Pamela 1

Dorset, Hampshire - yes New Forest area is nice. Certains spots in Devon. Cotswolds, Somerset, E.Sussex (Eastbourne) Depends where one could get work.

englishrose

north yorkshire ie harrogate/knaresborough/skipton

Pablo1

POOLE.........DORSET!!!

Boating trips from the Old Quay past Brownsea Island, Lilliput and on to Sandbanks, then passing close by Bramble Bush bay in the lea of South Haven Point. On through the race of the narrow harbour entrance hugging the northern shore of the Isle of Purbeck. This avoids the melee of other craft as they navigate either side of the clanking chain ferry or floating bridge, which connect the ‘Isle’ to mainland Dorset. There are fishing boats drifting for line caught bass, small potting tubs and all manner of sailing and motorised pleasure boats. With Poole’s glorious golden strip to port side basking under blue flags and even bluer sky’s, we pass the golden arc of Shellbay and the broad spit of marram and lyme grassed dunes that defend the inner harbour from the open sea. Once round the ‘Training Bank’, which is a long rib of boulders that are submerged for most of the time by the tide, and for this reason are marked by posts to aid safe passage, we head over to South Beach. Here in the shelter of Old Harry’s Chalky cliffs we can moor up and make our way up the little Gwyle to the Bankes Arm’s, host of ‘The Studland Beer Festival’. There we can sit in a field nestled in the bosom of the Purbecks over looking Studland and Poole Bays. The view east of the Solent, Isle of White and Hampshire only serve to reinforce that Dorset although sitting betwixt the south east and south west is not only spiritually ‘West Country’ but the gateway to it. Tucking into thick crust pasties, apple cake, Blue Vinny with cider chutney, served with Dorset Knobs, all washed down with beers such as Betty Stogs, Fossil Fuel and Boondoggle. All this whilst being entertained by a quartet of ruddy cheeked, banjo, accordion and fiddle playing, Amish bearded ‘janners’. The brightly clad ‘Morris men of Minterne Magna ’ skip, weave and peel through an arch of blades until the ‘Master Rapper’ holds a "nut" of locked swords aloft. The Master skips in a semi circle presenting the “nut” of interlocked blades, which are formed into a hybrid of Celtic cross and the Star of David as if in a Pagan-Judean offering. Next up is ‘Spank the Plank’ an Appalachian clog dancing troupe to show us what River Dance could have been had Michael Flatley been born in Eastern Tennessee instead of Chicago Illinois. The eclectic crowd, made up of a smattering of locals looking like farm hands from ‘Far from the Madding Crowd’, mixed with ‘Posh’ families attired in deck shoes, hockey and rugger shirts, long weekending in holiday cottages, on the Blyton/Ransome trail, who in turn are rubbing shoulder to shoulder with the D&G/Tommy H clad hoy-poloy estuarinal home-county dwellers; all of whom look on with equal bemusement at the various acts on stage. As the day wears on and the Wurzels tribute band do a final encore of ‘the combined harvester song’, serious Bluesy-Folk-Rock bands take to the stage. As the light fades the names of the ales selected get more interesting - Bladdered Badger, Fursty Ferret and Thirsty Thatcher’s Triple X Barley Wine. By the end of what passes for a cultural evening in South Dorset, more ‘Glastonbury’ than Glyndebourne, you find yourself all a glow from a combination of getting on the outside of two much strong ale whilst baring to much pale flesh and rolling around in a sunny field like a pig on a spit. Eventually as darkness falls and suffering from the ‘multiplying eye’, you stumble back to the beach to sleep the sleep of the happily over sated.

Ad-hoc cricket matches on Long Island, best when the new moon and spring tide dry off the little spit into our own ‘Lords’ for an hour or two. Where the chance of scoring a six by hitting the ball onto the ‘main land’ of the Arne peninsular recedes as the tide turns and the wicket is moved back up the beach to prevent the out fielders from drowning. Many chances go begging as the young slips seem more intent on gathering crabs, cockles and razor fish than diving for edged googlies! As Boycott would say “me old granny could’ve caught that in er pinney!” You can’t beat the sound of wood on willow in a rural British setting on a Sunday afternoon in August. Or in our case the sound of soggy, Cairn terrier tampered tennis ball against plastic. The young batsman with a shock of blond hair offers a wafting flashing blade of a shot. Which connects with more of a ‘thwack’ than a knock, as a thick edge sends the water logged ball over the head and through the fingers of silly mid-off. The shot as played, serves to remind of young David Gower at his brilliant but fragile best. Parental encouragement comes from square leg, “come on play every ball on its merits. That was far too wide, now concentrate!” At least the setting could not be more rural. Where else in England can you be less than two miles from the centre of a conurbation of over 400.000 people and yet be so completely isolated from the modern and urban?

The grounds men here are mullet, flounder and wading birds, so the wicket needs a bit of attention and the pavilion is a blanket on the beach, but no cricket pitch has a better back drop to lift the sprit. The winter blanket of dank earthy hues have now long past. Having given way to a quilted brocade of riotous colour made all the more varied by the quality of light, as blue sky meets green water, and farmland, ancient woods and pine stands encroach into the lowland heath. There are the purples, moves and crimson of the heather, gold’s from brilliant yellow to mustard ochre provided by the gorse and broom, and verdure of all hues as the bracken oak, ash and pine spread their foliage. The texture and relief of the landscape illuminated by ever changing light, causes the colours to bleed into one another as the paint on an impressionist’s canvass.

On some occasions and if conditions are favourable, with a westerly breeze pushing a blanket of cloud east just as the sun starts to close on the western horizon. It is as when the master baker opens the oven to check the ‘glow of the wood. The affect is that of basking the islands and hills in a warm embracing glow. The lengthening shadows of the quarries, ridges and spires draw east and are contrasted against the blanket of Klimt like burnished gold’s being laid down on the land like a magic fleece draped from the west. No structure natural or mason built wears this better than the skeletal remains of Corfe. Sat as it is on its little hill, plugging the gap in the ridge, it turns from grey Purbeck stone, to luminous gold and then to the Perugia blood orange hue of a castle in the setting Umbrian sun. With a last appeal turned down, the light is offered and the Stumps are pulled. The picnic packed and blankets folded its back to the boats. Then against this back drop of shallow reedy creeks reflecting and blurring the barriers of heaven and earth in all its natural majesty, we embark for the short trip back to the twenty first century. It’s as if Cezanne selected the palate, Turner the lighting and Jekyll had agreed the planting scheme. Sometimes the contemplation of creation over evolution is forced upon us.

St.Georges Girl

Do you work for the Dorset Tourism Board?

Good post.

englishrose

makes my one line answer look a bit piddly

St.Georges Girl

Haha, I shouldn't worry about. I don't think the OP has been back since the first page, certainly hasn't thank anyone for their input if she has.

LizaJane

what about Norfolk, suffolk, cambridgeshire, anyone any comments?

Jerseygirl

Cheshire and the surrounding areas ie Chester, Manchester, North Wales. Close to Manchester Airport and the M6/M56/M62 etc.



But deep down in my heart South Yorkshire is where I would want to be.

Coffeepot

I live in Cambs area and its lovely, we are lucky and live in the country side, love Norfolk and suffolk homes are a lot cheaper there than Cambs gorgeous houses as well,

Used to live (was brought up in Hampshire on the Solent ) lived in Essex also the Midlands,

quoll

You beat me to it - I am a Cambridge girl so do admit to some Anglian prejudice. East Anglia is lovely if you arent that enamoured of hills - but it has some lovely countryside which more than makes up for it. I wouldnt mind living anywhere in Cambs, Suffolk, Norfolk really, there are some really nice houses to be had if you have deep pockets!

Coffeepot

Ours is one and its up for sale OH comutes to London daily,

northernbird

We used to live just north of Huntingdon and my husband commuted daily also. 3 hours travelling each day on top of a 55 hour week wasn't much fun.

sandrainaus

I am moving back (hopefully in July) and will be moving to Suffolk/Cambridgeshire I sooooo can't wait

Coffeepot

Where were you ? we are just North of Huntingdon

Coffeepot

Why are you moving back ? there seems to lots moving back from OZ ?