WATCHET AND MINEHEAD

I had it in mind to go for a run on the first morning. That didn’t happen. Instead I slept long and late, as though my body had previously been depleted of sleep. Holidays eh.

Then I snorted myself awake, wondering where on earth I was.

Now then, the closest point of interest to us is a small town called Watchet. It’s a harbour town, poised on the Bristol Channel. We arrived and parked behind the enormous concrete sea-defences.

It’s sometimes hard to believe that the sea can be so devastating. There it is, flat and motionless; tide out, beyond wet, slimy mud flats. And here we are, parking behind a 30-feet high concrete wall.

Watchet harbour and marina too, is like a concrete fortress. They’re dredging it at the moment so it’s a handful of boats wedged into the mud, surrounded by enormous, ugly sea-stained concrete.

We sat on the esplanade with hot chocolates, while I looked up Watchet on Wikipedia. It had been a busy trading port for salt, wine, paper, farm machinery. And notably, the place that inspired Coleridge to write The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, the poem that’s said to have launched the romantic movement. I looked out at the cranes and grey walls and estuary swill. I think Watchet must have changed a lot.

The town is set back from the harbour, with the train station just a few feet behind the esplanade. We walked up to see the old-fashioned white picket fence and bright flowers waving quietly by the track.

Call it a miracle of timing, but just at that moment, the air was filled with a hooting, puffing sound and around the bend, a thick plume of steam shot into the air. I quickly scrambled up the bank, suddenly feeling like one of the railway children.

Sure enough, the engine came clattering around the corner, gleaming with fired bronze and charcoal. The dark green engine, handsome-faced with a short stack funnel, puffed one more noisy burst of  vertical steam, and then squealed into Watchet station, pulling smart-looking Pullman carriages behind it. I wrestled my phone from my pocket. What a treat!

After a bleak walk along the harbour wall, we set off for Blue Anchor Bay. At which point, it started raining. We ate our lunch in the car, watching the rain streak down the windows.

I’m painting a very grey picture, but it’s actually been quite relaxing so far, even though as far as I can tell, that rain is still going. We’ll be back to Blue Anchor Bay as well, for reasons I’ll come back to.

Minehead was next along the road. By this time it was properly raining but for some reason we decided to walk along the high street anyway. I found a very warm-looking flapjack shop, and the Intrepids headed back to the car while I picked out clotted-cream and chocolate-orange flapjack.

Seaside towns are evocative in the rain. I’ve always found a sort of sweet melancholy in dripping carousels and shimmering bus shelters. Behind them the grey sea rolls and the clouds collide with rain. It’s not what the seaside should be, but it is what it is, and there’s a sympathetic beauty to it.

We trudged back to the car and drove back to the cottage. The country lanes and high hedges twisted by and England glistened with rain.