For the past year I’ve been mostly based in the south coast town of Weymouth, England, in an area known as ‘The Jurassic Coast’ for it’s ubiquitous prehistoric fossils.
Ever since King George 3rd’s sixteen consecutive summer beach vacations made Weymouth a popular British getaway, Weymouth and it’s UNESCO World Heritage coastline is a constant source of attention from outsiders.
With its thatched roofs, cream teas, salty sea dogs, buckets and spades, donkeys, ciders and ales, folk music, fish n’ chips, crumbling cliff tops, green-carpeted patchwork fields, old-school children’s rides, mobility scooters, obese tourists, salted caramel ice creams, yachties, Brexiteers, amusement arcades, limestone houses, sweeping views, bad tattoos, elderly coach tours, hello moi luvvur, badgers, Punch and Judy, deckchairs and healthy doses of sea air, there’s an endearing throwback appeal to this part of Little Britain.
Welcome to The Jurassic Coast…
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