The last of the Break

 

We decide to wander NE and find the Windwhistle Inn at Chard as we had eaten very well there last June.  En route we drove gingerly through a flooded area and as we didn’t stop once we were through, I determined to take a photo on the way back.  Amazingly on our return a couple of hours later, it had virtually dried up.  The Windwhistle Inn didn’t let us down (the same name as the cottage)

 

We stopped at a rare village shop somewhere north of Hawkchurch and bought a few goodies including some delicious nutty bread.  I had asked for sliced – for the toaster

and felt a bit chastened when the nice man said they never stocked sliced. After tasting the bread we knew what he was talking about.  These shops are worth their weight in gold and long may they continue.

 The area around Chard and Crewkerne was our stamping ground when we were house hunting in the early eighties.

We loved the area, despite – even then – the very busy roads – especially in the holiday season, but the houses, although there were some fantastic gardens, were not to our taste – with no flow to them. 

 Another day we drove to Broadwindsor –but there was nowhere to park and the Inn didn’t grab us.  We briefly drove into a sort of craft fair but that didn’t appeal either.  Off we tootled to Beamster and that looked very inviting but by the time I spotted somewhere to park we had over shot.  I began to despair but MTL remembered we had passed a sign on the right saying Stoke Abbott lunch at the New Inn.

 

We back tracked – found the turning and embarked on narrow lanes which seemed to go on for ever.  We have done this a number of times only to find that the Inn at the end is now defunct or closed for lunch!  This time we were lucky – a lovely spot, an Inn with a buzz and a super lunch.  The drive back was full of delightful views and glimpses of the coast.  At one point we stopped so I could take a photo of a small hill and noticed – tucked behind the stile a woman sitting on the ground and frantically trying to comfort her dog – a greyhound who was having some sort of crise de nerfs.  I didn’t want to disturb them so took a quick shot and left.  Maybe the sign on the gate had upset him.

 

All too soon it was time to go home so we cleaned, packed and ate at our local The Old Inn.  Certainly this was one of the cottages we would happily revisit in spite of finding ourselves on a strange road coming home.  Our orienteering skills seem to have gone to pot somewhat.

 

Photos below.