Weymouth


Nathalie on the 'prom'












Today Nathalie and I made our annual pilgrimage to enmity. We go at least once a year to top up on tat and to observe Northeners enjoying the south coast in its full glory. Weymouth isn't a bad place to spend a warm June day, it always reminds me of that Monty Python sketch about class, Weymouth falls into the 'social but no class' category. You can always tell those from north of Watford, they insist on putting up windbreaks, playing cricket over half of the beach and having their bodies covered in tatoos, you should see the northern men as well!

I'd decided to take the day off for two reasons: firstly I'm absolutely shattered after looking after things for six weeks whilst Angela was off, doing one job can be hard enough, having to look after her clients as well as my own has been pretty, how shall I put it, interesting. Without Sheryl's back-up I think I would have cracked up weeks ago - she's a great worker when she wants to be and a very good friend, the chocolate teapot was no use as usual, passing the buck and not wanting to take any responsibility. The second reason was that Janis is now working Wednesday and Thursday nights and I didn't want Nathalie to have to spend a hot summers day indoors whilst her mother slept after work.

We arrived at Weymouth too early for the beach and so we went on to Portland Bill to look at the rocks and take some photographs by the lighthouse and the old style telephone box. An hour later we were back in George III's favourite seaside resort and walking down to the beach.

After an hour or so alternating between paddling in the sea and watching the incoming hordes we went for a walk to do some shopping and then back into the main part of the town for lunch. We found an Italian restaurant and enjoyed the food as much as we enjoyed the floorshow provided by the Italian manageress who performed even the simplest tasks with a wonderful theatrical flourish.

After lunch we drove back along the coast towards Wareham and called in at Durdle Door, we'd seen a painting of it in a shop window in Weymouth and I knew Nathalie had never seen it in the flesh. Having paid our £2.50 for two hours to the masked man on Black Bess we parked up on the grass and began the walk down towards the 'door'. The walk down the chalk path in deck shoes and flip flops wasn't the most responsible thing we've ever done but we arrived at the steps down to the beach with all limbs intact. We didn't go right down to the beach for two good reasons, first of all my vertigo finally got the better of me and secondly, Nathalie realised her choice of footwear for the day was not particularly conducive to walking down near vertical chalk steps - we'll go back later in the year in better suited footwear.




Nats at Durdle Door.









For those interested in geology Durdle Door is formed with the same Portland Stone which can be found in St Paul's Cathedral. The stone in London has eroded at a rate of 1cm. every 100 years. Clearly Durdle Door is not a permanent structure, but I think it's going to outlast me.

By the way the orange marks on my daughter's knees/legs are the result of leaving a twelve year old and her friend unsupervised with a bottle of fake tan.