Dorset

Born in the heart of the Midlands, in fact, The Black Country, I grew up about as far from the sea as it’s possible to be in the UK. As I child, I don’t think there was a year that I didn’t have a holiday at the seaside and right from the start I developed a deep love for the coast, beaches and the different air and light that is missing from my landlocked home.

This adventure of our was always going to include lots of coast and the 7^th of November was the day we moved to a site just outside Dorchester, just a 15 minute drive from the lovely bay at Weymouth.

As usual we were given a warm welcome at the Camping & Caravan Club Site at Moreton, which is right by the railway station and The Frampton Arms, so just perfect for us.

The following day we took a trip to Chesil Beach and Portland Bill, the weather was a bit blowy but good to get rid of the cobwebs.

We discovered Rowley doesn't like pebble beaches, so we won’t be taking him on one again, unless I buy him a pair of doggie shoes, bless him.

The Portland Races, which can be seen from Portland Bill, are an awesomely vicious stretch of sea caused by two bodies of water colliding, in a spectacular way. We watched a Container Ship going through the edge of them, it looked a rough passage.

Portland Island is a rather depressing looking place. This is where Portland Stone comes from and everything is built in it. Strangely, unlike buildings elsewhere in the Country, little is done with the stone here, it’s used in large, random sized blocks and probably the most attractive building there, for me, is an old, redundant church, which still couldn't be described as pretty.

There was a plaque in the church, which commemorated a part of our history, which is often forgotten.

While the prison that we only saw from the distance is as forbidding as any building could be.

 As the majority of Dorset has such pretty buildings, the Isle of Portland seems rather out of place. There are of course local jokes, as the bridge was only built to the Isle  in recent times, about in-breeding and folk having an extra eye in the middle of their forehead etc.

That evening we had arranged to take the train into Dorchester, to meet my cousin, Stuart. Well to be more accurate, my first cousin once removed. Stuart moved to the town, a few years ago and has a growing collection of Hairdressers and Vintage Shops. Stuart’s father, Ken, was my much older cousin and a particular favourite of mine, with a larger than life character. He had been named after my Dad and with their wavy, golden locks and only about ten years age difference they looked more like brothers, than Uncle and Nephew. When I was 9, I was thrilled to be chosen as a bridesmaid for Ken’s wedding and I still have the dress, up in my loft at home. I'm hoping, in our travels, after Christmas, to go and see Ken’s Widow, Kate, who now lives on the coast in Devon, as do Stuart’s, Brother and Sister and their families.

This trip of ours is an excellent way of meeting up with far flung friends and family and really is the icing on the cake for us.

We of course had a lovely evening with Stuart, who has a lot of his Father’s character and there was much laughing over past events and family eccentricities. Not only are most of my Harper family fairly bonkers, the Harpers like to marry larger than life characters too and a book could certainly be written about them all.