Dorsetry

Ruth and I returned on Friday 17th from a week (actually six nights) in Dorset on the Jurassic Coast. As happened last year in July, we (I say ‘we’ – actually it was entirely her) decided quite late on that we just HAD to have a week away, and consequently had to do a quick search for what was still available. Ruth decided that she fancied a coastal property and as our brief visit to Kilve Beach in 2011 seems to have fired her up with enthusiasm for fossil-type things, she chose the Jurassic Coast. We found somewhere via www.holidaycottages.co.uk and booked in. Potted synopsis of our holiday (pictures here):

Saturday
 

Charmouth beach

Distressingly, had rabbit put down. Buried rabbit. Caught remaining rabbit by dint of poking him out from under the bed with a feather duster. Packed remaining rabbit. Lovely lady at RSPCA place assured us we’d probably done the right thing re Willow. Left Reading heading south towards Basingstoke, a route I irrationally loathe. Stopped at Winchester services around 3pm for a sandwich as we were starving and hadn’t been able to face lunch after earlier death duties. Drove on and arrived at Charmouth, our destination, sometime around 6pm I think. Opened wine. Can’t remember much after that.

Sunday
 

Black cliffs at Charmouth

Walked down to Charmouth beach and had a poke about. Strikingly black cliffs which my geologist father told me are made of marine muds formed with little oxygen and are oil bearing at Kimmeridge Bay, further to the east on the Isle of Purbeck. (Indeed Wikipedia flirtatiously suggests that there’s an actual division of the Jurassic period called the Kimmeridgian.) Ruth tried to book onto a fossil hunting tour for the coming Wednesday, but disappointingly it was already booked up. The beach was indeed crowded with people hammering at rocks with little hammers, which you could hire from the shop. 

Monday 
 

Bathing nudes

We caught the X53 Jurassic Coaster into Lyme Regis (as I flatly refused to drive there, being afflicted with nightmare visions of getting trapped in cobbled cul-de-sacs). Walked down to the beach and along to The Cobb. Pleasant beach front. Walked to the end of the Cobb and queued behind various other people to take a photograph on the end of it. We didn’t have a black cloak handy so there was a limit to how Meryl Streep-like Ruth could look in this picture. We had a nice lunch in The Royal Standard – I had a crab sandwich; I forget what Ruth had. We were amused by this picture behind our table featuring a number of frolicking nudes, no doubt taking a spot of sea bathing for their health. Walked around the town a bit and popped into a few shops. I bought two rings in a fossil shop also selling a lot of New Agey crystal stuff, one in black hematite (for which this site claims lots of good things, though I’ve never meddled with my Root Chakra as yet) and one in red chrysocolla. Had a pleasant dinner in the evening at The Royal Oak, a pub towards the top end of Charmouth’s steep high street.

Tuesday 

Day Out in the Car, though I made Ruth leave the cottage at 7.30am to avoid crammed car parks (am a tad over-anxious). Drove to the Chesil Beach car park and parked (obviously). Walked up onto Chesil Beach, past this wooden cormorant. Discovered rapidly that Chesil Beach is hell to walk on. For some reason I’d imagined it as a pleasant sandy spit, but it’s a strenuous pebble fest. Rapidly abandoned plans to go for a walk along it and crossed the A354 and walked along the footpath towards Portland. Ruth decided there wasn’t anything very interesting-looking on Portland so decided to sit for a bit while I walked on and eventually came to Portland Marina, which has some pleasant views of boats and some boards with bits of history. Portland certainly isn’t very prepossessing from the causeway side.

Returned to the Chesil beach café and had brunch (coffee good). Drove back along the Jurassic Coast road as far as Abbotsbury and went to the Subtropical Gardens. V. nice. On the way back to Charmouth diverted off to West Bay, for reasons that now escape me as it’s horrid, though does have some interesting-looking (and apparently quite crumbly) cliffs. Went for another dinner at the Royal Oak in the evening – we had intended to visit the Charmouth Fish Bar and Pizzeria, but it was closed for the first half of the week we were there thanks to its fryer breaking down, and after that we’d kind of lost interest in it.

Wednesday 

Ruth went down to Charmouth beach in the morning and spent a couple of hours fossil-hunting, while I loafed around the cottage. She returned with a collection of nondescript rocks (as opposed to the entire ichthyosaur we had hoped for) which she is threatening to arrange on Willow’s grave. I suggested it was because she hadn’t been wearing a Mary Anning-style bonnet. In the afternoon, I suggested we took the bus to Morcombelake, the next village along from Charmouth, and walk to  Golden Cap and thence back to Charmouth along the coast path. How little I knew. After a brief visit to the Artwave West gallery, we embarked on undoubtedly one of the most strenuous walks I’ve ever done. Actually collapsed on all fours at one point, thinking I couldn’t go on, but managed to, largely through not having much choice and all. Slogging from Morcombelake up to Golden Cap, apparently the highest point on the south coast, was a walk in itself, but we then had a walk of several miles up and down

headland back to Charmouth, not helped by the coast path having fallen into the sea in several places resulting in sizeable diversions inland. We eventually staggered back to the cottage via Charmouth’s branch of Nisa, where I bought a piece of steak, feeling in need of some red meat. Pondered fitness levels. We had been passed at one point on the walk by an American woman probably 10 years my senior, who strode past us in shorts with a hearty “Lovely on top, isn’t it?” She was probably at Poole before we’d staggered back to Charmouth.

Thursday

Weymouth Old Harbour

Went to Weymouth, as Ruth decided she fancied it and I couldn't face another coastal walk after the previous day. I decided again that I didn’t fancy driving, so we took the Jurassic Coaster in the other direction – about an hour and a half’s journey but much of it is a pleasant drive along the scenic coast road, including creeping through villages like Abbotsbury which weren’t designed for cars never mind double-deckers. Saw the striking St Catherine’s Chapel up on the hill. Got off the bus at Weymouth in a cool breeze and immediately bought ice creams, in true British fashion. Walked along the beach for a bit in an easterly direction. Turned back and walked down towards the pier area, but found it a bit depressing so turned off towards the Old Harbour, which is quite attractive and we were briefly cheered. Found the Galley Bistro where we stopped for lunch, plaice in Ruth’s case and a somewhat alarming-looking whole crab in mine. Had a bit of a walk around Brewers Quay, but it seemed to be entirely an antique/junk emporium rather than the artisan jewelers Ruth had been seekng out. Walked up to Nothe Fort and the accompanying gardens and along to Newton's Cove, then back into Weymouth and caught the bus back.

Friday

Stourheadian view

Left Char Valley Cottages at about 9.30am. I had decided I fancied an alternative route home so drove briefly west to Honiton and then picked up the A303, ignoring its reputation as a holiday snagfest. Saw signs to Stourhead and I made some comment to the effect that I'd been there once years ago and it was nice, with the result that we made a snap decision to turn off and go there. Started with refreshments in the café and then went for a pleasant c. 2 mile walk around the gardens. Drove on, leaving the A303 at Andover and detouring via Newbury, arriving back in Caversham around 4pm. Went to RRR to collect Harley.

The cottage we rented, Jurassic Tide Line, part of the Char Valley Cottages development, was perfectly pleasant, though afflicted with a few niggles: rather a dingy dining area at the end of the kitchen (why did the designer not put the French windows on the kitchen/diner rather than the living room? I never get that); the presence of an inventory of kitchen equipment which guests were requested to check on their arrival at the property, presumably so anything missing could be deducted from the £50 holding deposit they make you put down - we looked at it briefly, decided we were on holiday and left it. Additionally, there was indeed a 'private patio area' but it was one of the least inspiring outdoor spaces I’d ever seen – far more space than we reasonably needed, but simply a large expanse of concrete slabs with some unattractively cheap patio furniture. We christened it ‘the drill yard’. Kind of put paid to my plans for some pleasant outdoor breakfasting. On the plus side, we both guiltily enjoyed the recliners in the living room, though vowed never to speak of it to anyone. Additionally, I realised after we'd arrived home that I'd left my DVD of The Devil Rides Out in the DVD player (having taken it and The Wicker Man away with us in order to have a bit of an homage to the late Christopher Lee) and the owners were kind enough to send it back to us. So that was nice.

I was amused by how many cute ‘danger’ signs we encountered over the course of the week. Obviously the west Dorset coast is an area filled with many hazards. Here are a selection that I photographed:

Phew. Watch your step.