From Wiltshire to Dorset

I was going stir crazy here, so far from the sea, and had been studying my big road atlas for days. It has to be Dorset from here, as the Bristol Channel is just not sea-ish enough. I was in quite a Hardy mood anyway, and thought I’d see Shaftesbury that I’d never seen, Sherbourne, and the Cerne Abbas giant, and then get down to Abbotsbury and be on Chesil Beach for the first time in my life, even though I’d read all about it in my Observer’s Book of Geology when I was eleven and have wanted to go since then.

It all sounds lovely, doesn’t it? Very very Dorset-y. Googling it in advance I saw that chocolate box pic of Golden Hill in Shaftesbury and thought that I bet the real thing is even better. Yes it is.

I found the wonderful walks along the top of the escarpment for some future when I’m an old lady, and I walked down and up Gold Hill. It is pretty amazing. Cobbles with grass is a beautiful thing. However, it really is an oldies’ town. I feel sorry for the yoof in such towns (see also Sherbourne below). There is such deadness in these towns, especially on a Sunday. When I was down in Nice in December I witnessed such a lovely moment of young cyclists, roller booters and joggers all in their lycra, meeting up as they were doing their thing on the prom prom prom, and kissing like the French do, and I thought what a wonderful life people have down there -- just like the life that I saw on the South Bank on New Year’s Day this year. For the first time I harboured the thoughts that the country life might not be as fulfilling as I’ve always thought it was, and that there could be a lot more sociable fun to be had in the cities.

Sherbourne is one of those rather dreadful deadly towns that is dominated by its public school. Think Street in Somerset, or Marlborough here. You can wonder why there are so many young Asians in Sherbourne till you realise they are the kids from the school roaming around.

So, after a quick look in the abbey (great ceiling) it was on down past the famous Cerne Abbas giant to Chesil Beach. That was like a moonscape and I am glad I went. The sound of the waves is music to my ears, but you can't walk along it. Crunch, crunch, crunch it goes, but you are moonwalking, and it's really hard going. I wish they'd bulldoze a sandy strip along it. Two sisters from Nottingham were fishing with tremendous rods and lines and I took their photo for them.

I ended my day on Portland Bill, another place that I'd never been to, watching a huge red sun go down and dreading the 100 mile drive home. It’s no good. I love my downland life, but how can I have it and the sea?

Roll on the next millenium when, no doubt, we can be beamed up.