It was a lovely weekend. I’m writing a day late – it was that nice.
We had our friends Jamie and Richard staying, who are themselves old friends of one another. All completely relaxing. Many happy times were had showing new visitors old favourites. The main request, not unusually, was to see the sea.
So on Saturday, after Bridport Market, where we hoovered up beautiful bits of china from the £1 lady (everything is a pound, well, nearly everything. some things are £2), and bought some very nice books from Bridport Old Books…. well, we went down to the coast at Abbotsbury, which has to rate as one of the most idyllic village in Dorset, I suppose. I love the startling moment when you begin to drop down from the hills above into the town, the whole of Chesil beach stretching out in front of one’s eyes.
As with many other friends we walked the gentle walk up to St. Catherine’s chapel where hopeful maidens used to pray for a husband, as old lore has it.
The sun was breaking through the cloud and the colour of the sea was spectacular. Could this be Dorset, and could this be the dreadful English summer of 2016? Things were looking up.
Fish and chips in the pub. I hate those sachets of tomato ketchup and mayonnaise almost more than anything else on earth.
An old gent of Abbotsbury pottered in his beautiful veg garden on our way back.
On Sunday, we woke early. Heat was in the air and we decided that as well as just looking at the sea we should go to it. So we mooched over to Hive beach after breakfast. The sun suddenly broke through the clouds again.
A heat wave shimmered on the beach, oh rare event, and life felt very good.
Charlie and I thought we should try Mavis with the water again, but it’s still not hugely her thing.
She was a lot more interested in digging a huge hole around Charlie.
Back home the menagerie was equally mental. The kittens are going crazy.
but then have long, long sleeps all afternoon (in this case on Richard’s bed).
Mavis needed a long, long sleep too. We all did, really, at some stage over the weekend.
It was a perfect afternoon as reluctantly the boys got back into their cars and started on the drive to London. I was meant to catch a train.
The sun sparkled and I thought to myself, it’s just too nice to leave. 
Trains can wait.
I don’t mind getting up extremely early in the morning.
And that was that.
It really was the perfect, perfect summers evening. All over England, I suspect, good and happy people breathed a sigh of relief, able to eat outside in still, peaceful air, watching the magically settling sun, and still feeling warm after it had gone down.
A nearly full moon rose behind the church steeple.
And we cleared away the chairs and tables, and made our way eventually to bed.
It was an early start this morning, to catch the 6.07, but I didn’t mind (I don’t even think Charlie minded). I was in a very very good mood, the good sort of mood that can only come from a moment of real, true relaxation just when you didn’t expect it. Even the fact that 15 minutes out of Dorchester station the train stopped and we all had to disgorge because there were massive signalling problems on the line couldn’t get me out of my good mood. One or two people went a bit frantic, but I’ve always been of the view that raising your voice at the guard isn’t going to mend the train. Eventually we got to London where it has been a hot old day. But I think that just once, when it first arrives, no one really minds the heat. Time to enjoy rare pleasures just now.
