Feeling rather jaunty at the thought of a few days in Dorset where I hope to indulge in the next best pastime to staring out of the window at the Pyrenees. Peering into rock pools and sifting through grains of sand and pebbles for the ever elusive fossil is as good a way as any for sheer relaxation. I usually take a trip to Branscombe Beach in Devon but I fear that this beautiful spot has now been blighted. The sight of all those scavengers profiting through other peoples misfortune is sickening.
On a brighter note I will pop into the best French Patisserie outside of France, Le Vieux Four in Beaminster. I shall more than likely succumb to a crumbly and succulent citron tart, especially good accompanied by Childhay Manor clotted cream ice cream. Its tough leaving the sunny South of France after having forked out a mere forty pounds for a return airfare with Easyjet, however I'm sure I shall manage to pass the next few days in a diligent manner dealing with the increasing number of enquiries and bookings for Le Chateau.
From where I sit I have met all sorts of nice folks this week. It's funny how you strike up a rapport with people from a distance. One of the not so pleasant tasks though is having to write to people the very next day and tell them that the weeks they were told were previously available have now been booked, literally hours later.
Which is why I'm just going to take a moment to look at my man in the white van pruning his vines as I've got two such letters to compose.