We had planned on cycling on to Weymouth today, but Kez was still feeling really rough first thing, so I booked another night and let her sleep. She slept like a log until midday while I twiddled my thumbs, drank coffee and read a crap magazine from the shop. Eventually she woke feeling a little better and we decided to take a walk down to Lulworth Cove itself. The sun was out again and we sat in a beer garden with an ale (Kez just had a lemonade) and took it easy. We watched all sorts of people going past. Geology students learning about the amazing formations in the cliffs, old folk on day trips getting their sun hats blown off and weatherbeaten fishermen casting disapproving eyes over it all. Eventually Kez decided she could manage something to eat and had a fresh crab sandwich, while I enjoyed a wonderful crab hot pot. We sat in the pub watching people buy ice creams from the shop opposite, and mused about the fact that they all looked hugely dissatisfied when they came out clutching their cornet. Perhaps they were very expensive? Looked quite nice to me, but we didn’t try one.
We saw a sign in the cove advertising a ferry to Weymouth the next morning and we quite liked the idea of another 
ferry ride, so once we had climbed the huge hill back upto our camp site we gave the captain a ring. He was happy to take bikes, but due to the weather the ferry wasn’t running, shame.
We spent the evening in the ‘Man o’War’, Kez was feeling much better and had got quite hungry so we ordered scampi
and chips for her and a mixed grill for me, then thought maybe we needed a side order of onion rings too. When the meals came they were absolutely immense, the ’side’ order of onions rings would’ve fed us both on its own, unusually for us, we didn’t quite finish our food.
In the wash rooms I met a mad Westcountry yokel type cycle tourer, who’d cycled from Exeter or somewhere on a knackered mountain bike with a tiny tent and a huge towel, and was upset that he’d forgotten to bring a fork. I think he said he’d broken a crank, and had to walk fifteen miles to find a bike shop to fix it, but I couldn’t really understand him. He seemed like a happy chap though, I suppose cycling does that to you.
The wind was really getting up and as we crawled into bed the trees were roaring above us and the tent was doing its own jittery little dance, but it was quite nice to be so snug and yet so close to the raging might of the weather. I’m getting used to sleeping in a tent I think.