(Photo from West Bay Hotel website)
Ideally I should have written my holiday blogposts each day. But we didn't have internet in the holiday let, or anywhere near it. And there'd be no point in publishing a holiday blogpost without holiday photos, which all take time to edit. The way I do it, anyway!
I always think it's weird, when I go on holiday, or away for work, or anywhere really. You might spend days, weeks or months planning the time away, but as the time gets closer, all that matters is the journey. Packing seems almost secondary, and by the time you draw away from home, all that matters is the journey. And the journey seems *epic* whilst it happens. I don't travel very often by car, and I don't like driving, so it's both an adventure and a relaxation to be sit cruising down the motorway. Until the motorway runs out not far from the location of our previous holiday (Milford on Sea).
But when all is said and done, once you've arrived, and unloaded the car, there's not a great deal to say, not even about the glorious coastal view that suddenly comes into view as you ride the crest of a hill on the A35. We spent a lot of the holiday on the A35. I never tired of the view. Except on the day when fog reduced visibility to just a few yards. Fog. In June. I know.
We had a wander round the town and soon found ourself in a pub. As soon as we walked in, some bloke in a sleeveless quilted anorak scrutinised me closely and said 'hello' in a confrontational manner. When we were settled in the beer garden, he came to interrogate us, expressed his hostility that we were obviously visiting in order to locate a property to buy and move into. Apparently that's the only reason Londoners visit. He also informed us that no one goes out at night in Bridport and there's nowhere to eat, other than one restaurant in West Bay.
But we managed to find a nice cafe to sit outside with a pot of tea and a clotted cream & jam scone each. And later that evening we had a perfectly pleasant meal at The Royal Oak, I ate moules marinieres;and Cornish sole in a pink peppercorn butter, with vegetables & new potatoes. And some wine, which I didn't note at the time. It was very tasty and at the time I thought we would try hard to better it. I'm sorry I didn't photograph the food, indeed, I was startled at how little of the food I did photograph! I can't be too harsh about a pub-restaurant that had on the wall a picture of Billy Bragg as well as ones of PJ Harvey, Martin Clunes and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. But the unfortunate thing was that there were about five or six parties of two or three people, mostly older than me on the periphery of the room around a table containing a multi-generational extended family of a dozen or more people. They weren't obnoxious or extraordinarily loud, but it's impossible for a group that size not to dominate the room. It's a shame the restaurateur didn't use the room-style alcoves more imaginatively.
The following day featured spectacularly bad weather. For example, the tennis final at Queen's club was postponed. And we met up with a friend in West Bay, the seaside part of Bridport. It was an energising experience being blown down the pier and quite physical or even sensual being soaked to the skin...maybe! I tweeted 'it was way too stormy even to contemplate getting my camera out!' We ate in the West Bay hotel. I had red mullet & sea bream with oriental spice in a light creamy balti sauce, vegetables and new potatoes; and white chocolate & strawberry cheesecake, washed down with some eminently quaffable local Palmers ale.
The next day the sun came out and I took some photos. But that's another blogpost!
