier than last year. I hurried over to deposit my stuff at the table when Trizia and Catspur were only to have Trizia raise her left hand and show me her beautiful new silver and jet ring. An engagement, after just six months... but it totally makes sense. The two of them seem intensely happy and comfortable together. I do hope it works out.

By that time, Manuskript were nearing the end of their set, so I darted in to watch the last four songs. I was most impressed, and, from what I saw around me, it seemed they were the best-received band of the weekend. Lots of fun. I'm thrilled to see them getting it together like this after so many years of being solid but unspectacular. I understand that they're being considered for Convergence X as a result, and I really hope they get that. Anyhow, after their set finished I went downstairs to the special extra event being DJed by LucyFur. Many people upstairs had been complaining about its school disco atmosphere. It did have shitty lighting and a CD player that skipped on nearly every song, but it had attitude and good music and a whole lot more energy than the rest of the Spa. I had a great time dancing down there, until my feet hurt and I acquired a hanger-on whom I did not wish to mislead, whereupon I heard my beer calling to me from that long-forsaken table upstairs, and off I went to drink it and chat to some Mancgoths who were sitting there. I also found Giolla and some of hir friends whom I'd seen around over the years but never really got talking to. One of them had a backpack full of vodka and red bull from which people were drinking through a tube. I had some of Giolla's more unusual liquers, and was very happy. Then it was time for All About Eve, and I wanted to catch a bit of their set, if only because they're one of those bands that goths probably ought to see at some point in a lifetime (especially when given the opportunity to do so for free). So in I went to the band room, and saw famous TV puppets Sooty and Sweep dancing at the front as they had to Manuskript. The band complained that this was sexist and where was Sue? When Sue appeared, she got the loudest cheer of anyone that weekend. The band were also quite popular, and I could understand why; they had a very engaging attitude, and were musically very accomplished. The vocals were superb. Shame that the songs were as bland as ever. I enjoyed listening for a while, but gave up some time before the end and returned to my pint, which had since multiplied (it's nice how they do that). I wandered for a while, chatted up some cute women in the toilet queue whilst the off-the-shelf cybery ones were getting pictured for the papers, then ran to Erith, who was talking to Mushroom, who had on a stunning military style suit. Some people have the presence to break the rules and get away with it, which is always reassuring.

As the evening faded, we hung out beside the bar. Erith was bouncing because Matt A had given him a Captain Matt's Armada t-shirt, which is cooler than he could know. JV and the Evil Doctor Go were arguing over whose kung fu was the keenest whilst Donald and Siobhan discussed music and drink. Eventually we all headed off to our separate abodes, but the evening was not over for us. When we got back to Captain Cook's Haven, I decided I wanted to play on the see-saw. Unfortunately (and predictably, had I thought it through) it was too hard on my knees, so I had to give up quickly. During this time, however, our neighbours arrived - Matt and Lindsey whom we know from Glasgow, and their siblings and friends. So we broke out the whisky and the wine, and I drank the last bottle of Ruddles, and we had a picnic at the table round the back of our cottage, with duck a l'orange pate sandwiches and the last of the fairy cakes. Donald and Matt played at see-saw surfing and much mysterious silliness went on in the cottage next door. Personally, I was happy just to snuggle up in my zebra-fur coat and enjoy nice drink and nice company. This went on until maybe three in the morning, when sex and sleep became overly pressing concerns, and the game was abandoned.

On Monday Erith and I woke up late, so there wasn't a whole lot of time to spare in the process of getting organised and getting over to Tal and Fury's place for their honeymoon afternoon. Since we'd failed to make it to their handfasting earlier in the year, we were delighted to be invited to this latter celebration, at which the cake was cut for the first time. There was tea, and biscuits, and much gossip. Poor Fury was sounding much the worse for wear thanks to Whitby colds, drink and smoking, but Tal insisted "I don't need you to be able to talk, I only need you to be able to squeak."

We drank wine and chatted until everyone was sleepy or late for important things they had to do; then Donald and Erith and I went down to the seafront to eat fish and chips in Erith's favourite chip shop. Donald was getting very tired by that point, so Erith drove him home. I wandered up to the Elsinore and sat in a corner with fellow Glasgoths until he returned. We went to Java for him to get a triple espresso and me to get a cherry milkshake, and we chatted to JV there, promising to do our level best to make it to Convergence; then we returned to the pub and played a new game which involved stacking beer mats on top of Erith's mobile phone with his toy skeleton perched precariously at the top, then calling it from another phone and watching the structure vibrate. Quite a bit of engineering was required to generate the precise effects we wanted. Meanwhile, lots of dear old friends wandered by and pleaded with us to go down to Laughtons for 'eighties night or up to the Metropole for Manic Monday. The thing is, we can hear the Manic Monday DJs at home anytime, and 'eighties night lost it when it started getting packed out to people for whom it was pure kitsch rather than nostalgia. When we got bored, Erith and I decided instead to walk down to the arcades, but they were shut, so we drove up to the Abbey to have an adventure. Unfortunately we couldn't access St. Mary's churchyard from where we were, due to building work, and my knees wouldn't have liked the steps, so we returned to the pub. This was just right, however, as no sooner had I settled down with my pint than my friend CountB appeared. I haven't seen him offline or on for maybe four years now. He introduced me to his girlfriend of three years, whom I'd never met. She seemed very cool. He was looking very healthy, which surprised and pleased me. It was his first time in the Elsinore, since he has difficulty getting access to places in his wheelchair; finally he got to see what that part of all the fuss was about. Of course, we had far too much catching up to do for a single evening, and I didn't want to monopolise him, but email addresses have been exchanged, and I look forward to renewing our friendship. I introduced him to Erith, and I felt very bouncy all evening, even though I spent much of the rest of it talking to Mel, who was being bleak as ever; but he is one of the very loveliest netgoths out there, and I do hope he'll feel up to visiting Glasgow sometime. I also met his friend Mim, who had a gorgeous coat and whom I intend to track down again next time.

After we got back to the cottage at the end of the night, our neighbours came round to invite us the ten metres across to their picnic table, where they had much appreciated hot pizza and also baguettes and cheese and nice red wine, so we spent another pleasant evening eating a picnic. We even attempted an obligatory girlie conversation about shopping when we realised that Erith had gone off to the swings to talk about football, but it turned into a mass rant about the evils of Ikea sort of by accident. Unfortunately, Donald didn't feel up to attending, though he did talk to people through the door. He turned out to be watching The Ninth Gate, one of my favourite films. Later, when the others had crashed out, needing to get a train the following day, we watched the classic Troma movie Chopper Chicks in Zombie Town, and I ate cognac liqueur chocolates until I fell asleep.

Tuesday was our last day, so we tried to use it wisely. We went into the old town on the southern side of the harbour to buy presents for our people back home. I also got myself a nice silver bell bracelet, and Donald got some transparent dice with other dice inside them. We ate in the Whitby Tea Rooms, which provide huge amounts of simple but delicious food for hardly any money. Afterward we parted ways to fulfil specific missions for people in Glasgow. Donald and I met again in the Elsinore, where Laura D and Jenny were trying to drink themselves into a state where they'd be oblivious to the cold wind on the beach, and we chatted to the owners of a giant lizard which had sprawled across the two central tables, helping itself to cigarettes and beer. At about this stage in the week, any sense there was to a Whitby event usually starts to break down.

We went on to talk to a charming couple called Simon and Adelle, who really need to visit us here sometime so that they can be introduced to the many malt whiskies of Uisge Beatha. Coeur arrived later, along with Alan the Sinister Duck. I had heard that they'd got back together, but it's been years since I've seen Alan. He looks older and scruffier, but otherwise pretty good. I gave him some of my beer to drink. Coeur seemed to be doing well too, and agreed that he must visit sometime to play strategy games. We talked for ages, until everyone got hungry, and Donald and I went to Java to eat. I got such a huge salmon and cream cheese bagel that I couldn't manage it all. Donald says that his potentially expanding waistline is now my fault. Afterward we went to get spring rolls for Erith from the new Thai place, but after we'd carried them all the way down to the beach my knees were really beginning to hurt too much, and I wasn't sure I could keep myself calm and friendly for much longer. The beach was warmer than usual and looked fun, but I wasn't coping. The fire was very impressive. Erith, Giolla and Marconi had been working on it since four, even building tunnels underneath for ventilation, and the wind was feeding it nicely. Anyway, Erith drove me home, and Donald accompanied me, since he was exhausted. At ten, when the fireworks were due to begin, Erith returned and drove me to the bandstand on the opposite side of the harbour, where we sat and watched them. We went to the Duke of York afterwards for me to have a last pint, and we said goodbye to people. Giolla was last seen asleep under a coat on the beach, and I was later informed that an ambulance had been called for hir, but it seems the ambulance people said a warm bed would do all that was medically needed, so everything was alright in the end.

Our journey back to Glasgow the following day was unspectacular. Catching a last glimpse of the sea, I couldn't help but feel that I'd had only a tiny fraction of the time I needed to do everything that should have been done there, but I guess there's always next time. Only ever six months to wait, and in the meantime, we're right here, together in electric dreams.

This way to go back to Jennie's Whitby Gothic Weekend reviews page.