Wet holidays

[ailbhe]

We woke to drizzle, the soft, saturating kind. So we drove towards Durdle Door but decided not to attempt to see it because visibility was poor, wind good, falling - sorry. We couldn't have seen it unless we'd swum out to it by dead reckoning, so we didn't try.

Instead, Jen drove us to Dorchester and left us. Which was a shame, because we saw the most wonderful little museum and I had my first ever crema tea (yum yum. Yum yum yum. YUM). I suspect she went back to care for Peggy and perform some necessary domestic and professional duties, though, which was more or less unavoidable. Bah humbug; everyone I know should have a large private income - each - and no more strenuous demands than oppressing the proletariat.

We got the train to Wareham and the bus to Corfe then and checked in to the hotel, which was, ah, less salubrious than we had hoped for. The twin room had an ensuite sink, and an ensuite shower (without opaque glass inthe door) and there was a toilet down the hall with a door that didn't close properly, let alone lock. And the barlady was scary. Well, not really, but I felt I should apologise for coming to her bar. She refused to make me a hot whiskey, too, though I could see that they had all the ingredients.

So we had a wonderful dinner anyway, and played backgammon and talked and stopped to go and watch Have I Got News For You and came back and drank and talked some more. Then we went to sleep.