Down to Charmouth beach next.
As you can imagine, my ability to just sit on the beach is rather limited, about 7 minutes is long enough to bung a stone in the direction of France.
But Charcombe has decent hills.
And I stretched my beach holiday out to 22 minutes while waiting for the Royal Oak to open at 11am (generous hours).
As families with children called Emma and Ryan Jr were heading down the hill, I was striding up, pausing only to reflect that the lookout hut is a surefire micro.
The village is pretty much a mile long High Street with a traffic jam and a WRVS cake stall, captured at its best from outside the lone pub.
They might have been open but they certainly weren’t expecting customers at 11.01.
A polite Landlady took my order for half a Copper and gave due instructions to a compliant husband.
The glass was deposited and a palm simultaneously outstretched with the words “£1.85 please” .
Now, I generally have a handful of coins already in my hands, but I don’t like that feeling of being rushed to proffer the exact change, particularly when there’s no easily readable price list at hand.
The very best pubs tell you the price while they’re pouring. Or just stick a contactless card reader in your face.
That Curmudgeonly gripe apart, it looked a decent all rounder, with a group of locals who’d recently won the All-West Dorset box lifting championships.
And the Palmers was cool and refreshing. If a bit dull.
Nicest thing anyone’s said about Palmers in years, Richard would have said.