There was nothing weirder than crossing the high moors on a bleak winter’s afternoon, the sky paling into night, snow whipping across black heather and bronze-age barrow, and then to see these monuments to fear bloom out of the twilight like vast fungi from some Nigel Kneale nightmare.

Witch posts are silent, remnants of a folklore lost, their significance and their occult symbolism a reminder of how the high moors are thick with mysteries that must remain out of reach

They are dangerous because they suggest the identity you have constructed based on time and drudgery might not be everything, and with that idea comes either mysticism or freedom

The shadow of a cloud passes across the dusty concrete, which is pitted through the action of salt and years. White railings on either side of us lock away the harbour to our right, and to our left, the broad blue of Sandsend bay.

The Plastic Brain welcomes you to a new world!