Whitby Review, April 2008: Nothing is True. Everything is Permitted.

Christianity holds that there are three theological virtues: faith, hope, and charity. Popular capitalism has been cruel to the latter and the former has been so co-opted by religionists that most people have lost sight of its true meaning; but hope is something which our society has elevated out of all proportion, using it to succour the needy and to console the consciences of those who have more than makes them comfortable. Comfort would be succour enough for me on many days, as on the morning when this latest adventure began. Perhaps I ought to have been excited, but I was weighed down with nausea and pain. Still, as Thomas Aquinas said, "the perfection of hope lies not in achieving what it hopes for but embracing its standard." We do it anyway. And although I couldn't hope for too much on this occasion, I was charged with the knowledge imparted to me the previous day: that there might at last be a cure for this aspect of my illness, a treatment which, though it will always keep me coming back for more, could bring the worst of the day to day struggle to an end. I had not dared to hope that such a thing might be possible. You'll forgive me, then, if I undertook what followed in a state of somewhat heightened emotion.

The first part of the journey is blurred in my memory. Stuart (Potatojunkie) took care of my bags. I ate a lot of ginger and managed not to throw up until we got to Penrith. There we were warmly welcomed by the charming waitresses who always await news of our travels, and I recovered somewhat with the aid of field mushrooms and brucklay. The rest of the journey passed fairly smoothly. The roads had been washed clean by heavy recent rains so there was no point in trying to count dead animals; instead we counted misplaced apostrophes, spotting six inappropriately intrusive ones and one which was conspicuous by its absence. We arrived in Whitby fairly early but by then I was much revived and able to help with assorted tasks as we moved our stuff into Haven Cottage.

Often the three theological virtues are seen in company with the four cardinal virtues: prudence, temperance, courage and justice. Courage would certainly be needed over the course of the following week. Justice took a back seat as Stuart strove instead to realise his vision of a Wheel of Pies, though that was not to be. Prudence was in the pub with her sister. And though I, for the sake of my health, drank no more than two pints a day for the whole of the week, temperance was otherwise a rare beast indeed. This much we realised when we entered the Elsinore. It was only half past six but already several goths could hardly stand, two of them were getting their breasts out and one was horizontal. Giolla said that sie planned to hold a party that night before things started getting too wild. There were rumours of mandrake liqueur. We sat around for a while whilst Stuart drooled over EdwardS' amazing new camera, which had already reduced several other photographers to tears, but then we went on home for Erithromycin's mum's delicious home-made lasagne and a nice bottle of Bordeaux.

After dinner Erith went out to the party but I was very tired so I figured I'd have a nap and see if I felt up to it afterwards. This didn't quite work out. First the music got turned up loud downstairs, then Donald phoned (he was in Whitby too, but staying elsewhere, not having made up his mind until the last minute), then Stuart came up to check on me. Eventually, when I was just starting to feel better, Stuart announced that he was exhausted and was going to sleep. I didn't want to abandon him so I gave up the idea of going out, content to revitalise myself and make ready for the rest of the week. Of course, I was woken at about three when Erith crashed back into the cottage and stumbled into his room.

We woke up early the next morning with me feeling as sick as the previous day. I ate all the relevant pills I dared and Stuart fed me tea with ginger creams. After a shaky start I managed to get out to the charity shops. There I found a practical black silky skirt and a stripey mini skirt which proved not to fit properly (the usual problem - five inches too wide at the waist, three inches two narrow at the hip), but I can make something out of it. Stuart had more luck, picking up two long black dresses and a cute little cow-print clutch-bag which will complement his beloved cowsers. We then met Donald and TenshiKurai9, who was sharing his cottage, to take late mid-day tea. It was the first time I had met Tenshi in person but she was pretty much exactly as I'd expected and seemed to fit in comfortably.

It was a pleasant afternoon. Afterwards Stuart and I went to meet my mother and grandmother for afternoon tea. They were holidaying in nearby Scarborough and had come over for a day. It was the first time Stuart and my grandmother had met but they seemed to get on really well. That afternoon we also solved the Mystery of the Polar Bear. This large ursine lump of plastic appeared beside the harbour about a year ago and no goth could remember having seen it previously, yet locals insisted it had always been there. Stuart's research revealed that it had been a regular winter guest but that only in 2007 had permission been gained for it to become a permanent resident.

Missions accomplished, we returned to the cottage, where Erith was cooking one of his best creations, field mushrooms with crisp bits of bacon, rocket, watercress, and Stinking Bishop cheese. Although I was struggling to eat I enjoyed the taste of it a great deal. Afterwards we went back to the old town to see Adsevin, who was celebrating her birthday. I'd looked forward to going in Siani's jacuzzi (later to be renamed 'The Gene Pool', which will make sense to you when you read further) but was distressed when I saw it and realised it would be impossible. There was simply no way I could climb in or out without large amounts of (sober) help, and no way I could sit in it without my fragile legs being in a position where they'd get stomped on by everyone else. Meh. Still, I had fun sitting inside talking to people as guests accumulated. There were silly toys to play with and Tenshi impressed everyone by demonstrating that she could blow through six tubes at once and balance balls above each of them, or flip the balls between two different tubes. Now there's a transferable skill!

Stuart had said he intended to drink less this Whitby but he soon started to get a bit wobbly. I wasn't personally too worried but Erith nevertheless reassured me that, were Stuart too wasted, he would get me home safely because he was my sensible, responsible friend. Then he had another drink himself. Not more than twenty minutes later he had talked himself into accepting a bet that he wouldn't insert a twenty pound note into his urethra. When Giolla produced one he proceded to do so, in front of a fascinated and largely horrified audience, some of whom were taking pictures. I shall not reproduce those images here, but I'm sure they're easy enough to find online for those so inclined. Now, I've seen many such things before, and I know he's a masochist, so I wasn't quite sure what all the fuss was about, but nevertheless this simple (and decidedly unwise) action assured him of celebrity status for the rest of the week, with Siani dubbing him 'Urethromycin'. He, meanwhile, was most amused about the existential connotations of doing that to a picture of the Queen.

The party ended with other people, tired, trailing away home whilst Erith, Siani and Stuart went in the Gene Pool. I was left alone, reading Jared Diamond's Collapse, the death of civilisations to counter my own woes. Eventually Stuart re-emerged and we left, pausing by the end of the swing bridge to watch three ducks having a fight. They came tearing out of the sky making a tremendous racket and landed outside The Dolphin, where the older male flared his wings up and shouted angrily. After a little while the younger male fled. The female then wandered unhappily under some benches whilst the winner followed her hesitantly, clearly expecting trouble. I guess goths are not the only ones who have dramatic relationship crises in Whitby.

The following morning I was slightly less nauseous but still in pain. I managed to eat some cereal to help absorb stomach acid and keep me from getting ill later. We left the house around noon and walked up the Spa to go round the Bizarre Bazaar. There wasn't terribly much new stuff there but the experience was still enjoyable as it was much quieter than usual, so I could explore without being barged into and nearly knocked over all the time. I was also pleased to see wigs starting to reappear, replacing some of the fashion for string. Much as I enjoy giving head to goth women I don't want to find myself licking one who actually looks like a carpet.

Though we didn't buy anything in the Spa, the Metropole was more fruitful. Stuart found some excellent tight-fitting grey-blue leather jeans and an interesting ruched black satin dress (the kind of thing only someone with his figure can get away with), whilst I got a little purple snake-print see-through top which is allegedly a child size. Although the place was quiet, our people were still very much in attendance, and we caught up with several old friends there. Donald was also about, pleased because he'd started to enjoy some successful shopping - normally he finds it very hard to get clothes. We walked to the leisure centre together. There my pain got a lot worse and I almost doubled over, requiring several sitting-down breaks in order to cope, but the shopping was good. Donald found an old Sumatran wooden flute for just a couple of quid, an excellent birthday present for his mother. Stuart got the red and black striped jacket he'd been lusting after in Glasgow for a fraction of the price, plus a nice pair of red and black striped trousers for just a tenner. I found a good number of useful tights and stockings.

As we left, we had our first encounter with Mangull, whom Stuart would pursue and photograph for the rest of the week. Mangull may look like an ordinary seagull but, I am assured, he was once bitten by a radioactive man. He now has a mortgage and a share portfolio, and when he caws like that it's because he's going through a difficult divorce and is worried about his consumer debt.

When we got back home I needed to collapse for a bit, so I sat on the couch studying Maths for Science, an Open University coursebook I'd pilfered from Donald, whilst Erith made dinner. Since my stroke a year and a half ago I've had difficulty with some basic arithmetical operations, principally iteration, so I want to go through everything again right from the basics to make sure I'm properly educated and properly functional. I suspect it's something which everyone should do at least once a decade anyway, if they're not using all those skills day to day. Later I helped to tidy the cottage in preparation for our party (supposedly in celebration of mine and Stuart's fourth anniversary, though that was a wee while ago now and there were no related decorations), then I nipped upstairs to change into my pink tartan kilt, bra and cuffs and my new pink stockings. Stuart was feeling piratical and stayed in his flouncy white silk shirt. I was tired by the time we were all ready, but hit the irn bru to sustain myself.

Our first guests were Wraithlady and her partner John, both further first-time-in-person encounters. They'd been there only a few minutes when Erith started boasting about the previous night and I was rather concerned that they might turn tail and flee, but as it turned out everything was fine. They brought a bottle of an amazing maple whisky which tasted like maple syrup and proved dangerous to several people. "It's only a little glass," said Stuart as he filled it for the fifth time. He, EdwardS and kest also enjoyed doing tequila shots. By the time Aidan arrived, having just reached Whitby that night, he was already so drunk as to be quite confused by this procedure. He simply licked the salt off his hand, ate the lime, and then looked around for what to do next, having forgotten about the alcohol.

Between this and Edwards' coffee absinthe, there was rather too much drunkenness for some people. Siani ended up having to be looked after in the bathroom, resulting in the production by others of several bottles of yellow liquid which had to be carried away hurriedly before inebriated people had the chance to drink them. Aidan walked her home, though he perhaps would not have been allowed to do so had we realised that, the next day, he would remember nothing of what he'd done after midnight. Still, overall things went well; we met several interesting new people and most people seemed to have a good time. Eventually only Donald and Dag remained, talking about literature and whisky until it was finally time to say goodnight and for me to take the Stuart who was dozing on my shoulder up to bed.

On Saturday morning the risky decisions I'd made with my medication started to pay off and I felt much better, bright and alert as soon as I was properly awake. Unfortunately Stuart was rather the worse for wear. He went for a walk to try and fix his sore back and I returned to my maths. Around lunchtime, Panurge called, and we arranged to meet for a cup of tea; I got Stuart, Donald and Dag to join us. It was great to catch up. He was looking well and he told us about his new job and his recent compositions. We talked well into the afternoon, but unfortunately Stuart's back got bad again. I went home to keep him company. We never did make it to the shops as we'd intended.

It wasn't a completely uneventful afternoon. When Erith came in later he informed me that Malcolm (Malcygoff) and Ivy were in town, and I found them just outside Pandemonium at the end of our alley. They had their wee baby with them but she was mostly hiding in the car, annoyed and wanting her bed. EdwardS, Jenova and Aidan can to join us and it was fun hanging out for a while, though the visitors had to leave that same day.

Later Stuart, Erith and I walked up to Donald's flat beside the Metropole for a pot luck meal. Erith had spent ages preparing food but most people had just picked up stuff from the supermarket. Stuart and I dawdled along the way, taking photographs and saying hello to a cute little three-legged ginger cat. It's beautiful up on the cliffs above the sea at twilight. When we reached the flat it was very warm and I immediately realised that I wouldn't be able to eat - I managed a single skewer of chicken satay and an eclair. Then Siani announced that she was moving the party back to her place so there could be more jacuzzi fun. Stuart said that the Gene Pool would really help his back, so he went on ahead to help her get things set up and I left an hour or so later, walking along at a comfortable pace with Jenova, who was also struggling with illness. I don't get the chance to talk with her very often so I enjoyed hanging out. Dag joined us outside the Elsinore, saying that Donald had gone back to the flat because he didn't trust anybody else to lock up properly. Typical. So Dag, Erith, Kest and I walked down to the swing bridge, where I got a call from Donald saying he was already at Siani's and worrying about what had happened to me. We still can't work out how he got past us. "Did he take another bridge?" asked kest. Not unless he walked an extra two miles, he didn't.

When we reached Siani's place, Stuart was still in the Gene Pool wearing a glittery tiara and drinking a shot of Lucy's breast milk. Lucy herself was relaxing with a cluster of semi-naked women whilst Cavalorn held the baby. It was the first time I'd met little Sabrina and I was impressed by how well she conducted herself at just three months of age, despite all the noise and the lateness of the hour. She also had excellent stripey clothes. Inside, I sat with Erith, Dag and a semi-clad but water-shy Aidan discussing maths and engineering; then Stuart emerged and he, Aidan and kest did more tequila shots. I was very tired, worn out by my illness, and really wanted to get home and sleep, but I couldn't get down the steps by myself so I had to wait until Stuart had soaked himself for a little longer before we got to leave. Strains of Bela Lugosi's Dead came drifting down the hill as we neared our cottage and we stood outside for a little while watching the bright stars. Then I went up and collapsed on the bed in a heap of red satin and lace. We were both frustrated, wanting to do more, hemmed in by this ridiculous illness, but he stayed with me as the distant music faded.

On Sunday morning we awoke bright and early to the sound of the seagulls. I was feeling much better. We ate breakfast and then set out to the Rifle Club, a new venue for Bizarre Bazaar stalls. It was a great looking place which would make my rifle-shooting father quite jealous, but there wasn't much stuff there, so we proceeded to the leisure centre. There, just across from the stall selling stripey jumpers for forty pounds, I found the same garment for ten. Lime green and black and a good snuggly thing for beach parties; I was very pleased. Meanwhile, Stuart found a gorgeous grey-blue corset for the same price. There was a second corset, pinkish in tone and with excellent feathered edging, which several too-large women were pouting at unhappily; Stuart tried to persuade me to get it but I figured it would be a little too tall on me and I didn't like the cheap purple satin back, so we left it. Out in the lobby was a stall selling stripey tops. I figured they were worth about a tenner each, that they would probably be priced at about twenty five pounds but that, if we were lucky, they might be reduced to half that. I enquired. "Four for fifteen pounds," said the stall's owner. I turned aside discreetly as my mouth fell open. So Stuart got three long-sleeved ones - two in different shades of white and one in red - whilst I got a sleeveless black and white one. That place will definitely get my custom again.

At the Metropole we were disappointed to find that (as we ought to have realised) all the good stalls, including the second hand stall, had gone, being replaced by a dull wedding show. Other visitors were unimpressed, but I'm told this may lead to more interesting designers showing their work there next time. We went on to the Spa where I splashed out on a little red and black lace rara skirt I'd fallen for, perhaps slightly overpriced but the sort of thing I'll wear to death. I was very happy. Finding nothing else of interest, we descended the slopes to the beach, where the tide was right out, exposing a wide reach of sand and rocks. Enjoying my better health, we walked right the way along it, taking only one small detour to explore a favourite cave. It was fun to watch happy dogs at play and to feel the sea breeze in our hair.

We emerged at the end of the seafront promenade, which was crowded with fellow goths and regular tourists. There my stomach began to tie itself in knots, but we made it as far as the seaman's mission sale, which had a new sign outside it labelled 'gothic event'. Inside were a couple of new stalls with black things on them. There wasn't much of interest but I got some nice pinkish-purple metallic beads to complement the ribbon skirt I was wearing. We also found a chair where I could collapse for a little while. Afterward we returned to Flowergate via the twisting stairs of Queen Anne's Lane. I went back to the cottage to take medication which would stop the pain and Stuart went to Somerfield to buy their last whole roast chicken. This we ate ravenously whilst poor hungover Erith hid in his room because the sound of our eating disturbed him.

After eating, there was only a little time for resting and reading before Stuart had to get tarted up for 'Eighties Night. When he went on his way, dressed in an old striped top and black skirt that I'd lent him, Erith and I went out to find a cafe where we might enjoy a small meal. Alas, everywhere useful was closed, so we wandered up some stairs at the curve of the hill and found a restaurant which would sell us overlarge portions of goo. This absurdly greasy food was accompanied by pleasantly crisp, steamed vegetables and excellent, friendly service, so we left a decent tip anyway. We then retreated to the Elsinore where we found Ant and a friend of his putting on a Punch and Judy puppet show in the corner. Siani was also there, being fawned over by a young man whose very face somehow made me want to punch him, like Renee Zellweger. He repeatedly asked my name but seemed unable to retain it in his head. His conversation was a mixture of lame attempts at self-promotion, whining, and slimey flirtation, and when Siani stood up he kept touching her arse and grinning like a low-rent Patrick Bateman. I pointedly turned my back and was glad when they left, to be replaced by Donald, Dag and Tenshi.

We hung out in the Elsinore for a good bit of the evening, including the first part of a set by a local blues band, which raised a few laughs by starting with Cocaine (Stuart and I were still trying to find the owner of a dusty credit card accidentally left in our bathroom). It was too loud for easy conversation, though, so we ended up moving to the Little Angel, where we came in just too late to join in with a gothic quiz. Unfortunate, since we knew almost all the answers, including a couple the quizmaster had got wrong. We had fun heckling anyway, with Donald succeeding in diverting the poor guy into a five minute argument about whether or not it's legitimate to call Gary Oldman an actor. Then, all unexpectedly, Stuart appeared, looking forlorn. He'd just realised, he said, that 'Eighties Night is a bit shit. Ach, poor thing - it happens to us all! He was feeling sulky and didn't want to stay in the pub, so I took him home.

Erith brought Donald and Dag back to the cottage and, Stuart having gone off up to bed with his China Mieville book, we had a few drinks. We then got a text message stating that Aidan had been punched in the face down on the High Street. I was itching for a fight and wanted to go there, but Erith and Dag said that they would be the torch and pitchfork bearers, so I just sat talking with Donald until we received confirmation that things were okay. He then left for a party. I still had some energy but I figured I owed it to Stuart to keep him company, so I went upstairs. As it turned out, he was still capable of having some fun, though not perhaps quite so dramatically as our friends across the harbour...

Aidan, it turned out, had been punched by the very wanker who had annoyed me in the pub earlier. Had I only known, I would so have been there, but as it turned out no assistance was needed because the guy was too wasted to punch properly - Aidan had been trying to help him home - and he had simply been sent away to wallow in his own misery. Aidan had retired to his cottage, where Siani had invited a whole heap of strangers and a couple of bands to join her in the Gene Pool. A neighbouring cottage joined the party. Siani picked up a kid called Gib and fucked him in the pool, acquiring sexually transmitted pink hair in the process but never spilling the beer she was drinking, and a mostly lesbian orgy commenced. Dag left because he couldn't find anybody with whom to have a decent conversation and Aidan hid at the back being loyal to his monogamous girlfriend but wondering if she'd believe him. True to form, Erith hit on the only woman who was uninterested in sex without a serious relationship. Donald passed out in a sitting position in a doorway and Aidan, being a true friend, dragged him down the stairs and put him on the couch, where he remained in the same position until woken the following day by a pressing need for chips in curry sauce.

Much of this news was related to Stuart and me the following afternoon when we dropped by for a visit. He'd gone out early that morning to take photographs and I, though the wind was too strong for proper wandering, had managed to walk by myself down the side of Flowergate to visit assorted shops, including The Great Goth, where I purchased the pale pink and black net skirt I'd fallen in love with in November. We'd subsequently walked together down to Oxfam by the harbour, where Stuart had located a new winter coat for me (which I needed), black suede with an elaborate furry trim. Next, in Endeavour Books, he bought more China Mieville whilst I bought a book about brainwashing and the biography Galileo's Daughter. I was in a lot of pain then but I managed to get as far as Mr. Chips (which Siani redubbed 'Hitler Chips') and we'd then hidden in the Shambles, out of the rain, to eat our bland but sustainable pollock. The visit gave me a good break from walking and enabled the consumption of friendly healing tea. Everyone there seemed to be in one piece, though Siani was looking rather fragile, and when her mobile phone went off she jumped about a foot in the air.

By the time we were on our way back to the cottage, Erith was just emerging from hangover Hell, so I phoned him and got him to put the kettle on. We nipped into the chocolate shop to get our own six-monthly supplies and to buy presents for people in Glasgow, then went home for another nice cup of tea.

Erith had to recover, of course, because it was Monday, so he had a fire to prepare. Stuart and I enjoyed a lazy afternoon of sitting about reading, making our way down to the beach at twilight - I wanted to watch the sun set over the sea. It was a warm night and I was well wrapped up in my new jumper and coat. I chatted to various strangers and found a log to sit on. This time I'd remembered my stick, so I didn't need someone else to help me get around and I could have a lot more fun.

At first, when we arrived there, Erith was nowhere to be seen. He would later protest that he'd taken a break to go for a curry with Aidan and Siani; but during that time, a mysterious figure rose up behind the smoke and announced "Before we begin, let's make a few things clear. I am [Erith] and this is my fire. I am in charge. This means that if anything goes wrong with the fire, you can blame [Erith]." This noble speech was cheered heartily.

Although there was no firework display this year, there was plenty to watch, with fire breathing and a display of blazing wire wool spinning, a trick I'd only seen before on YouTube. It filled up the far end of the beach with a rain of sparks, turning the spinner into a sort of giant human Catherine wheel. This was discreetly discontinued during a visit from the local community police officer. Everyone was a little wary of him because the previous night he had made people in the queue for Laughtons pour out their drinks, but he only wanted to check how long things were likely to go on, and he was reassured. I think he's new. Afterwards the atmosphere relaxed again but Stuart was feeling cold and restless so we decided to leave. He went off on a photo mission and I walked back up to Flowergate with Dag, collecting Siani and Aidan along the way.

Matt P was in the Elsinore and Panurge later joined us, so we enjoyed a pleasant evening hanging out and talking about music. Len, the landlord, let us stay for a comfortable interval after closing time. I called it a night after that, as Stuart had gone home feeling anti-social. We curled up together in the dark at the top of the house and he told me stories about scary monsters until he fell asleep, leaving me to listen to the noises of the night by myself.

It was nice to wake on Tuesday with the feeling that we didn't have anything in particular to do. I had a nice long shower whilst Stuart went to The Greedy Pig to get pork and stuffing sandwiches for breakfast. I could only eat about a third of mine but I really enjoyed the crackling, a treat I can't get at home. Afterwards we crossed over the harbour and visited the offices of the Whitby Gazette, where the football trophy was proudly displayed in the window - they won 6:2 this time. We ordered our copies of forthcoming issues and then set out on a shopping trip aimed at finding further presents for the people back home. I also got two small plastic ducks for myself - one which flashes bright colours when licked and another which changes colour with temperature, though we couldn't get this to work until later when Tenshi put it under her breast.

Taking breaks to account for my health problems, we made our way right along the cobbled part of Church Street and up the famous 199 steps to St Mary's churchyard, where we discovered that the church itself was open for visitors. We made a donation and went in. It was a fascinating place to explore, much bigger than it looks from the outside and brilliantly designed to take advantage of the light. There's lots of local history to be uncovered there. Back outside, we relaxed in the graveyard, enjoying the warm weather.

In the evening, goths were gathering in the pub. It was busier than usual for a Tuesday night and I enjoyed catching up with people I hadn't seen much earlier in the week; also, talking to Siani whilst she was relatively sober. She told me that Aidan had successfully made it onto his noon train home despite having collapsed in the street the previous night, where kest found him vomiting onto his mobile phone. He'd had a penis drawn on each hand, 'I need an adult' written on his head and a birthday candle stuck in his hair, but he was safely on his way back to Glasgow. What's more, being in that state had absolved him from any need to assist with the cleaning of the Gene Pool, in whose murky waters Siani had found a used plaster, 10p and a slug.

I also caught up with Donald that night, having been a bit worried about not seeing him the previous day; he'd screwed up with his thyroid medication and spent most of the intervening time asleep. I couldn't stay out, though, as I was in too much pain and Stuart was restless. We went back to the cottage and finished off some of the food in the kitchen, then went up to bed.

The drive back the next day went fairly smoothly; I was less nauseous than before so we only had to make one extra stop for me to be ill. We had a delicious lunch in Penrith - jacket potato for me, with cheddar and bacon and red onion marmalade - and made good time along the motorway thereafter. I was sad to be leaving Whitby behind but a bit too exhausted to worry about it. And I knew there would be no rest awaiting me. Tenshi would be staying in Kadath for a further two days, I had a major conference all of Friday, and home had its share of drama, with one friend just having discovered she was eight months pregnant and another on the verge of being sectioned after throwing a knife at the head of a third. Stuart and I promised each other that we'll get away to the seaside sometime soon. We need a holiday.

Photos appearing on these pages so far are courtesy of Potatojunkie. You can see more of his collection from this Whitby here. More pictures and links to videos will be appearing here shortly, so watch this space!

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Last updated 5th May, 2008