The summer between fifth and lower sixth. Me and Timmy. Wasn’t Kerouac and Cassady, but we gave it a go with what we had.
Pints aplenty in the Anchor, down the bottom of Belmangate, before hoisting our backpacks and bedrolls and lighting out across the moor.
Stepped up sprightly into the fog round the abbey but then quarreled over whereabouts to crawl to the edge of the cliff to inspect for coffins full of bones hanging out over the sea. After which tea and bacon butties in the Sandgate, where I also managed to lift some nice pieces of jet and a Frank Meadow Sutcliffe for my mum.