Osmington Mills, South West Coast Path, Dorset

Angela had made it clear when we arrived last night at Scratchy Bottom that she wasn't walking up the cliff path directly in front of us. Fortunately John agreed, and it was decided we would take a lower footpath across to the farm and onto a main road. We didn't. Of course we didn't. We opted for option three.

On the other side of the fence a path carved through the long brittle grass. It was hard going. No surprise there. But Angela was able to hold onto the barbed wire fence, obviously on the smooth sections, and we were able to grab hold of the fence posts every few paces to stop and rest, and take in the view back towards Durdle Door. Summiting, with relief, we could see we were well and truly now on 'the rollercoaster'.

But we could do this. Slow and steady. In the near distance we could see the island of Portland, and the causeway that linked it to the mainland.

A cruise ship, sat on it's berth, awaiting departure through the beautiful aquamarine waters of the English channel.

As we perched high on the chalk cliffs taking a well earned rest, we looked back along the coast and couldn't believe how far we'd walked since Friday afternoon. Whilst sitting, Angela spotted she had a tick embedded in her upper arm. Bearing in mind we were balanced precariously on a narrow cliff top path, the task of undoing her rucksack to obtain our tick card was challenging. The heavy rucksack wanting to go with gravity and slide towards the cliff edge.

By the end of the day we were to remove a total of six ticks. Two from Angela, four from John. Keen to not lose our momentum, and knowing there would be at least one more horrendous climb before dropping down into Ringsted Bay, we pressed on, passing the old coastguard cottages, and stopping to look at a young slow worm as it slithered across the path.

Small brown butterflies flitted around us, sitting on the path, taking flight just as our foot touched the ground before them. They felt like guardians. The downhill walk to Ringstead Bay made the hard effort of the morning all worth it. We love it at Ringstead, and we loved even more knowing a cafe, loos and a drinking water top up awaited us. BLT baps and carrot cake, hot drinks and ginger beer rejuvenated us. This was our reward for not giving up.

With just two miles to walk to the campsite at Osmington Mills, another one of our favourite places, we meandered our way through a wooded area until we reached the Smugglers Inn which stands above the bay at Osmington. 

Then one final incline up to the campsite reception. We'd made it! More so, we'd made it in one piece, mentally, and physically. Now time to kick back, wash some clothes and ourselves before pushing the boat out and having an absolutely delicious meal at the Smugglers this evening.

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.

Osmington Mills (Day 2)

Having now survived two nights in Wee Margie moving everything around inside her to better suit our needs we now have a system. This morning whilst John enlightened the neighbours on all things campervan and travelling Angela hired two cold blocks from the campsite shop to keep the cold bag cool. Yesterday evening we put some bacon belonging to our coast path walking neighbours in the bag as the evening was warm. It felt good to help them out, and be part of their journey. Tonight they will be staying at the Youth Hostel on Portland, we have thought about them during the course of the day. 

Lunch packed in our rucksack we walked along the coast path to Ringstead Bay. Along the path we met a lady striding out. She stopped to chat. She enlightened us her husband had bad lungs and could only walk slowly; he was somewhere further down the path so we would probably pass him. She'd left instructions with him that if he fell over the cliff edge to text her!Ring

stead Bay is a pretty little hideaway with views across Weymouth Bay to Portland. After a stop at the cafe we settled ourselves on the beach of shifting pebbles and people watched. Some people are just not designed to wear wetsuits. The afternoon passed by quickly as we warmed in the sun of a beautiful May day. Ice cream anyone? 

Whilst washing up this evening John spoke to our lady neighbour. He told her we had a lovely campervan back at home. Why then were we effectively sleeping in our car? It's all about kayaks. We can carry them on the roof of Wee Margie, but not Large Marge. Is she looking down her nose at me? No Wee Margie. Tell her I'm high mileage like you two. Charming!

John has been a little troubled in the bowel department these last couple of days so tomorrow we will probably stay once again at Osmington. What could be the cause? Wild Mushrooms anyone?