I wish to be in the West Country.



What could possibly be more - more relaxing, more romantic, more the embodiment of summer than the little towns that sit beside the sea?

Nothing. 

That is the answer you were looking for. Absolutely nothing.

We hadn't planned on visiting the seaside during this holiday, but the sudden remembrance of an annual party and a last-minute invitation to the coast were all that was needed to spark an impromptu trip westward. 

First to Bristol - all sloping streets and ancient docks - where the modern and historic intertwine and one feels a certain kinship with pirates.

Then onto Devon, which I am becoming more and more convinced is actually one of the best bits of England. 

Driving there is like navigating a labyrinth - zipping around narrow, winding roads, each turn like a secret avenue leading to an unknown destination. All of this bordered by trees that tower over and lean in to form leafy green tunnels, only finally opening up to reveal rolling farmland, peaceful villages or the impossibly vast and spectatcularly blue ocean.

My, oh my! I had forgotten how much I love the West Country. 










Oh joy and peace and everlasting summer bliss! If I could, I would never leave.


Love.

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