Monday 9 August 1993. Our south coast holiday today takes in Weymouth.
Weymouth is a bit like two different towns - which in fact it did used to be. They were either side of the harbour, but were united as a single borough by Queen Elizabeth I in 1571. The town of Melcombe Regis lost its name and identity and the town of Weymouth suddenly became a lot bigger.
A typical south coast town with a busy harbour and lots of comings and goings to watch. Unfortunately the weather wasn't particularly kind this day but who cares, when you holiday in the UK you soon learn to just get on with it!
There was lots of different types of boats and ships in the harbour. There is a fishing fleet, a number of smaller boats taking fishing charters and the odd cross-Channel ferry to watch whilst you dodge the seagulls.
Lots of atmospheric old pubs down by the quayside. Some of them no doubt were used to the sight of the Press Gang at some point in their history - that somewhat brutal way of taking any able-bodied men who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and enforcing naval service on them regardless of whether they were married, or whatever their circumstances. It could be many years before such men saw their homes again, if indeed they ever did.
The King's Arms is right on the quayside. Not sure where his legs were...
We tried the Old Rooms Inn for a spot of lunch but there wasn't anything that took our fancy. We decided to move elsewhere!
A large warehouse complex known as Brewers Quay had been transformed into a shopping mall with a collection of small outlets and cafes and we had our lunch there before resuming our exploration of the harbour.
It was quite crowded inside and we had to wait for a table to become available, especially as there were six of us.
We came out again and back to the harbour, thinking to have a walk to the west where Weymouth takes on more of a holiday seaside air. A large Seacat ferry was gliding in and gave us a bit of added interest.
Oh my goodness, the dreaded whelk! And jellied eels - yuk! Despite living in Blackpool (now "near" Blackpool) I was born and brought up in the centre of the north on the edge of the Pennines and have always viewed shellfish and seafood (apart from fish and chips) with the utmost suspicion. Picking things out of shells with a pin sounds revolting enough without having to put it in your mouth...
The sea hasn't any huge rollers or crashing waves but still manages to hold the attention with a hypnotising regular ebbing and flowing, dragging water back into itself (and a fair bit of red sand) to launch the next assault on the beach.
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