Dorchester is the perfect base from which to get as far away from Dorchester as possible, quickly.
A mere 13 face-covered minutes on the GWR to Weymouth, providing me with its annual Proper Pub in the GBG.
Or was it ?
First of all, the Dolphin looks awfully familar.
I’m sure I went in here to avoid a fight on the station the day Margaret Thatcher died.
All that’s irrelevant, however.
I know Matthew Lawrenson will appreciate the design of that simple but efficient message, which sadly hadn’t made its way to Facebook/Twitter/TikTok/t’internet etc etc.
Never mind. It’s Rishi Wednesday, let’s pop in Spoons and get half-price chicken bites.
Not a classic, is it ?
But elsewhere Weymouth never fails to astonish. It’s like a downbeat Southsea, despite the Olympic sailing sign (only 8 years old) and the Chesil Beach Cheryls on their way to water sports on Portland.
TWO Chinese takeaways and a mobility scooter on the same street. Bingo !
It’s heaving, just like Ilfracombe the other week. Squint at the beach and river photos, spot someone only 1.7m apart, and shout “SECOND WAVE !” like they do on the BBC.
Then rejoice that, for some of us, life is returning to a form of normality.
Bit suspicious of the naked gnomes and chip buckets though…