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The Beloved and I have been meaning to go to the seaside for a while and she finally got enough work sorted that we could at last venture saltwards.
Christchurch was the first stop and, true to British summer form, it was flinging it down. Christchurh itself is a bit tired and dreary, spoiled by thundering lorries hurtling through continually – not helped by the weather, either. We joined the ducks and pigeons by the river and took shelter with others near the castle ruins before finding some food in the Ship. Disappointingly, the one thing I was interested to see, the electricity museum in the old power station, was closed. But I was cheered to see that the town still has somewhere as nostalgic-looking as the Regent – the Ship had classy black and white pictures of various stage shows it had shown dotted around its walls, lacking any celebs, pleasantly, and giving something of a community feel to the place. It also “boasted” a player piano, tinkling out soft jazz with invisible hands. Irritating, I suspect, over time…
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Lunched up, we headed to Mudeford, where the hotel loomed, threatening Poirot-esque adventures! As if to mirror the improved man-made views, the weather brightened up and we tootled off to the harbour passing a surprising amount of swans, battling it out with the seagulls for visitor’s scraps. Boats and Catamarans indicated the nature of the place, although it was out of season and little was being done by way of sea frolics. A number of people were catching the crabs that Mudeford is apparently known for, and equipment on the harbour side spoke of professionals in the wee hours.
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We didn’t venture on to the ferry as the weather looked as if it could change its mind any time, but I was pleased to note that my parrot, had I brought one, would have travelled free. Besides, it was by the sea, not on it, we wanted to be. Sand underfoot and the rhythmic sound of the waves. A lovely day. I remain amazed by how many people drive down to the seaside and sit in their cars watching the ocean. Step out! Go on, it won’t kill you! Actually, looking at some of the visitors, it may have. After stretching of legs and kicking of sand, a nearby pub beckoned to sit in the last of the sun, and amuse ourselves with near-or-far pint malarky whilst starlings bullied people out of their chips.
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Caught between bright skies and ominous clouds of doom, we eventually made our way back to the hotel (noting on the way that the local tree-rats are as fearless and well-fed as the swans) for some swimming and spa-ing before dinner and wine in the machine-efficient, and reasonably good, restaurant. The view at night was perfect across the becalmed waters, the hotel grounds gently lit by its own lights and spill from the Jetty restaurant. Unfortunately, my camera “night setting” sucks – but that didn’t stop us enjoying a stroll, watching a swan, drifting along sedately with its neck curled onto its wings until it was rudely awoken by its feet dragging on the shallow quay floor.
Ham, cheese, juice and cooked breakfast set us up for the day and the easy 2 hour drive home. Top time; we should holiday more often.
Disappointingly, nobody was murdered in the night, so our detective skills were left untested.
