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.

RIP Willow

As of last Saturday, Willow, the friendly, smelly and exuberantly destructive female bunny we have homed for the past 18 months or so, is no more. She had always struggled to put on weight since we had her, but had become progressively thinner recently and had eaten less and less, and had started withdrawing under a chair in the living room that she hadn’t sat under before. We took her to the vet who advised that she couldn’t feel any tumours and agreed with Ruth that Willow’s symptoms didn’t seem to indicate GI stasis, but was of the view that there was undoubtedly something seriously wrong. The upshot, after some discussion, was that we ended up having her put to sleep (and have consequently now received the customary card from Oakley Road vets, containing the bill and a stirring verse condoling re the loss of your loved one). We brought Willow back from the surgery as Ruth wanted to bury her in the garden, which she duly did and is now pondering an appropriate plant for the space. Posting a small photographic tribute in memory of Willow.

Pondering her next move	With Ruth on the sofa	Pondering going out of doors
On the green waste bag	Her favourite spot by the fence	Down the drain: another of her favourite spots
Really getting stuck in	On the sofa again	An unreadable expression

Rundown of June

Ruth and I attempted to have a video call on Skype in early June as prep for an interview she had coming up which was to be held via this medium. In addition to checking that there was e.g. no controversial literature on display directly behind where she planned on sitting, she also wanted to get an idea of where to look in order to appear to be looking at the interviewers, etc. Since beginning this whole fun-filled dual living thing, I have only had mobile rather than fixed line broadband, which is quite adequate for web-surfing and emailing but not so hot for video calling. The last exchange we appeared to have had on Skype was the following over a year ago, during which we seem to have actually managed a 16-minute call. We did at least manage to check the angle she was facing, even if the video did indulge in endless buffering and eventually gave up altogether.

Wolverton Park has been in the (at least, regional) news recently due to this incident earlier in June in which a man’s body was discovered in one of the flats in Trevithick Court (the block across from mine). The initial incident was in fact a fire in the flat at around 11.30 one evening, apparently attended by more than 30 firefighters – proving again what a heavy sleeper I am, as I had the bedroom window open and my bedroom looks out onto the area where the fire engines would have pulled up, and yet I heard nothing. The body was discovered by firefighters inside the flat but I believe I’ve read subsequently that it’s thought that the poor chap died prior to the fire. The first I knew of the incident was the following morning when I looked out towards the canal and saw a ‘Police – do not cross’ line guarded by an actual policeman. A section of the towpath was closed off for a day or so and it sounds as though the flat was completely gutted. Someone has evidently appeared in court – or rather via video link from prison – charged with arson with attempt to endanger life. Not heard anything about what’s happened subsequently, but the idea of the killer abseiling to safety, mentioned here, does seem rather far-fetched.

As far as I got by myself

I did get a knock on the door from the police a few evenings later, as part of their doing the rounds of both blocks, but was able to say conclusively that I Know Nothing. Very happy to have no further involvement with police or the justice system for a while. It’s already become something of a joke at work that I was burgled at my last flat and now there appears to have been a murder near current flat. Matt has cautioned me not to move to live near him any time soon lest I bring bad karma.

Finished product

Recently bought a Poäng chair and footstool from IKEA, which I am very pleased with. Actually made some headway with putting it together myself, though required Ruth’s assistance to finish the job. V. pleasant for evening reclining.

We had our first ever weekend visit from Ruth’s mother on Friday 12th. Mrs M had driven from Norfolk to her sister’s house in Lambourn earlier in the day, and had got the train to Reading from Hungerford, arriving full of the news that the last time she’d made that train journey was around 1970. Gosh. She and Ruth went off to London on the Saturday as Ruth had got them tickets for Trooping the Colour; they arrived back late afternoon seeming to have enjoyed it, plus a browse around King’s Road. And apparently they sat only a few rows back from Phil Spencer, the back of whose head did feature in some of Ruth’s video footage of the occasion.

Aldbrickham Clog Dancers

I amused myself by popping into town to do some shopping, and on the way back meandering along the Holy Brook and through Forbury Gardens to check out Reading Water Fest. Lots of boats and stalls selling tea towels etc. The crowds in Forbury Gardens were entertained by the Aldbrickham Clog and Step Dancers, who are apparently celebrating 50 Years of Clogging in Reading this year. Their sole male dancer was a chap of reasonably advanced years, so hopefully they’ve got some younger men coming up through the ranks. Here’s some actual footage of them (and their piper) filmed on the day. Gail and Rob joined us for lunch on the Sunday and I blitzed them with yet more quiche, and Ruth baked a crumble.

I managed to persuade Ruth up for a visit to MK for the weekend of 20/21 (the recent murder – see above – having only added fuel to her argument that it’s no fit place to live). On the Friday evening we went into Stony Stratford (as a far more enticing option for drinks and dinner than Wolverton) and had a drink at the Vaults before trying out the restaurant of The Bull next door (pleasant enough pub but food a bit disappointing). Not sure whether I believe Stony’s story about the two former coaching inns on its high street having been the origin of the phrase ‘cock and bull story’. On the Sunday we took a walk along the disused railway line as far as the canal at Great Linford, where we turned off for a drink at The Black Horse before walking along the towpath back to Wolverton.

Mum gamely came up for a visit the following weekend – I say ‘gamely’ as it seemed to involve a circa 4-hour train journey; for travelling east-west Milton Keynes might as well be in bloody Lincolnshire. After giving her lunch I drove us out north of Milton Keynes via Haversham and Hanslope to Salcey Forest, as I’d seen something a while ago to suggest there was a sculpture trail there. In the event we didn’t come across the trail or indeed any reference to it on the signage, though we did have a pleasant walk in the woods once we were away from the central car park/playground/ice cream area. We did indulge in an ice cream ourselves at the end of our walk.

Mum on forest seat

Have since tried to find out more about Salcey Forest but without much success. Mum was interested in the bit in the centre of the map labeled ‘Salcey Lawn’ and marked as private. I’ve gathered that Salcey Lawn is a house, as I found this entry on British Listed Buildings, but no picture – indeed have drawn a blank on trying to Google any images of it. It must be a shy, elusive type of house. I did find this picture labelled “House at the start of the drive to Salcey Lawn’, but that was as close as I got.

The British Listed Buildings text notes that Salcey Lawn was “formerly the seat of a younger branch of the Fitzroy family”. I gather FitzRoy is the family name of the Dukes of Grafton, so assume it’s the same family, though could find nothing about which bit of them lived at Salcey Lawn or when/if they left. (Relevant to nothing, but how young is the current Duke of Grafton? It’s obscene. I realize dukedoms are inherited, not striven for, but really.)

Apparently Salcey Forest once had its own railway station, though it sounds as though it was one of the shortest-lived stations ever; I quote: “The station was not situated near any settlement and only saw passenger services for four months, it being most likely an error of judgement by the railway company”.

In the evening we dined at the Calcutta Brasserie, the most upmarket-looking of Stony Stratford’s circa half a dozen Indian restaurants. The Calcutta is housed in a converted chapel, so I had been curious to go there partly on that account; also I did have a takeaway chicken dish from there while staying at the Old Stratford Travelodge last year and thought it pretty nice. In the event Mum and I both thought the food was very good and it’s certainly an interesting setting for a restaurant. Mum did a bit of cunning Googling and discovered that the building (of which the restaurant occupies only part, the bit that looks like a chapel) appears to have been originally built as a school and later occupied by the Fegan's Home for Boys.

Mum on platform

Stylish white fence. And mat.

On the Sunday we went out for a walk – despite the rain – along the same route that Ruth and I had walked the previous weekend, this time going a little further as far as the platform of the former Great Linford station. The last train ran through in 1967 and it evidently then fell into general disarray - there are some interesting photographs here. Today, the platform area is amazingly well kept with a neat flowerbed and everything. We went for lunch at The Black Horse and then did the canal walk back to Wolverton Park.

The garden at the house has been looking jolly pretty lately. Ruth’s painting of our side of the fence along the side return has helped with the trendy urban air we’re going for. Also, the grasses behind the water feature have become amazingly swishy.