The skies above my house were greyer than my hair. The thin weather girl on TV told me it would be better towards the east; she should know, she’s got a degree and a lot of technology to hand. She was wrong – or maybe it was the technology. However, my journey wasn’t a waste of time. Leaving the mist-laden Dales behind I followed a milk truck very slowly up Sutton Bank and gave the gearbox a rest at the impressive visitor centre. The Hambleton Hills here were slightly less misty than the Dales but unfortunately the full stunning view was not forthcoming.  I walked the few miles around the edge to the White Horse above Kilburn – it was more like that grey one people always put their money on at the Grand National. Gliders took off and quickly disappeared into the low cloud which left me scratching my head; I concluded that they could obviously see something I couldn’t.
But even on such a day, and the wrong time of year to admire the heather, the drive down the B road from Sutton Bank to Osmotherley, via Hawnby, was a real treat. Patches of blue sky greeted my return home… enough to make a pair of trousers for a sailor, as my mum would have said.

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