BRIMHAM ROCKS!

We both agree - exercise is good for mind and body - but Mr N and I don't take kindly to organised classes (or organised anything really) so what should we do to supplement the antiques hunting and general domestic chores that make up our usual daily quota of physical effort? Since our cycling techniques are incompatible - he hurtles and powers, I pootle and wobble - we've decided to go on walking expeditions. Our first ramble on this new regime was at nearby Brimham Rocks, once called Brimham Craggs and now managed by the National Trust. 

To start with it was much more fun than I remembered, largely because past visits have involved preventing small, wriggly boys and larger, foolhardy boys from hurling themselves to certain death off the ice age rock formations. This time there was just one old-ish boy...

...who seemed determined to escape my clutches!

Occasionally I'd catch a glimpse, but it was hard to keep up with him.

He loves to tease.

At last I caught up but then something strange happened...

...a blinding light,

a giant toadstool fairy ring, but not a soul about,

just the ever-looming sinister presence of the radomes of Menwith Hill communications station.

Please come home, Mr N, all is forgiven!

All these phenomena: natural, supernatural, man-made and artistic, can be experienced on a visit to the magical Brimham Rocks. (If you find Mr N, please leave a comment on this page and I'll come and collect him. Maybe.)

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