Osmington Mills (Day 3)

Last night the sky was inky blue coaxing the stars to come out to play. A clear night sky though, normally means a cold night so we were tucked up in Wee Margie before ten o' clock. The night time passed restlessly. John was cold and uncomfortable. Angela was hot and uncomfortable. At seven o' clock this morning we were ready to jump ship. The boot jump set up wasn't for us. It had to go and we were defiantly returning home! Sorry Wee Margie. Your time is up. Tired, we dozed until nine by which time we'd reconsidered. Let's not be hasty, we would reconfigure the sleeping arrangements, issue John with warmer night time attire and appreciate how lucky we were to be away in this beautiful spot. We booked to stay another night.

There are very few of us on the site now. No, it's not a toilet tent. Wee Margie catching the gaze of some passers-by. Ignore them, they're just jealous. It was late morning after talking to the couple who were caretakers of the site and who should have been in Turkey where they lived pre-covid, that we set off to walk along the coast path to Weymouth a journey of five miles. The section of the path between Lulworth and Weymouth is said to be the nicest of all the 630 miles, but we're sure there are people who would disagree with this. The walk started with a very steep climb but the views at the top were stunning. To our left the coast, to our right the White Horse of Osmington riding the south Dorset downs.

Our arrival at Bowleaze Cove on the edge of Weymouth jarred our senses. The little cove with its sand and shingle beach had been spoiled by loud music emanating from large speakers positioned amongst the shrubs,

Exotic plants, cocktail and wine bars, beach shops and coffee shacks were the new Bowleaze Cove. Good god we thought. The walk along the esplanade on to Weymouth was more us. Quiet apart from some elderly people out on hired mobility scooters breaking out from the confines of their holiday accommodation. The seafront at Weymouth was awash with fish and chips, ice cream, gift shops and cafes.

A very British seaside resort.

The area around the harbour had been regenerated with smart restaurants and flats. Sadly, as in most coastal towns the lovers of strong alcohol in tins were evident. We wondered what had happened to these people during their lives to bring them to this point. John had agreed to the walk to Weymouth as long as we took the bus back. So after rewarding ourselves with chips we joined the queue of 'bus pass' passengers. John is still waiting for his to come through. Suddenly we could see a whole new world opening us for us. Bicycle one way, bus the other. With a pack of butterfly sardines in our possession to cook on the grill we boarded. The bus took around twelve minutes to Osmington Mills. It had taken us two and a half hours to slowly walk there, stopping a lot to take in the view, take photographs, talk to other walkers and eat lunch. The main thing was we'd had a lovely afternoon.

Tomorrow, if tonight passes without event we will move a little further down the coast. Fingers crossed.