I’m always highly conscious when it’s 9am on a Monday morning and I haven’t yet posted a blog. The fact is I’m a whole 24 hours off, this weekend. Yesterday felt like Saturday all day; Saturday felt like a Friday. Why? Because I was working all day. Will & I were in London for the public exhibition of our buildings at Chelsea Barracks which will be going in for planning soon. All well and good. We scooped up Maggie and jumped on the 4.35 to Dorchester and got down to Dorset on Saturday evening.
Do you get my problem? Well, anyway, I’m very sorry if I have spoilt your Monday morning cup of coffee, but better late than never, as they say.
We all woke up on Sunday feeling lazy and not quite sure what to do with ourselves. For a fleeting moment I wondered if it was time to give up the Parsonage and move somewhere entirely new, for those Sunday mornings when you’re in the mood to make new discoveries not revisit old haunts. Luckily my friend Jason came to the rescue. “ARE YOU AT THE PARSONAGE THIS WEEKEND” he texted, at the moment that I was about to start packing. “yes”. “GREAT WE NEED A WITNESS TO THE LEASE”. Jason & Kate are moving from down the valley to the village for a few years which is very exciting indeed.
We went over to the house, which is the farm at the other end of the village. It’s a lovely walk.
I’m sure the farm was designed by the same architect, John Lougar, as the Old Parsonage. It shares many features including a very badly designed staircase. But like the O.P., it’s a beautiful house.
We had a good look around. Jason & Kate might have a bit of gardening to do.
The Goodwins hurtle about Dorset in a cool blue van. A photo of their current farmhouse forms the frontispiece of my book – the one with 100s of chickens, ducks and geese running in front of a beautiful old stone farm. It’s going to be great having them just down the road for a bit.
On the way back we caught the start of a cricket match at the cricket ground, looking for the world like David Inshaw’s famous painting of the same name (that I once wrote about here).
So we had decided to set off on a trip to Weymouth. I hadn’t been for ages, not since Ed Kluz & Simon Martin had been to stay back in February in the middle of a storm. Where else is there to go in the height of summer on a July Sunday afternoon when you don’t know quite what else to do?
I love Weymouth. The combination of perfect, incredibly grand Georgian and Regency architecture and brash seaside town. (Which reminds me I must plan my trip to Brighton soon to go and see Ed & Simon).
In the middle of town is the statue to George III which is beautifully painted in gaudy colours, and also displays King George’s bathing hut. It provides a suitable place for kids and skaters and ne’er-do-wells to hang out.
I especially love the railings at the base of the plinth.
The view from the first floor of Coral betting must be pretty spectacular.
Weymouth is famous for its sand sculptures.
I adore this photo of the Queen visiting the sand sculptor in 2012.
This little guy was about to dig himself in to a very deep hole.
Nearly every street is named after a Royal or a Duke.
Our day ended with fish and chips and tea on the seafront, opposite the Jubilee clock. Perfection on a plate.
I dropped Will and Maggie on the train back to London.
Slightly in contrast to the joys of Weymouth seafront, it was a perfect, still evening at the Parsonage.
The veg garden has gone into hyper-productive mode.
After a plate of fish and chips, it was beans and courgettes for supper.
There was a beautiful soft sunset across the valley.
…And it’s at moments like this that I realise I never want to leave. This morning I woke incredibly bright and early and spent an hour in the veg garden. Its a bright sunny day, the wood pigeons are calling, London feels a million miles away and it’s a new week to come. I hope yours is good.