First, though, a visit to Staithes - another picturesque village at the bottom of a steep hill with a pub advertising Strongbow on the blackboard outside like it was Thompstone's or Sheppy's Dabinett.
Oh but it was quite fetching. And being the designated driver, I was on Diet Coke anyway.
We wandered about a bit, then walked up the wrong street by mistake on the way back to the car.
Rather than go down again and then back up, we took the scenic route around the head of the valley to the car park.
I blame the Daily Mail.
On the plus side, there were moon daisies and cranesbill ...
... and wonderfully ochreous cliffs at the far end of the beach.
My haul of fossils was a bit crap, though ...
... and when we got back to the cottage, a local took a pop at us for taking up a parking place he reckoned should be for residents, not holiday makers. Even the Northerner in his broadest Yorkshire couldn't appease him. Which was laughable, really, as just beforehand, while he was dropping some bags off into the house opposite, his wife had told us they didn't live there. But there you go - everyone's got a licence to be a bastard now.