Three beaches

I've been to the seaside.

Several times, and in two different countries. Yes, get me.

The first was a day trip to the Dorset coast, along with Mr WithaY and the dog.  Despite it being autumn, the weather was absolutely gorgeous.  It was so nice that I even braved the water and went for a paddle.

Look at it! It's like July!

Mind you, I lost all feeling in my feet after about 30 seconds in the water. Also, I forgot to take a towel, so had to put my shoes and socks back onto cold wet sandy feet.

The dog had a whale of a time digging in the sand, and running in and out of the sea.  See note about lack of towel, above.

We walked the length of the beach, intending to sit outside the cafe and have fish and chips, but all the local smug newspaper-reading bastards were already there, refusing to move, watching passers-by with narrowed eyes that clearly meant "This small cafetiere of coffee WILL last me for the next hour, so fuck off out of it, you sad wannabe table scrounger.  And your little dog too."  We went home and had tea and buns instead.

The next beach trip was to Brighton, with my lovely sisters.  We stayed in a hotel right on the seafront, and were able to watch possibly the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen from our bedroom window.  Yes, all three of us shared a room. It was hilarious.  And noisy.

We drank cocktails, walked MILES across Brighton, around the shops, through the Pavilion gardens, up hill, down dale, along the seafront and even round an amusement arcade where we won a selection of tat for shoving hundreds of 2-pence pieces into those tipping point machines.

The weather (again) was excellent, dry and warm enough to make a trip on the Brighton Eye fun.

The view from the Eye looking out across the Pier, amusement arcade at the end there.

And the view inland, with the building that housed The Hungry Years heavy rock nightclub taking left-of-centre stage. I loved going to that place when I was young and thin. Well, thinner.  

I know sunset photos are a bit of a cliché, but just LOOK at this. It was just fantastic, all three of us took turns gawping out of the tiny window above my bed to take photos.

The third beach trip was in the South of France.  Mother-in-Law WithaY was 80 in November so as many of the family as possible went over there to help her celebrate.  Mr WithaY and I stayed in a small hotel in a place called Banyuls, where our room overlooked the sea. It was absolutely lovely.  The place has a rather funky modernist feel to it, and the food was truly excellent. 5/5 will visit again.

It was rather like being in a Jeeves and Wooster story, though, what with the sea lapping gently all night, and splendid aperitifs before dinner each evening. Not that I'm complaining, dear me no.

The view from our room.  Lovely.

The giant wine barrel at the top of the hill.  We did buy some local wine, and brought it back very, very carefully in our suitcases.  It all arrived unscathed, as did the pate, chocolates, turron ( nut delicacy not unlike peanut brittle) and black olive tapenade we crammed into our bags.

I discovered that I speak fluent* French!  For the first time in my adult life I had no worries about making myself understood to real proper French people. I told the lady in the supermarket that "nous somme touristes" and she gestured at the shopping in what can only be described as a laconic Gallic manner, and sighed deeply, as if to say "well DUH!"

This new-found fluency has much more to do with confidence and, I suspect, lack of shame, than actual skill,  I got to tell a shopkeeper "Ohh....je suis desolee" when they told me the fuzzy felt slippers I was admiring weren't available in my size.  That's something else crossed off the bucket list.

Note the small metal square on a pole in the bottom right of that photo. It is a conveniently-placed frame through which you can admire a perfect view.  What a great idea.  There were many of them scattered around the place.

This is it up close.

And this is the view, through the frame.  Nice, eh?

As you see, seasonal November weather. For Collioure. So, we ate perfectly-cooked fish by the bucketload, drank the finest wines available to humanity and walked alongside an azure sea in the sunshine. Not a bad way to spend a week.

In the midst of it all, we got to see Mother-in-Law Withay, brother and sister-in-law, niece and various old family friends, so that was good for the soul.  A birthday lunch in the glass-box restaurant at the hotel overlooking the sea was enlivened by a rattling thunderstorm coming in over the mountains, complete with end-of-the-world rain.  You get a lot of weather for your money down there.

Other news:  Still very sad. Trying not to be.




*very basic C-grade O-level French

Bootiful

It's the middle of August, supposedly the height of summer.  We've got all the lights on in the house in the middle of the afternoon; it looks like November outside.  The rain hasn't stopped lashing down all day. Apparently there has been flash flooding in Dorset.

Ahhh, English weather.

Last weekend things were different.

Mr WithaY and I had a long-planned few days away to see some friends in East Anglia.  Remember Tall Richard, who took me to dinner at the RAF Club?  Yeah you do.  It was a visit to see he and his lovely family.  We've known them since before they had children, and now look at us.  Their eldest is halfway through his time at University now, which makes me feel older than I like.  I commented to Tall Richard that his son is now the same age I was when I first met him.  That made us look faintly appalled for a moment. 

Age-related trauma aside, it was a lovely weekend.  We went to look around Thetford - sadly most of it was closed - but we wandered through the hill fort, supposedly the highest in the country.  I'm not sure if it really is, or if it just seems that way to the people who live there, Norfolk being so notoriously flat and all. 

On Sunday they took us for a look at the north Norfolk coast, which was very scenic.  Flat, though.  At one point we were driving along the coast road and realised that the sea was actually higher up than we were, thanks to the dykes.  Not something I am used to.

However, low-lying land fears and all, we had a very pleasant day.  A stroll on the causeway to look at the view, a fine pub lunch featuring crabs, then a wander round some art galleries, followed by a little walk around the town to look at the interesting architecture. 

Lots of the towns and villages in Norfolk and Suffolk have these signs. Not all of them say "Blakeney" though.

There were people swimming, which I thought was rather ambitious.  Rather more people were catching crabs off the quayside. 

It really was a beautiful day.  And there is an awful lot of sky up in that neck of the woods.  Not many woods, though.

I did like the buildings made of flint, particularly the white-painted ones.  Very pretty.

Worryingly, we saw metal signs in the walls of one house showing where the last lot of flood waters had risen to.  It would have left only the very top of Tall Richard's head out of the water.  We measured.

Other news:  Today I made a chocolate and courgette cake.  Nom nom nom.

Lighthouse family

The glorious weather continues, which is disconcerting. It's been so long since we had any prolonged spells of sunshine - about 2 years, I think - that more than an afternoon of warm, blue-skied sunnyness makes me feel slightly awkward.

It's a bit like being at someone's house when they're out. You don't quite know what to do with yourself, so end up sitting somewhere quietly waiting for them to get back and make tea or something. Or is that just me?

Except at Bestest Mate's house, obviously, where I make my own tea and read all his magazines, whilst listening to loud music. Heh.

So. The Olympics are coming. Specifically, some of the maritime stuff is heading for Weymouth (look on a map, American readers), where a huge new road is being constructed on the way into the town. We drove past it yesterday and it was like a four-year-old's best day out ever. Enormous construction vehicles all over the place, scraping gravel into flat road shapes, diggers shifting stuff from one huge heap to another, cranes and rollers galore.

I'd have stopped to gawp properly but we were On A Mission.

Mr WithaY's drysuit had sprung a leak, so we had to take it to the shop and get it booked in for repair. Is there anything quite as boring as a dive kit shop, when you are a non-diver?

I ask you.

There are no clothes to try on, except huge complicated techno-suits which look like they take hours to struggle in to, and comedy rubber bootees which frankly I can try on at home when Mr WithaY is out*. There are no books to read, apart from dull technical dive books. There isn't even a place to sit and get a drink, unless you count the salt-encrusted sea-dog-frequented coffee machine in the corner. Ugh.

So, I amused myself by reading all the labels on the various lube bottles, and devising ways to silence the incredibly irritating Northern woman who was showing off loudly in the middle of the shop in a voice which put me in mind of Victoria Wood doing her "Gormless Teenager" character.

After we'd finished at the Shop of No Interest (Unless You're A Diver)TM we went on to look at Portland Bill.

Not a friend, a place.

It was lunchtime, so we went to the Lobster Pot right on the edge of the coast and had crab sandwiches. Mmmmmm crustaceolicious. Being fat greedy bastards we also had a cream tea.

Excellent.

There are some lighthouses and things on the Bill. And fog horns, apparently.



The lighthouse is mighty impressive, and there is also a funky monolith nearby.



I liked the monolith very much, although it did make me want to bash things with bones.



Mr WithaY had planned to go sea fishing today, but it was cancelled due to the weather. Check out the wild white water out at sea here...that's where he was supposed to be fishing.



It was lovely onshore though, a bit breezy, but otherwise you might have been in the Mediterranean. Look at the colour of the water!



And back to London tomorrow, where it will probably piss down with rain.




*They look divine. I might take a picture some day if you're good.

Two go mad in Dorset

As it has been such splendid weather this weekend, Mr WithaY and I have been Out and About. In the open air. Doing stuff.

It's been lovely.

Yesterday was a Doing Stuff At Home day. I decided to wash my car, despite the dire consequences last time, and in direct opposition to Mr WithaY's views on car washing. I offered to do his as well, I was feeling so optimistic about the exercise.

He declined, on the grounds that he "doesn't want to be driving around in a big shiny Landrover." I suggested he get his car covered in green velvet for a really matte look, in that case.

He ignored me and went to clear out the garage instead. A brave man. Isn't it amazing what mice will eat?

Anyhoo. Washing my car. I spent bloody ages on it.

First, I washed it all over with the hose and a soft brush to "remove the loose dirt" as per the car wash soap stuff instructions.

Then I mixed the correct quantity of soap stuff with warm water and washed all over the car with a sponge.

Then (and by now I had been going at least an hour) I rinsed off all the soap with the hose pipe.

I stood back to admire the gleaming loveliness.

It looked fantastic. The whole time the car was wet, it looked really clean and shiny. The moment it dried, it was streaky, dull, and splattered with I know not what.

Frankly it looked worse than before I started.

I gave up in disgust and went to wash out the bird feeders instead. I love having a hosepipe with a trigger control on it.

But the Dorset thing. That was today. We got up early and scooted off to the coast. We went to Worth Matravers, a fantastic Dorset name for a village, and parked up. I was very taken with this sign:



Not here, you fool! There. There!

I also liked the giant dry stone beehive thingy.



We found the footpath, not too steep, not too muddy, and wended our way to the sea.
Please note Mr WithaY's funky stick. I borrowed it on the way back, and managed to not trip over it. Unlike him. Heh. Anyway, he went striding off in his huge boots and gaiters and I tripped along behind feeling as though I ought to have been carrying a small dog in a handbag, and wearing a pair of high-heeled, fluffy pink mules, so under-equipped was I in comparison.



We got to the sea. Windspit (another charming name) looks like it used to be a quarry, and there are loads of odd square caves cut into the rock.



A group of people were rock climbing up and down the cliffs. Brrrrr.



We watched for a bit but nobody fell off.

The sea is too far away, down scary cliff faces to get to, but we sat on the edge of the rocks and watched it for a while. Most relaxing.



After scaring ourselves silly on the edge of the cliffs for a bit, we trekked back up the hills (didn't notice them on the way down) to the car, and then to Swanage for splendid fish and chips.



...passing the village duckpond on the way. One of the ducks was on a mission. He kept diving under the water, trying to catch one of the goldfish in the pond. Nice symbiotic relationship there. I bet the fish are really relaxed.



And then home for tea and medals. Marvellous.