Actually it wasn’t a Jet, it was a bus: The Coastliner from Leeds to Whitby. But whichever mode of transport was taken it made no difference to me. The humans packed me in a case with the towels and toiletries. I was in the dark for nearly seven hours. Don’t they realise that plush toys have feelings too.

So I never got to see the donkeys in the field outside Malton. Neither did I see the wide expance of the Vale of York, the majestic rolling of the Howardian Hills, or the beauty and bleakness of the North York Moors or even the view of the town of Whitby from the top of the moor. They tell me that Yorkshire is a stunningly beautiful county, but everywhere is the same from inside a suitcase,

But we got there, to an old fisherman’s cottage – fortunately the old fisherman was away – three small rooms stacked above each other connected by a steep winding stairway. And I got out, to feel the wind in my mane and the ground under my hooves around the harbour.

I think I could enjoy this holiday if I can give the humans the slip.