Tall tales and true: of Yorkshire moors and the byways of Surrey: Here be Romans

Today was an orientation day: getting ourselves located in this new space we are to inhabit for the next five weeks, so we spent the morning unpacking completely and setting the apartment out the way we function, pressing lots of buttons and trying different keys. To organise our bank funds we had to drive a few miles along the coast to Scarborough where we had fun chatting with the tellers who all seemed to have nothing to do but talk. Coffee was not good. Again, these early days, we are struggling to find lovely coffee; after a sip we are usually reverting to pots of tea. We have such good coffee at home. We don't always realise that.

Luckily, wandering up the busy Scarborough pedestrian mall we found a street food festival a'happening. We are still not sure what it was all about but the aroma of giant smoked Polish sausage on a barbecue served with caramelised onions was too enticing and soon we were seated picnic-style on wooden trestles and tables along with half the city, enjoying our feast as we people-watched. Accompanied by a wheaty brew of ale from a plastic cup in a public place.

So good were these sausages we asked the marketeers where to find them and were told they were not available in local supermarkets but we might try one of the Polish delicatessens at the end of the mall. This we did. We then checked out their other unusual fare at the same time. So, home we went with a long string of delicious smoked sausage fit for another feast. Plus, we know where to go next time we hanker for them.

Our afternoon was spent walking the seafront promenade with couples taking their dogs out for a walk, along with hoards of golden oldies sunning themselves from bench seats facing the sea, or their motorised walkers. One saucy old dear in her rolling wheel chair welcomed us with a wink -- we must look like newcomers with our camera and sneakers -- to the 'Costa Del Filey'. Causing an outbreak of raucous cackling from the bevy of aged geese accompanying her. Just delightful they were.

The promenade is lined with sculptures, gardens, mini-golf, a coast guard station with lifeboats, amusement stalls, tea shops, and countless fish and chip stalls. As it drops to the sand there is a hard stand landing ramp built for coble fishing boats to be hauled to and from the water. These were once the providers of sustenance and life-saving around here, these quaintly shaped coble boats. Often locally designed and built, cobles are made of long wooden strips, layer upon layer in tiers to prevent water ingress. They have a high front and a long sleek bottom to keep them stable in what can be ugly seas along this north eastern coastal stretch in bad weather. So they are built for the conditions. Fishing is not so plentiful now, so I am surprised how many are still berthed on the landing.

We walked for ages along the sand toward a magical mass of mountain that looks to be wearing dragon spines down its south side, facing us. This section of the rocky outcrop is Carr Naze, part of what the locals call Filey Brigg, a long peninsular of eroding sandstone and limestone some 20 metres high in parts, descending long and low into the sea at the brigg. 'Brigg' means 'bridge' and like all bridges this one, too, will one day no longer be here. Eventually water and wave action and wind will crumble and wash it away, but for now, this mass is around, and probably would still be recognisable to the Romans who lived here in the 4th century and used this bay to moor their sailing boats.

High up on Filey Brigg, atop these fragile spines of sliding stone, this small Roman garrison built themselves a stone fortification and lookout which they could fire up at the first sign of problems. Square and tall and blocky with a tower aloft, it allowed them to keep an eagle eye out for enemy barbarians who were ever a threat to them, from across the sea. Amazingly, some of those Roman foundation blocks have survived to this day. Archeologists, assisting a local Filey dig fanatic, were instrumental in their discovery and reveal. They have been moved into the Crescent Gardens, just behind us, overlooking the seafront here. And stand now as stone garden sculptures, a little safer than they have been for many centuries.

On our return we found a high bar overlooking the sea, from where we could watch the sun slowly slide along the coloured mass of Filey Brigg, casting jagged shadows in its last light remembering the legend that many locals believed, that the brigg was actually the fossilised carcass of a dragon who once terrorised these parts. Tempted close by the villagers with some Yorkshire parkin that stuck his jaws much too tight the dragon bent to the sea to rinse his mouth, at which point the clever villagers slayed him, leaving his giant remains to become rock coated over the aeons. We raised our ale to the villagers, and to the Romans, who came before us.