We went to Dorset for the Seafood Festival. Actually the festival was sponsored by a French champagne house and the festival carried its name. But I am not here to promote a champagne.
It's been a long time since I went to the seaside. I last went to a seaside town - Scarborough, only to come face to face with the tackiness of it all: the promenades lined with tea rooms that competed on the price of a cup of tea, knickerbocker glory, all day English breakfast. Those were the days before the invasion of a £2 cup of coffee, and middle England was still in thrall to all things British, such as a decent cup of Typhoo tea. It was also a windy day, grey and dull, and I met this woman who showed me all her pre-owned rings that she bought from a local jeweler. It was a new world to me: frugality of a cup for many, recycling of rings for some.
Back to Weymouth. The beach, when it was nearly empty, was actually quite pleasant, lined on one side with eateries and souvenir shops. By noon, the beach was getting crowded, with all manners of bronzed bodies spilling out their excess flab and in some cases, covered in brown creases caused no doubt by sun damage. This was not the Riviera, I reminded myself. But some modesty could have gone a long way.
I am fascinated by donkey rides at seaside resorts. Why donkeys on a beach? It is difficult to trace this seaside tradition, although Wikipedia offered a line to say that the donkeys used in north of England could be retired donkeys from cockle picking. What I found terribly funny was the notice warning customers that only children under the age of 14 and under 7 stones (98 lbs) were allowed. Looking around at a whole bunch of grossly overweight adults, it was not surprising that there is now weight restriction for children on donkey rides.
What about the seafood? There were all sorts: crab, lobster, prawns, fish and chips, fish cakes, paella, Thai seafood, and not forgetting: cheeses, marshmallows, craft cider, the Dorset Echo (with free water), artisan bread, wood fired pizzas, driftwood, vegetable slicers, and all manners of things that screamed compulsive buying. Towards noon time, the old harbour where all the food stalls were located was packed with visitors, making free movement well nigh impossible. It was time to go.
It's been a long time since I went to the seaside. I last went to a seaside town - Scarborough, only to come face to face with the tackiness of it all: the promenades lined with tea rooms that competed on the price of a cup of tea, knickerbocker glory, all day English breakfast. Those were the days before the invasion of a £2 cup of coffee, and middle England was still in thrall to all things British, such as a decent cup of Typhoo tea. It was also a windy day, grey and dull, and I met this woman who showed me all her pre-owned rings that she bought from a local jeweler. It was a new world to me: frugality of a cup for many, recycling of rings for some.
Back to Weymouth. The beach, when it was nearly empty, was actually quite pleasant, lined on one side with eateries and souvenir shops. By noon, the beach was getting crowded, with all manners of bronzed bodies spilling out their excess flab and in some cases, covered in brown creases caused no doubt by sun damage. This was not the Riviera, I reminded myself. But some modesty could have gone a long way.
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| Sea front, Weymouth |
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| Empty deck chairs before the mass exhibition |
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| Donkey ride |
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| The old harbour |
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| Weymouth Town Centre |
