We left Durham for York with a pit stop in Thirsk, aka James Herriot country. Some of the middle-aged ladies in our group wigged out and ran amok. I ran to the pub with Marc. We found one that was open for lunch on Sunday and ordered a pint with our sandwich. The pub owner told us the local law forbade the sale of liquor at that time. This was the first booze restriction I ran into in my entire fortnight's stay in the UK. And then he served Marc and I anyway and we tipped him well. The beer was good. The sandwich was so-so. Weird coincidence. My boss back in Kansas City at the golf course was Stan Thirsk. I think I took a snapshot of a storefront that said Thirsk Hardware or something and gave it to him when I got back. Or maybe I imagined that after drinking that lunchtime pint. It's all golden hazy now.
Likewise York is a faded tablet. I recall touring the big minster there but not much else. I remember the hotel, except for the name. It might have been the Viking Inn. It overlooked one of the local rivers and we saw people row up and down the small stream.
Likewise York is a faded tablet. I recall touring the big minster there but not much else. I remember the hotel, except for the name. It might have been the Viking Inn. It overlooked one of the local rivers and we saw people row up and down the small stream.
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