Reflections or reality?

Do you ever look at the reflections in puddles and wonder if, in fact, that is the real world and you are living a dream?

That was how I felt the morning after (yesterday's blip) when I put the American girls on the train back to London and drove headlong into another adventure in Whitby, where I planned to stay for a few days on my own for the first time ever.

The weather cleared and it was a glorious day, I checked into the Bed and Breakfast I had booked and set off for a walk along the path past the Abbey to where there is a way down the cliff to the beach.

The rocks at the base of the cliff here are rich with fossils and there is also the possibility of finding some Whitby Jet on the beach.

I'm usually pretty savvy about the tides and safety, but on this occasion I miscalculated as I searched for ammonites and belemnites, and the tide came in faster than I anticipated. I had to wade up to my thighs to reach the rocks near the path up the cliff, and then as I clambered up onto them I lost my footing and fell backwards into the sea.

I was soaked, my rucksack with towel, car keys, purse and mobile phone was safe but full of water. I climbed out easily enough and stood there composing myself and wringing out my skirt and teeshirt, when I heard a voice from the clifftop.

"Hello. Are you alright?"

"Shoot" I thought, "I don't want to speak to anyone looking like this"

"Yes I'm fine thanks."

"I was watching you from the cliff path"

"Damn, why don't you just go away"

"I'm fine really"

"I thought you were going to drown"

"Well matey, I didn't. There's nothing to see here, so move along please"

"No, it was nothing, I'm fine."

"My God, I was so worried for you"

"Jeez, just go away and let me sort myself out, why don't you?"

"I'm fine, just a bit wet, I'll soon dry off"

"I could see you were in grave danger"

"Now listen, I wasn't waving, and I wasn't drowning"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern"

"OK then."

I put my wet clothes back on, tipped the sea water from my rucksack and headed up the path to the top of the cliff.
There waiting for me was my knight in shining armour- potential lifeguard.
Well actually he was a German guy on a walking holiday, so I had to walk back to Whitby with him. Me looking the spit of a drowned rat, and him looking, well Germanic. Fair hair, balding, slightly overweight, glasses, and speaking virtually perfect English, of course.

"I am an anglophile." He told me. "My wife does not like England, but I spend all my spare time here. I organise holidays for Germans who want to enjoy typically English experiences"

"Well thank the Lord you didn't have a party of 10 watching my spectacle" I thought.

By the time we got back to Whitby I had almost dried out and we ended up having a beer together and talking about Englishness.
That evening, we bumped into each other again, both out looking for somewhere to eat, so ended up dining together.

We are still in touch and sometimes he emails me to ask my opinion on how English something is.

Needless to say my phone did drown, so with no communication with the outside world for the next few days, I really was on my own, which was, of course, bliss.

It was only when I got home that I managed to catch up with the American girls and all the developments from the farm sale - see yesterday's blip.

Those strands will be continued tomorrow.