Exmouth

Last night the sun eventually showed splitting the cloud into a design of crazy paving. We walked out back through the sculpture park to catch the sunset, but the cloud was too thick to see it. 

Last night Marge was one of five vans. The others were all permanent homes for young people. We could understand why with rents unaffordable and mortgages unobtainable. By nine thirty this morning all but one of our nomadic neighbours had departed. Would they return to Portland tonight or move on we wondered. 

Before leaving the tied island of Portland we stopped at Lidl for a baguette and chocolate brownies. We'd become so used to these foods being part of our daily diet whilst in France we couldn't resist.

The journey to Exmouth was challenging for Marge, particularly around Burton Bradstock and Lyme Regis. We drove through pretty villages of thatched cottages, stone bridges and English country pubs. Marge struggled more than a little up some of the long drags and was glad when we parked near to the end of Chesil Beach to take a photograph back towards Portland.

Deep breaths Marge, slow and steady. We're not happy either, memories of the Pyrenees fresh in our minds. However, the struggle was worth the views along the coast. Beautiful. 

We are in Devon now. A county of narrow, undulating, potholed roads. The drive is not much fun for John as he sits on the centre line and Angela can sense his nerves as she drives. Have Faith. Tonight, we are staying just back from the seafront at Exmouth behind the small nature reserve.

After lunch we took a walk up on to the coast path to Orcombe Point to the Geoneedle an impressive landmark constructed of various rock types found along the Jurassic Coast. Tired from waking early and the drive we lay on the grass for an hour with the sun warming us as a breeze blew across our prone bodies. Then a walk back down to the promenade and along the seafront to the far end of the beach. By now it was five o' clock and family, friends, couples were gathering on the beach making the most of a warm evening. The air filled with the aroma of heating charcoal. The vibe was great. We bought two ice lollies and returned to Marge who was now accompanied by a fair few vans including a forty year old Volkswagen T2 made in South Africa. It looked very retro. 

Tomorrow we will drive towards Exeter where we will attend a tent show. If there's one thing John can't resist it's looking at lightweight tents, and as we are hoping to cycle in France later this year he's on the lookout for a replacement for ours.

The other thing he can't resist is edible fungi. And not perturbed by last weeks dodgy digestive system he's spotted a young 'chicken of the woods' fungi with its golden-yellow shelf like structure growing on a tree nearby. Angela can tell it's heading our way which is fine, but she wont be eating it.

A last walk out to view the sun setting.

Portland

Let's go to the Riviera Marge. Great, we're off to France again. No. The English Riviera. Didn't think of taking Wee Margie then? No Marge you're our best girl. It'll give you a chance to show off your newly sprayed wheels. Silver suited Angela, but John much prefers the anthracite grey they now are.

Before

After Refurbishment

By half past one Marge was nestled in the corner of the parking area behind the Tout Quarry Nature Reserve on Portland.

After lunch we walked through the nearby sculpture park then onto the coast path with views across to the tidal sandbank of Chesil Beach.

The wind blew offshore making the walk a little treacherous in places, particularly on the narrower sections. John was worried Angela might fall as if anything happened to her, he didn't know how to operate the washing machine! The breeze chilled us, and the area felt desolate, like the end of the world. Keen to escape the wind we walked off the coast path cutting through St. George's churchyard stopping to look at a bomb crater.

In July 1942 an enemy bomb narrowly missed the church landing amongst the ancient graves. The windows and door of the church, closed in 1917 were blown out. The crater left by the bomb has been lined with pieces of unidentified headstones, broken urns and ironwork found in the area after the bomb landed. Interesting.

Portland is rather neglected and ramshackle. But we like it. The coast is interesting and the views stunning back towards Chesil beach as it disappears into the distance. 

Tomorrow we will head towards Exmouth excited about this next trip.

There is an adventure in all of us, you just have to find it, or let it find you. Isn't that right Marge? 

Poole

You guessed it, last night didn't pass by without event. Around eleven o' clock John had an attack of severe cramp, twice! A little rain fell reminding us we'd left socks and a towel out to dry. Oh dear. 

This morning a sea mist had crept in hiding the headland. Despite the drizzle it was warm. At the campsite shop the lady who owned the site told Angela the weather would improve, but we weren't so sure. Packed up by twelve we set off back to Swanage where we knew homemade fish cakes and chips awaited us at the Fish Plaice on the quayside. Comfort food at its best. We had decided to return home, realising that we had tried to treat Wee Margie as Marge. But a campervan she was not. Having now sussed how we should use Wee Margie we have a trip planned in the near future which does not include using the toilet tent style awning. 

Swanage was quiet and after lunch we walked out to the Peveril Ledge stopping at the lifeboat station along the way.

On the quayside we'd seen a man entertaining the visitors with his one-man band. Somethings just make you smile. Across the bay sits Ballard Down where our coast path walking neighbours camped on their first night. We decided we would cycle there this year and camp up on the down.

We are now home and are already loading up Marge ready to continue on our journey to Devon. We will probably leave home on Thursday.

A walk down to Poole quay for a meal after we walked through the motorbikes, which gather weekly on a Tuesday until the end of summer. We are suffering from Wanderlust. John's daughter suggested we become full time Nomads, but we'd miss the comforts of home.

Don't go away blog followers, we'll be back later this week with more antics of Marge and ourselves.

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.