Gluttons for punishment

Some people may call me a cheap bastard, but I prefer to think of myself as a 'resourceful red-headed stepchild.' Despite the sleepless night on our first camping expedition, pitching up the tent where we did had much to recommend it: fresh air, lovely countryside on our doorstep, a pub down the road and all the apples we could scrump.

Best of all, it was CHEAP: we paid less than £10 for the privilege of fitfully napping under the stars in a sheep pasture.

So over the weeks that followed we set about figuring out how to make our next trip more comfortable, mainly by buying an inflatable mattress and pillows, plus extra earplugs. Such luxuries! We picked the long weekend of the latest Royal Wedding to spend five nights under canvas in Yorkshire.

We booked one night near Scarborough and for the rest of the weekend reserved our place at a dairy farm, one that made its own ice cream and was next door to a pub, within walking distance of Whitby.

We must have looked quite the sight trundling out of Scarborough train station, laden down with our gear and waiting for the Busy Badger Shopper Hopper-type minibus to take us out to the suburbs. We squeezed in amongst the wailing toddlers and doddering pensioners for the trip to the edge of town until I spotted our bus stop (thank you, Google Streetview!). From here it was not far to walk past some allotments and uphill through the woods to the campsite.

Jacobs Mount campsite is fairly large and caters mainly for touring caravans (RVs), with a small grassy corner for us campers. It was a bit of struggle securing the tarps and ties because of the stiff breeze, with about half our stakes bending in the rocky soil. I had visions of our tent taking flight in the night. Footpump at the ready, we inflated our luxurious flocked air mattress and pillows. Straightaway I noticed one of the pillows (new out of the box) would not keep inflated, but I kept quiet.

Time to start the holiday! We trailed back downhill and into town. Scarborough has been a popular sea resort since Victorian times and many of its villas have been converted into B&Bs, cafes and pubs. We called in at two of these basement bars, The Valley and Cellars Bar.The first was a bit dark, dusty and cluttered but cozy, with a fantastic selection of about a half-dozen real ales on tap and shelves groaning with about 100 Continental bottled beers. We both had the delicious 'Hophead' from the Dark Star brewery which had a citrus zing, hoppy depth and smooth finish.

Literally two doors down we found Cellars Bar, a far more grander affair with exposed brickwork and a marble fireplace. Despite being much more spacious, it was almost impossible to escape the enormous TV tuned into a sports match. It was dead quiet inside (aside from the TV). We didn't recognise the beers on offer but they were happy for us to have a taste first. A beer called 'Dickens' from Mauldons brewery tasted like the runoff from a bucket of rusty nails, so we both had Cameron's 'Strong Arm' which was not much better.

It was still early evening with plenty of light in the sky as we carried on down to the seafront. It was clear to see the appeal of the seaside for the Victorians who, in the absence of the internet, TV or even radio could entertain themselves for a whole day merely by sitting on a bench and watching other holidaymakers in their crinolines passing to and fro. It was a lovely spot for staring out to sea, especially as the setting sun lit up the sprawling ruins of the castle above the harbour.

Scarborough is far more genteel than its Lancashire equivalent, Blackpool, but still suffers from having too many empty shop fronts, tacky amusements and dubious nightspots.

We strolled the seafront and found the 1950s milk bar,

but like most everything it was closed, so we headed back to The Cellars for some food. It was marginally busier when we arrived. A band was setting up and their groupies were gathering. We both had the lasagna: insipid pasta in a bland tomato sauce topped with sweet, watery cheese. At least the potato wedges and salad were nice enough. Frankly, we were grateful for any sustenance whatsoever to fortify us for the night ahead.

Torch in hand, we headed back uphill and into the woods. Would our tent still be there? Would we find our earplugs?? Who would have to sleep on the half-inflated pillow??? Click back soon to find out!