On our Yorkshire holidays, we enjoyed a little jaunt to Brimham Rocks. I was incredibly excited to go, having visited as a child. There is always a danger in revisiting places from your youth. Would it live up to expectations? My imagination has been known to exaggerate the beauty of what is infront of me. My memories of Brimham Rocks are synonymous with a land where you could envision a Velociraptor creeping through the ferns. I hoped that they would still envoke such childlike wonder, and that my husband would share my enthusiasm for a bunch of rocks.
We didn't get off to a great start. We had headed out to Ingleton bright and early, and as we left, with our son fast asleep, we decided to continue driving, so we wouldn't disturb his nap. My husband passed me the map (he would sorely regret this decision) to find somewhere to explore that afternoon. After two hours of what I am going to refer to as a breakdown in communication and navigational difficulties, we arrived. My husband was understandably grumpy, so I tried to use my son's smiles to break the tension. But alas to no avail, as my son was a little groggy having just woke up to a balmy 28 C and there were no smiles to be had. We strapped a wriggly little boy into his baby carrier and headed off into the wilderness.
The first set of rocks, we arrived at were interesting to look at with their natural caves and hidden nooks and crannies, but as my husband had our precious little bundle of joy attached to his chest, it was difficult to explore. I feared that he would not enjoy our trip.
We meandered amongst the undergrowth, and clambered up on the rocks for over an hour before heading for refreshments. There did appear to normally be a large selection on offer, but arriving on a busy summer's day after the lunch rush, we had to settle for a cheese toastie, bag of crisps and a sausage roll. They proved to be quite delicious!
Our journey home may have involved some smug remarks of how Yorkshire truly is God's Own County to my Scouse husband's dismay.