I’d gathered that Lyme Regis was a pretty place. It crops up in literature and film, in the Sunday supplements, and in tales of new year’s day. Still, somehow, my jaw dropped.
A bright sunshiny summer day- apparently these are not uncommon in the south of England- prehistoric scenery, fossils at our feet. A promenade. Fabulous houses (one was for sale, but I couldn’t persuade Spurs Fan). deck chairs and parasols. Many varieties of ice cream. So very civilised. An odd mix of the rugged and the cosmopolitan.
I’ve never seen real live actual beach huts before. Naturally, I want one. It would be remarkably out of place in Donegal. I tried very hard (and failed) not to stare in each as we passed. Books and beds, coffee machines and champagne coolers side by side with bikes and wetsuits. Cath Kidston and Emma Bridgewater abound. I wanted a clipboard and an ID badge and to ask all the questions. An alien, yet appealing, version of the seaside experience.
Uncle Bungle took Girl1 and I to explore. We passed the cottages named for the two sea captains from Austen’s Persuasion. A winding, busy street, probably straight from a television programme about Very English Englishness. There were shops…
When we returned to our group picnic spot- a comfy bit of wide wall at the edge of the sand, near the ice cream stand- the group had left. We’d been too long exploring the pretty instead of the pebbles.
We found them fossil hunting among the stones. Just how old is 190 Million years? Unimaginable. Discoveries of crystal. Wetness, and a wind blown dander along the Cobb. We avoided the infamous steps. Jake kept being drawn to the crab catchers by the lure of fishy goodness, but got pulled away on his new, locally made rope lead. A manly lead, we concurred. In any case a vast improvement on the girly scarf we’d been using initially, since the normal lead was safely hung up in the holiday house.
Family fun and chaos. A day out at the seaside, unlike any I’d ever had. I ‘m looking forward to the next time.