Escape to River Cottage

First port of call today was West Bay, which was known as Bridport Harbour until at some point the Railway decided they wanted it to sound a bit more resort-ified. Walked round the harbour wall (bought chips) and then onto the beach, below the spectacular East Cliff which rises steeply from nothing on the shingle beach, a sheer sandstone face facing the sea.

The plan for the afternoon was to take a walk through Netherbury village and along the footpath by the river Brit for a pint (or two) at the Hare and Hounds at Waytown (about a mile and a half away by road). This was somewhat curtailed by the discovery that the pub was shut (what is it about Dorset pubs and shutting in the afternoon? Do Cornish people just drink more or something?).

Still, it was a lovely walk, with bluebells and wild garlic filling the hedgerows, and, AND, we found River Cottage, as in Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall's River Cottage (well, until a couple of years ago anyway). I'd worked out it had to be round here somewhere, on the grounds that he once canoed down the Brit, and it's only really deep enough from here, but still, turns out to be right where we're staying! Well, I'm easily pleased. Got jumped on by the large, scary (and fortunately friendly and reasonably well behaved) dog of whoever's staying there now. Remind me why putting on a clean white top was a good idea?

Back at the cottage, the weather still being spectacularly summerey (saw an orange tip fritillary, not seen one for years), we spent the afternoon in the garden with cheese and chutney baps and a bottle of champagne. Who needs pubs, eh?