Part one of the annual Buggeridge tax free Christmas extravaganza comes from The Cove Inn, Chiswell on the Royal Manor of Portland.
And what a windswept entrance we made as I struggled to wrest the door from the teeth of a force 8 gale. I almost felt like announcing to the assembled throng of rosey cheeked revellers that "I've never known a night quite like it" (anyone remember what that advert was?) but I was stopped in my tracks by landlady Moira who held me in her stern gaze; a look almost as grim as the prison cell door that doubled as the front door to the pub. It came from HMP The Verne, Moira informed me, adding that if there was any nonsense from my party she was sure that her son, who works as a warder at that establishment, would be happy to provide us with accommodation for the night.
Then there was daughter Nancy, a brassy young lass if I've ever seen one. They're like chalk and cheese are our Nancy and Moira. Nancy could barely contain her mirth when I asked her if she could do me a knickerbocker glory when she enquired what I would like for dessert and she cocquetishly flaunted her decollotage as she enquired as to how much I ice cream I
wanted. Two scoops of course!
Presently, she returned and she fell about laughing when I asked her if she knew the Latin name for the cape gooseberies adorning my dessert. 'Tis awfully rude you see, it do sound just like syphilis...
Anyway, what a girl. About to make old Moira a proud grandmother soon.
Hopefully my next visit will coincide with feeding time
By the way, a word of caution to any CUKers who are planning on visting
Portland. Don't mention rabbits - they hate rabbits on Portland because
their burrows collapse the stone mines...
...and don't expect to rub shoulders with the Islington Luvvie twitterati
set that seem to have overrun many other coastal resorts on the south
coast. They want to keep Portland weird, as evidenced by the stickers on
the backs of many of the cars on the island. And good luck to 'em I say.
And what a windswept entrance we made as I struggled to wrest the door from the teeth of a force 8 gale. I almost felt like announcing to the assembled throng of rosey cheeked revellers that "I've never known a night quite like it" (anyone remember what that advert was?) but I was stopped in my tracks by landlady Moira who held me in her stern gaze; a look almost as grim as the prison cell door that doubled as the front door to the pub. It came from HMP The Verne, Moira informed me, adding that if there was any nonsense from my party she was sure that her son, who works as a warder at that establishment, would be happy to provide us with accommodation for the night.
Then there was daughter Nancy, a brassy young lass if I've ever seen one. They're like chalk and cheese are our Nancy and Moira. Nancy could barely contain her mirth when I asked her if she could do me a knickerbocker glory when she enquired what I would like for dessert and she cocquetishly flaunted her decollotage as she enquired as to how much I ice cream I
wanted. Two scoops of course!
Presently, she returned and she fell about laughing when I asked her if she knew the Latin name for the cape gooseberies adorning my dessert. 'Tis awfully rude you see, it do sound just like syphilis...
Anyway, what a girl. About to make old Moira a proud grandmother soon.
Hopefully my next visit will coincide with feeding time
By the way, a word of caution to any CUKers who are planning on visting
Portland. Don't mention rabbits - they hate rabbits on Portland because
their burrows collapse the stone mines...
...and don't expect to rub shoulders with the Islington Luvvie twitterati
set that seem to have overrun many other coastal resorts on the south
coast. They want to keep Portland weird, as evidenced by the stickers on
the backs of many of the cars on the island. And good luck to 'em I say.
Chesil Beach
Comment