3 legged whippet: road kill rescue?

I needed that pint. Setting off from Glastonbury with a slightly sore head after overdoing it at the Wild Willy Barrett extravaganza the night before at Hawthorns, we decided to go to see Lulworth Cove and Durdle Door, for no other reason than we could.

The Jurassic Coast is very beautiful and I was in need of some exercise after the excesses of the day before. It is a mere mile and a quarter from one to the other so we set off up the steep hill that separates them. All was fine until the rain started. It was gentle to begin with so we struggled on, arriving at our destination just as the wind got up and the rain gods decided to become very excited. By the time we got back, and it took us an hour, we were exhausted, wet through and thirsty.

Earlier in the day we had gone Tory. The Glastonbury Tor ( a Celtic word meaning hill, apparently) is a prominent lump of rock sticking its head up from the Somerset marshes, some 500 feet above sea level. It seemed a good idea to climb to the top, an idea which I did not formulate. From that observation, I assume you will be able to work out who did.

At least during that hill climb it did not rain, anyway, we found a pretty pub called The Castle Inn but it was too late for food so we had that pint and set off for Swanage and Studland where we had half an idea to find a hotel. We could not. We went to village after village, again no hotel vacancies. I was becoming pessimistic when I saw a hotel called The Halfway Inn. I am not sure whether it could be considered optimistic or pessimistic to be half way in, and being still damp from earlier exertions (!) I was in a pessimistic mood. I even thought fleetingly about joining a pessimists club but thought I would not be able to get in. Anyway, when that was full, that was when we decided to get the ferry to Poole and head to the New Forest.

There is supposed to be a recession and as a result hotels are said to be suffering, but the only people suffering were us, in the dark and the rain without a hotel room, and an hour and a half from home, still looking for somewhere to have lunch! The last hotel in Brockenhurst, The Rosé And Crown was our salvation with one room remaining and although it would not have been my first choice, it did the job. Thus this morning, we may get the opportunity for a walk in the New Forest.

Anyway, after depositing bags in the room, we popped into the nearby Snake Charmer pub for some vital beer and food. Even although my Sirloin was tough, I was hungry enough to devour most if it, leaving a tasty treat of gristle and fat for that dog,

Road kill survivor?

Talking about gristle and fat, reminds me of my monstrous pal Peachy Butterfield. It was the second time during the day he had come to mind; the first being at a pit stop at The Bankes Arms at Corfe Castle, where we got chatting to a chap who had with him a couple of whippets, that breed most beloved by chaps from up north. One of them had a leg missing, and that was when Peachy come to mind. How did that poor did lose its leg? Could it have been the victim of one of his road kill suppers? A nice leg of whippet in lard gravy? Anyway we talked to this chap for a while, but when it became apparent that he would have no use for an account with Currencies Direct, we drank up and left.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News