Salcombe at Easter

Or Easter in Salcombe? Either way it was bliss.

Most of the photos are on my phone and I still need to grapple with the technology that will put them onto the blog via the pc . I can upload them
straight to Tweeter woops Twitter ( and frequently do ) so anyone interested enough to follow me there ( No ? didnt think so , though people do , but maybe not the blogging fraternity... ) so I find myself showing my pictures that way mostly now . But Twitter is hardly for words.

Salcombe at Easter was the place for sunlovers and peace seekers though. We stayed in a lovely old fishing cottage belonging to some friends who rented it out to us at a very low rate for a few days. Situated on a steep hill right near the centre of the action of things in this haven overlooking the estuary , known as the English Riviera due to its amazing climate , it was great to go from one seaside village ( where we live) to another and find somewhere so different in every way.

Our cottage had been inhabited by an elderly lady for fifty years and little had been changed there apart from some minor updating , so it was like stepping back in time into the tiny two up two down place with old fashioned black and white photos on the walls from the past.

The cottage was bought by the family who had also owned next door as a holiday cottage so that their friends and extended family could stay alongside them , and the guest book dating back to the eighties gave us many hours of pleasure and insight into our friend's parents lives and all the people who had passed through and the fun holidays they had spent , sailing and picnicing on the beach , which is only reached by a little ferry even today , making trips here and there , sampling cream teas and adding to their expanding families year on year . One doctor seemed to have a new baby each year until finally there were six children . Where did they all sleep? Only two bedrooms! We wondered where Mrs Hannacombe herself had slept had she herself had more than two or three children , and how they had managed living in such close proximity.

Our journey from home took from 8am until 4pm and as the cottage is central and with no parking we had been advised to park in one of the town car parks on arrival . We then had to locate the cottage and carry our belongings including bedding up the steep slopes to our new home , with Alice the dog in tow not to mention 16 year old who was keen to investigate the Jack Wills shop right opposite where we were going to be living. We had piles of stuff. Food, suitcases, dog gear , duvets, you name it we were dragging it up that hill!

By five pm we were safely installed , a free parking space had been located above the cottage , the kettle was on and Nat and me were having a preliminary rekky in said Jack Wills. Alice had taken up the position on the sofa and D had tucked her up with her quilt and her toy monkey "just in case" she was feeling tired and emotional after the long day.

By the following evening a routine had been established. Early morning constitionals either with or without Alice were unmissable ... to see the yachts on the estuary, to wander round and catch the early light and see the town waking.Everyone had a friendly word and there were a few early pugs and labradors out.

My first morning I had woken first and after my first pot of coffee I was out there at six fifteen am ( minus dog , if I remember rightly , she closed eyes firmly and tucked her head under the duvet) . After a cooked breakfast another walk would follow around the town , along the harbour front where the kids and old men were crabbing , peering into the buckets to have a look at the catches, glancing into the shop windows at the cakes and scones on offer, a wander in an art shop , promising myself a print of Salcombe to take home ( alas I ran out of cash) , taking photos , back to the cottage , catching up on some reading in the garden ( sunbathing weather!) then planning the day's events.

We discovered that Alice loves pubs and wondered if she has in a previous existence been much accustomed to "the pub" and pub life. She tucked in under a bench seat on one occasion very happily and on another stretched out very fully in the bar and made herself at home , though as at home , reluctant to move for passers-by expecting them to step painstakingly over her, no mean feat with a greyhound at full stretch.

And then again last thing at night the late constitional with Nat and me often taking ourselves and Alice out , taking the hill past the hotels so that we were high enough to look down over the bay and able to look at all the twinkling lights .Warm enough to sit on benches and muse over the day and what tomorrow would bring , this and that . On the way back we would make ourselves run up the steep hill back to our cottage , kidding ourselves we were getting fit and using my pedometer to check whether we had got our "steps" in for the day.

Happy Days.

I think the first holiday of my life where I haven't wanted to return home.

I miss Salcombe. Can you tell?