O York, Old York

They only named this city once, and that city was York.

A travelling tip to the reader: Having a cold pretty much sucks the fun out of any trip, so try not to get sick when you travel.

I, of course, ignored that tip and signed up for the cold to arrive right around the time for my weekend in York. I used up all of the hotel tissues on the first night, and went to bed comparatively early all three nights while others prowled the streets of York. But I didn't need staying up late and going to pubs to have fun, I saw plenty of sights during the day. Like the stall that sold sandwiches for a pound. It was so good we had to go back the second day. Not unlike the rest of Great Britain, York is a tourist town that is old, beautiful, and of historical significance and they're proud of it.
And I would be proud of this wall, too:










That is, had my people not built this:


















Although, it must be said that the people of York make much better scones than my people. After a hearty climb of the city walls, we had tea in a proper English tearoom and put our pinkies to good use. The tea, called passion, was fiery and warmed my body good. If only more of their stiff, cold ways could be melted away by passion tea. Like this, for example. Whoever put this sign up obviously needed a lesson in chilling out and sharing:

The pathway wraps around the York Minster- the house of God where people learn to emulate said God and put to practice lessons of love, sacrifice and peace and all that. Plus, it's a bit hard for the hordes of tourists that come upon the Minster to enter without using this forbidden pathway. Obviously, these Highway Act folks never paid attention to their Sunday School teachers.





But alas, this sign paid the price and redeemed the stupidity of the other sign: