A year ago we welcomed our friends Claire and Ty to Winterborne Kingston. We are on the threshold of another week of shared company in Dorset. As things have worked out the four of us are able to drive over together and we will be returning in the same car in a week’s time to join the Tailles for their annual party in St Vaast.
During their stay we visited Lyme Regis, Thomas Hardy’s home ‘Max Gate’ followed by some shopping in Dorchester, Wyevale Garden Centre and the Sculptures on the Lake at Pallington. Midweek they were picked up from TOW by Claire’s cousin who lives close by. Whilst they were away overnight I went to visit my mother in Poole and hosted bridge in the evening.
As occurred last year, the weather was very changeable and we did our best to dodge the worst of the showers. Our late afternoon walk around Lyme Regis was preceded by a visit to a garden we know at Morecombe Lake. Here our friends marvelled at the views and the energy and enterprise of the owners who have put in untold hours of work to shape the hillside plot into a distinctive garden with unusual plants, several water features and various sculptural installations which include a length of stainless steel flue-liner! In Lyme Regis we bought some crabs direct from the boat and Nick prepared these for a crab salad. We also squeezed in a cream tea and fish and chips at the Greyhound.
Although we are avid card-players we only managed one round of Spite and Malice. Tempus fugit. Come Saturday morning we hastened to Poole ferry terminal, picking up a bacon sandwich from the mobile transport café, this being our preferred option to break the fast. Arriving in St Vaast I repaired to my bed for a rest before dressing for a party with Fefe and Francois. There were platters of delicious and lovingly prepared canapes and later in the evening trays of sausage and pork snippets hot from the barbecue were handed around. The bubbly flowed. Feeling suitably festive guests began to jig around with Abba and Village People. At some point Fefe and I cosied up to the bar for a bit of hushed gossip concerning some of the assembled and I lost count of the number of times she told me she loved me. The feeling is mutual.