Packed the passport and translation guide; filled an emergency box with pies, Wensleydale cheese, Yorkshire puds and curd tarts; ferrets were caged up in t’ boot. I donned flat cap and keyed in sat nav details… for Dartmoor. A Yorkshireman ‘abroad’ can’t be careful enough. I’d heard t’ weather darn sarf could be fair to middlin’ this time o’ year so the remaining sun tan lotion from my last trip abroad (Majorca 1998) was deposited in the glove compartment. The drive gave me a numb bum. Couldn’t thoil service station prices so I drank my flask of tea and ate my Wensleydale and beetroot sandwiches with all the other Yorkshire folk leaning against their motors in the car park. I was fair capped when I got to Dartmoor – it’s almost the same as Yorkshire but not as grand. The Tors reminded me of Nidderdale around Brimham Rocks; the distant views of the North York Moors towards the coast; and the bleak, wild moors of the South Pennines above Holmfirth. Makes you wonder why I bothered doing a round trip of over 700 miles really. The folk there talk funny, not like us, but they’re friendly enough. So if you ever feel an odd urge to get out of our county without really leaving it, I can recommend heading for Dartmoor (but beware, there are some bloody strange spots in between). Oh, the weather was drizzly, misty and windy – just like in Yorkshire.