Dr Prune goes to Whitby

Only about 8 hours of my 2 week break left. And then it's bed and getting up in the dark to go into work. But it's ok, because obviously I've spent at least some of my time off in consideration of possible alternate career options.
Although that last may be a slight fib ... Grrr. I suck.
But anyway, on to happier matters. Last week was my first Whitby, and I must say lots of fun was had. I also arrived at the answer to a question that has niggled at me for ages. To wit, why Whitby? Yes, there is the much touted Dracula connection (which amounts to a tiny part in admittedly the most famous but by no means the first or the best of many stories about the "nasty, pointy bitey ones" (if you'll excuse a brief lapse into Buffy geekdom)), and I'll grant you that the Abbey ruins are very pretty and terribly goth, but neither of these amount to an overwhelming reason to stage a goth festival there.
And then I actually went there, and walked its streets, and I saw The Reason. It's all a great big nasty joke. If there is a town in Britain with thoroughfares less suited to the sort of attire that goths love then I've yet to see it. Ridiculously steep hills, cobbles, rickety stairways, these really are not the sorts of surfaces you want to be navigating in bloody great platforms, pretty little heels, long Victorian gowns, or hobble skirts. And while corsetry has a number of appealing qualities, these don't tend to include being an aid in strenuous exercise. Given my natural clumsiness, it's a wonder that I survived unscathed, but I just know that someone, somewhere was watching every stumble, graze and more besides and laughing their evil little head off. I may just be paranoid, but I really think I'm on to something here.

As a number of people on my friends list have already pointed out, musically it was a somewhat uninspiring affair. Of the Friday line-up, Voices of Masada were excellent. Of course, they had an unfair advantage in my eyes because I know and like their stuff, but even taking that into account, they left Ghosts of Lemora and the appropriately named Crud standing. As for Cassandra Complex, I gave them a good chance, but the only image I'm left with is one of a middle-aged, not terribly attractive man playing at being a Rock God, pelvic thrusts, orgasmic moans and all. It really was most disturbing.
The Saturday night line-up followed a similar pattern: an opening band (Projekt) who, from the single song I heard, certainly deserved a place much higher up the bill; followed by two others who were totally forgettable. Birthday Massacre were rather fun - cute, bouncy front girl and all - but even they got a little samey, and I got bored and wandered off before the end of the set.

However, the musical disappointments were more than made up for by excellent company in the form of corone, lareinemisere, sinbadsilk and sahra_patroness. Suffice it to say that, having only met sinbadsilk and sahra_patroness(hi there :)) on the Thursday night, by Saturday I was comfortable enough with them to make only my second ever attempt at full drag (as distinct from my usual androgynous, boy-in-girl's-clothes thing), which is saying a lot.
And being the shallow excessively visual soul I am, I very much enjoyed the people watching. So many pretty clothes ...
I'll draw a veil over the shopping. Let's just say that my credit card probably doesn't know what hit it. Me bad.

The parental visit following the weekend went as well as these things ever do, although, to my extreme annoyance, there was a variant on the classic "my house, my rules" conversation - which you really don't expect to be having with your parents when you're 35 - prompted by my rather scrappily cleaned off nails. A perfect illustration of why I have no intention of ever sharing my gender identity issues with my family.
A couple of days of catching up with friends, the hellride back to Liverpool, and here we are, two weeks and 1100 miles later.
Can I have another holiday now please?