After the storm of Sunday, our first Monday promised better weather. But we didn't have a plan, unless 'exploring' is a plan!
We agreed we needed to find a beach. I suggested, for no good reason, that we go to Eype, a village not far from Bridport. I have to confess to not really understanding the English village system. In my pre-London days I had been known to venture into the countryside, and one autumn I spent some time auditing the tiny parish councils of Hart District - based in an office on a business park outside Reading. I'm not even sure of the differences between hamlet, village, town. And I was surprised by the narrowness and windy nature of the roads, although rather liked the drive through a tunnel of overhanging boughs heavy with leaves. It was a spectacularly steep climb up to the seafront, not helped by taking a wrong turn into a dead end that just led to people's front gates!
But, finally, we found the beach! And we walked on it! For a bit, anyway. The Bridport area is at the Western End of Chesil beach, where tidal forces sort the stones into big rocks in the East and tiny pebbles in the West, making walking quite treacherous!
We decided instead to head for Lyme Regis, but, inexplicably, diverted ourselves into the settlement of Morecambelake; perhaps we were attracted by what seemed to be a market in a field. We walked around and realised that it was almost exclusively junk. Some horrible cheap-looking clothes, stalls selling dishcloths and clothes pegs, a burger van, and incongruously, a stallholder who'd travelled down from Cheshire to sell jams, honeys and so on. We bought some from there, which, in retrospect made little sense in Dorset! Although perfectly tasty!
We soon set off again via the backstreets, somehow by-passing Whitchurch Canonicorum, which we never visited but should have done on account of it having the most amazing name! Also, its the only church in Britain except Westminster Abbey to have survived the Reformation with its relics intact. Also Georgi Markov is buried there. He was assassinated by a poisoned umbrella tip on Waterloo Bridge.
We drove instead to Wootton Fitzpaine, which seems to consist largely of a manor house and a church. I regret not taking some photos, but the road took us to what seemed to be the front garden of the manor house, which made me nervous about taking pictures! So we drove on through another desirable village Catherston Leweston, and into Lyme Regis.
Lyme Regis is very different from the villages we had been driving through. Obviously it's a relatively sizable town and seaside resort. Obviously tries hard not to look like every other medium-small town in England, with the obligatory Tesco and Boots sitting cheek by jowl with teashops, coffee shops and bakeries. The end result being a town that looks like every other town that's full of tea shops and cupcake purveyors. It's chock full of cars, every hour in each direction the Axminster to Weymouth bus squeezes its way through the narrow streets, round the sharp corners and under the ancient bridge over the road.
I admit I am not a frequent user of car-parks, but I was mildly surprised that the pay-and-display meter took cards. Obviously this is a good idea, especially at the price they were charging, but the woman trying to pay at the same time as me neither had the cash nor wanted to pay by card! The thing, if you want to park your car in a tourist town, you have to pay!
We had arrived late for lunch, and rather than explore the entire town to find a place that offered the best menu for the most amazing price, we decided to go to somewhere which had a decent mention in the Rough Guide, was close at hand and looked okay - The Pilot Boat. Looking round the internet, it seems to have mixed reviews. I certainly wouldn't class it as secret surprising fine dining, but it lived up, more or less, to our expectations. I had a good quality fisherman's pie, although as I tweeted at the time, it was disappointingly served with a typical dated English side salad. Mediocre ingredients to begin with, and not dressed. It's like the leaves are put on in order to tick a box of providing colour, but with no thought as to whether the customer would want to eat it. Why spoil a tasty, value-for-money dish? Jimmy enjoyed his pork belly braised in cider
We strolled along the seafront in sudden glorious afternoon sun, walking to the harbour and along the Cobb, before walking back through the park that rises above the seafront. It struck me as a pleasant enough town, sufficient seaside resort places - ice-cream huts, fish-and-chips, bars, amusement arcades - without being either overwhelming or a draw in themselves. I imagine it gets pretty busy at weekends and in the school summer holidays.
Leaving Lyme Regis caused us some problems. It should have been so simple, but we took a wrong turn and ended up, oh horror of horrors, crossing the Devon border. We turned around with no further incident, though we had to back into Lyme to finally head towards Bridport, I made little jokes about being driven back across the border by furious Devoners.
We finished the evening in Burton Bradstock, a little village outside Bridport, perhaps most famous for being where Billy Bragg lives - although he was on tour in the USA when we visited - and the Hive Beach cafe, which was closed. We sat in the afternoon sunshine in the garden of the Three Horseshoes, drinking some beautiful 'Dorset Gold'. We also got directions to the beach, which lies down a turning we had entirely missed! And for forty minutes or so we had a delightful walk on an almost deserted beach, glorying in the later afternoon sunshine, such a contrast from the previous day's dull, wet, windy storm!
More photos in my Dorset photo album
