So on, the no more than 20 yards to the ever welcoming Three Cranes.  A good selection of cask beers, 60s classics on the not too loud musak system, and comfortable seating.  It’s a little local in the middle of the city.  I like it enormously, brightly lit though it be.

Pivni, on Patrick Pool, has an interesting selection of beers from home and away, including a rather nice German wheat beer(always a favourite of mine) and something extraordinary from Throgmorton Hall (or similar) at 8% proof.  One of our number bought a half, which we then shared amongst 5 of us.  Verdicts were variously that this the concentrate from which Guinness is made, to observations of strong notes of liquorice and tobacco.

After that we fought our way out through a student invasion to the relative calm and almost spit and sawdust character of the Last Drop, for a welcome and cleansing glass of York Brewery’s Guzzler.  200 yards would have covered the whole itinerary.

Bypassing the delights of Micklegate, and squeezing through Barker Lane and the snicket leading to the front of the former NE railway offices, we arrived at the station where the York Tap had a vast selection of beers, including a rather nice Keighley Brewery light beer.  Wonderful as the restoration of the old refreshment rooms is, complete with leaded glass and terrazzo floor, when it’s full the hard surfaces make a far from pleasant harsh cacophony out of many conversations.

Beforehand, we visited The Swan, central Leeds’ little gem of a tucked away pub, also long and narrow, but with a good range of real ale, including a tasty little Leeds Brewery blonde.

By contrast, York Theatre Royal is expansive, hosting Northern Broadsides in Blake Morrison’s “We Are Three Sisters”, the Brontes, their living room an oasis amidst the constantly storm-wracked moorland and wretched living conditions of Haworth.  Mor than a nod to Chekov, obviously, but this stands on its own.  There’s isolation and sadness at the heart of it, for sure, and lurking there too is the theory that great artists need to suffer in some way, to produce their art. Yet for all their dark imaginations, the sisters tell themselves that they are often happy, and Branwell, their brother, shows that talent can be extinguished by misery as well as fostered by it.  Most sad is the doctor, lonely, drunk, with no great ability as a doctor or anything else, who just suffers. A good, but not great play, but excellently acted, though it’s a pity Barrie Rutter seems to play the same character in every production these days, only the clothes are different.

Back across Holgate Bridge to the rumble of an arriving train from the South and the whine of a 66 on a freight waiting for the road from the freight lines.  Some wag had amended the Crystal Palace’s A board to advertise a “poo” night but there was no evidence of that, at least in the saloon (apart from low stools) and the Sam Smiths bitter was well kept, and, as usual, absurdly cheap.  I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that anywhere called the Crystal Palace is quite brightly lit inside — but not glaringly so, probably the poo players in the other bar appreciated it.

The Bay Horse was having a quiz night, of which we missed the start, but we supplied one team with the answer “molybdenum” then left before the answers were revealed, in case it was wrong.  The Black Sheep was popular, and I tried something from a Cornish Brewery, which was OK but broke my resolution of drinking only Yorkshire beer.

Having drunk as far as Cornwall, ordering the Paulaner Weissbier at the Brigantes felt less sinful than it might, and it was delicious.  Unfortunately the Taylor’s Landlord appeared to be “off”  which dampened the enjoyment of some of us.  Encouragingly, the pub was very full, which it deserves to be considering the range of beers, the good layout, and the food menu earlier on.  Let’s hope the Landlord was an aberration.

Neither of the preceding pubs was full to bursting, but we had to hunt for a seat at the Golden Slipper, where various rooms held folk playing dominoes, darts and draughts.  Good to see a city centre pub seemingly thriving with traditional customers playing traditional games.  No-one seemed to be watching the footy — though perhaps you wouldn’t find much interest in Spurs or an Irish team within the city walls of York.  The Deuchars was OK, but I’ve had it kept better.  And the Old White Swan was a revelation.  It used to be very much a lads pub, but it had a brilliant if geriatric jazz band, an appreciative, if geriatric audience, and both Jennings and Jaipur beers, inter alia.

This  is at Millington Pastures, in front, some roadside art, behind, the site of a former settlement, below, the point where the Roman Road from Brough to Malton crosses the valley.

The dramatic skies of a windy September day.   By going up from Millington to Huggate, and up from Thixendale to Leavening Brow, I took the easy option, the downhills  being steeper than the gentle ups in the dry valleys.

And  a rainbow !

This was looking out towards Langton and Malton from near Aldro Farm at the head of Birdsall Dale, with the North York Moors purple in the distance.What more could one want on a day out ?

along the beach as far as Boggle Hole, studying shells, rock pools and the horizon along the way.  The sun appeared, strengthening as the tide came in.

There was a bit of choice as to where to have lunch but the Bay Hotel, right beside the slipway proved a good choice.  Four drinkable ales and a menu of good quality pub grub (weighted towards the fishy), though the salad garnish, as is quite common, was a little tired.

Afterwards, we ambled up and down the multitude of alleys and steps which rise up either side of the steep little valley in which the village lies.  At least half of the houses are holiday cottages but it’s all very nicely kept up and presumably a year round clientele helps keep open the 3 pubs, the cafes, the shops and post office, and the chippy.

We had a really good day-trip and thought we might try to do the same at all seasons.  We’ll see what comes of that.