Christmas Survived

Am back at work, having successfully survived the Crimble break down in Devon with the family. Given that me ol' pops isn't in the best of health, I was determined to make the best of it, though the usual instincts of turning back into a 12-year-old and bickering incessantly with all family members soon hit in. This is usually caused by my mum's anti-logic, which fuelled by the ample amounts of booze she consumes, can turn into a flat denial of the facts. This can be amusing or irritating depending on what kind of mood you're in, but is usually fairly harmless in the scheme of things. Love 'em I certainly do but can I live with them for more than a few days - nej nej nej.

Dartmouth was a gem, as expected. Previously Lyme Regis has always been the place of choice for a family Christmas and is much beloved in the 'Ding household, but since the early days (when it was a slightly abandoned, slightly crumbling little quirk on the Dorset coast) it has now become rammed, over-priced, and is currently being held up by monumental sea defences, and I fear that some of that old charm has drifted out to sea along with the the collapsing cliffs. Dartmouth, on the other hand, still remains quite seasonal, and is full of lots of weird and wonderful winding steps and alleys and eccentricities. I could have spent days just wandering around, scouting out the oddities, and reading all the plaques, benches and inscriptions. Part of me still imagines I might end up living in a coastal town like this, but the realist tells me that all the important components of the South-West dream are missing - money, a job, and someone to entertain me on a quiet day. Never mind eh, live in hope!