I read that the “Rule of Six” will kill Christmas. If so, I will find myself applauding the Honourable Pfeffel for the first time in my life.
Mrs RM just told me that you’re a Facebook failure if you haven’t bought all your Christmas presents by now.
“Mrs RM, I have ALREADY bought all the presents I’m going to send this year”
On Saturday I woke at 5:50 and found Mrs RM determined to join Baa Baa Toure and I on our latest adventure.
Four hours later we were approaching the Dorset coast, only briefly detained by that English need to make ourselves a cup of coffee in the New Forest.
I’d forgot to put the fridge on so the milk was curdled and it only scored a NCCSS* 1.5.
Lulworth Cove is where the pashminas and pullovers go for an ice cream and latte, and also the centre of the Covid hysteria back in Lockdown.
Mrs RM wasn’t going to Durdle Door for a spot of tombstoning, she was happy with a half of Badger at the posh Hall & Woodhouse pub.
Yes, another posh Hall & Woodhouse pub.
So we had to go on-line and book a table for a half at midday, even though the Lulworth Cove Inn claimed earlier opening. Yes, we could take our chances on an outside table, but it’s a long journey for nothing.
Parking at the cove costs cash money, so we parked a mile out near the Castle pub, and annoyed a village collectively hell-bent at cursing folk bring the London plague-bringers and parking outside their thatched cottage.
Technically this is West Luworth, though the way GBG entries alternate it’ll be under Lulworth in GBG21 and Greater Durdle the next year, before settling in Isle of Purbeck.
The Inn is the big draw for visitors who’ve spent the regulation 10 minutes at the bay but can’t be bothered to walk the hill to Durdle.
NEVER trust a pub with writing on the wall, as BRAPA will tell you.
We got there at 11am, just as I was having a long chat with Mum about felt roofing, so Mrs RM asked the Italian barman if we could have our booking early.
Disappointingly, he was accommodating, which makes it hard for me to slag off his pub.
But I’ll try.
The Badger was dull, dull, dull. Are there really no pubs in Dorset than the ones in the Guide ?
“Can I go to the toilet ?” I asked the Italian; it’s been a big week for Italians.
“No” he said. I should have booked the loo, I suddenly realised.
“You may drink here but no go to the toilet“. Oh, very droll, well done sir.
A long way for a half, a short hop for a view as good as this.
Right, where next, Mrs RM.
*National Campervan Coffee Scoring System
retiredmartin 
So does “NEVER trust a pub with writing on the wall” mean that the writing’s on the wall if a pub has writing on the wall ?
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Never eat at a pub – or anywhere else – that has pictures of food outside.
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Life lessons.
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A favourite of mine, given by a friend of some experience – and based on reason if you think for a moment – is “always keep your distance from a car with a steaming exhaust”
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Never eat anything bigger than your head. Served me well, that one.
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Never eat anything from a blue plate.
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“Mrs RM just told me that you’re a Facebook failure if you haven’t bought all your Christmas presents by now.”
I’ve always had my Christmas presents bought by now. It’s called ‘cash’ and it sits in my bank account until I transfer it to the accounts of my two lads. 😉
“I’d forgot to put the fridge on so the milk was curdled and it only scored a NCCSS* 1.5.”
Pfft. To quote a line from the movie Airplane, I like my coffee black… like my men. 😉
“but it’s a long journey for nothing.”
Surely the drive and the scenery is compensation enough. Not to mention the wonderful conversations the two of you could have whilst driving.
“Parking at the cove costs cash money, so we parked a mile out near the Castle pub,”
A bit like my brother when he drives to Tournai for the afternoon.
“and annoyed a village collectively hell-bent at cursing folk bring the London plague-bringers and parking outside their thatched cottage.”
Can they tell by your license plate? We’re getting a bit of that over here with out of province plates; or even out of country! (Yanks are allowed to drive thru Canada on their way to Alaska, but many are getting ‘lost’ on the way). 😉
“but can’t be bothered to walk the hill to Durdle.”
Is that some sort of euphemism? 🙂
“NEVER trust a pub with writing on the wall, as BRAPA will tell you.”
Ah. Shades of the Mute Swan.
“just as I was having a long chat with Mum about felt roofing,”
Felt roofing? I thought felt was reserved for psychedelic black light posters from the 70’s.
““You may drink here but no go to the toilet“”
Fer fook’s sake. Does he think you’re in San Francisco? 😉
“*National Campervan Coffee Scoring System”
Thanks. That extra ‘C’ had me confused.
Cheers!
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So you’re an uphill durdler then?
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