York

It's occurred to me again today just how weird and wonderful it is to live in York. I love the old buildings, with their twisted staircases and uneven floors. I love the Golden Fleece, the pub which is supposed to have a ghost in every room and where your drink slides off the slanted table. I love the cobbled streets and little alleyways which you suddenly realise hide a whole new row of shops or a huge church. I love the fact that you can walk down a boring concrete street and suddenly encounter a Tudor hall, or a big glass window behind which wax figures are frozen in a depiction of some aspect of old York life.
Most of all, I love the strangeness. It is not at all rare to encounter a Roman soldier or Viking in the streets, particularly near the big tourist attracts to lure people in. Then there's the man covered in purple paint who sits for hours on his purple bike on Stonegate. There's also the people who advertise the dungeon and the ghost walks, who lurk around the minster looking evil.
Today the Grim Reaper was walking innocently along Petergate. He seems to have been affected by the economic situation too, his scythe was only made of plastic and kept dragging sadly along the ground whenever he adjusted his hood.

So that's the wonderful world of York. It has it's faults, of course. You have to learn to be able to stop dead behind tourists who suddenly decide to look in a window. You have to learn to walk in the road too, since much of the city is sort of pedestrianised some of the time. Bit confusing really, but the most important bit is to remember to move out of the way when there's a car. People still like to ruin it by dropping their rubbish everywhere, but I suppose we'll have to live with that.

Although... I think I've got some bloody chewing gum on my shoe.