Oh to still be on a long weekend.
Dorset was just so charming - beautiful countryside, rambling little villages, cream teas, the mellifluous sounds of seagulls in the early morning. Loved it. Loved it so much I still am struggling to care about the fact I didn't get past 76 words of my essay before hitting Le Wall du Apathy. Have yet to hit 100 words - still - and still I don't care. I feel like, I've done the reading, I've had a think, I've learned a few things - surely the point has been made? Why do I have to write 3,500 torturous words to prove it? Can't you just take my word for it?
But I digress. Dorset. ahh. Yes, so LB, his sister and brother-in-law and I took to the road and after negotiating our way out of London last Friday (so glad I don't drive in this bloody city....) and driving through quaint little villages like the one surrounding Corfe Castle, we found ourselves in the seaside town of Swanage.
Swanage is rather well-known, both for its sandy beach and proximity to the Jurassic Coastline (dinosaur fossils anyone?) but also for its old pier. It was a grey sort of day when we arrived but strolling the pier we were rather charmed to discover that to raise money for the pier's upkeep people can buy small brass plaques and have them etched and then embedded in the planks.
Just so many lovely stories and memories and tributes. I'm not entirely sure what they were referring to but I think my favourite was the one that read "David Lloyd caught the crabs here"...
Waking to cooing seagulls and the ready smell of salt in the air the next day we undertook a walk along the coastline towards Studland and Poole Harbour.
It was just, well, so English. Green rolling hills, majestic cliffs, hikers in sensible clothing bearing mountain poles.
Once we got to the ferry crossing at Poole Harbour (after an altercation with a stroppy bus driver who took us the last leg from Studland) we took an over-priced ferry ride to the National Trust managed (and consequently over-priced) Brownsea Island. The one-time home to Henry VIII and the original camping ground for Baden-Powell and his boy scouts, there isn't much happening on Brownsea Island besides shy squirrels and baby ducks and peacocks and stroppy rangers who don't like it when grown men climb trees....
The next day we took in Corfe Castle village and after 20 minutes of deciding it was pretty but also pretty boring, we took to the car and meandered our way through the countryside. By luck we came across the stunning Lulworth Bay....
... where we had icecreams in the sunshine before further meandering on to Weymouth for cream tea and an ogle at the donkey rides, bumper cars and Punch and Judy shows that litter the popular beachfront.
So English.
The rest of our time was spent drinking and eating and having afternoon siestas - was all very stressful as you might imagine. SO stressful there are plans afoot to book a holiday to Sardinia tomorrow. Oh. And write another 3402 words. Oh. And pack up my room.
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