Lie of the land
3 August 2014
It’s been a beautiful weekend in Dorset, but I’ve been a touch reclusive as well. Those who fell victim of my hermit-like nature know who they are, and they know that I’m very sorry. But it’s been one of those days where the peace, the quiet, and the calm beauty of the immediate landscape was so all-encompassing, so complete and whole—that it was hard to leave. It’s been a pretty frantic week. The value of a day where there’s no driving, no talking, no rushing around… is like gold.
But last night I made a sudden plan to have supper with Chris & Roy on Portland. The drive over was spectacular.
In the evening haze was the magical moment when the whole of Lyme Bay turns to brilliant silver-gold:
The spire you can see just peeping through the trees is the church next door to the Parsonage:
Chris and Roy’s house is perfect (as regular readers of the blog will know). Their garden is looking even more perfect:
I love their new neighbour’s glam beaten up Merc parked among the little seaside front gardens.
We went for a sunset walk pre-supper.
A good thing this house is called Hollyhocks:
There are so many beautiful houses on Portland, if you care to look. If anyone reading this blog happens to be looking for a wonderful Georgian house in West Dorset with stunning coastal views and for about a quarter of the price of anywhere else within 150 miles…. well, it might just be worth looking at Portland. I love its strange mysterious sense of history and reality.
Equally, I love this begonia and geranium garden. Perfect.
A perfect spot for dinner:
The beach huts cling in a random pattern to the cliff-side:
Houses emerge out of the rock itself:
As dusk settles over Chesil Beach, little clusters of all-night fishermen gather in their tents, in the warm breeze.
I might be off to Greece in a couple of weeks (and I cannot tell you how happy and excited I am about that)… but in its own tiny way, sunset from Portland on Saturday gave a nice preview.
This morning I woke up feeling tired… Not quite ready to head to London. So I cancelled plans and stayed in Dorset. I love a walk around the garden in bare feet on dewy grass paths.
It was a perfect day. I did very little indeed. As the sun set, I reflected on how insanely lucky I’ve been to be able to make this small corner of Dorset my own for a few years.
The west facade of the church caught the last rays of the sun.
Everywere, the moment is waiting… the tipping point from late summer to Autumn. I love these points of the year, poised on the cusp… the garden rushing into final hyper-production at the end of this glorious July.
I love travel at the moment; I love being in London, and all the moments in between. But most of all, just now, tonight, I cannot think of anywhere else I’d rather be than tucked up in bed in my corner of the house, in my tiny corner of Dorset, and thinking about the lie of the land, and of the month to come.