It is a long slog up the M roads toward Whitby. If it weren’t for the very English names painted onto the sides of the eighteen wheelers and the signs above the highway we could be in Anywhere, USA. The rest areas are welcome, looking like mini airline terminals and just as busy; Burger King gives us the break we need, plus it is always good to be able to touch home, even if it is through a burger and fries and coke—without ice. The big difference however, is passing by two ginormous nuclear power plants, and disconcerting signs that say HI RISK CRASH ROUTE, telling me the number of individuals killed in the last so many days and  QUARRY DUST CAN KILL.  There is a noticeable haze in the air.  I try not to breathe.

The fog begins to roll in as soon as we arrive in Whitby—Michael is happy. Fog at the coast is his favorite weather condition. The apartment is a welcome new place to hang our hat. Great Views. Comfortable furniture. A choice of bedrooms. A cute kitchen.  And within easy walking distance from the Pay and Display car park where we leave the ever dirtier Toyota. We will be living on the Quay with the busy swing bridge to our left.  It sounds like a party when we open our windows facing the civilian thoroughfare. Church bells toll in the distance. I feel we are back in the middle of life—six full days. Not long.