From the 15th to the 20th of July 2003, a group of intrepid school-leavers (and one ex-year 11) ventured forth into the depths of darkest Devon. Armed only with towels, suncream, underwear, clothes, shoes, a CD player, toiletries, swimming costumes, kites, books, bedlinen and some cameras, we sucessfully infiltrated one of England's best-kept secrets: Salcombe (a.k.a. 'Richmond-On-Sea').
The secret isn't actually that well kept, due in part to the fact that the type of people who generally frequent the alleys and boulevards of Salcombe tend to be very VOCAL in their appreciation of this fine yachting town's attractions. They also tend to have rather loud, braying laughs, which carry for up to 250 miles if the wind is blowing in the right direction.
The Secret Seven Salcombites (also not very secret) who made up the expedition - Annie, Anita, Lizzie, Tom, Kate, David and Dalrymple - risked life and limb in the attempt to mingle with the natives of Salcombe, as part of a social experiment. In fact, this turned out to be Not Very Hard: all one has has to do, in effect, is to turn one's rugby shirt collar up, sling a pastel-coloured jumper about one's shoulders and address one's companions (in ringing, cut-glass tones) as 'Arabella' and 'Rupert'. And, of course, refer to one's self as 'one'.
We (or at least, I) had a really good time. Here are some pictures to help the anonymous internet surfer gain a taste of what life in Salcombe was like.
Upon reaching Totnes, the Salcombites boarded a bus to Kingsbridge whose driver seemed intent on covering every road and lane in Devon, backtracking over several miles of uncharted territory whilst his passengers (Kate) were terrorised by small, blonde children. At Kingsbridge, we escaped the sticky clutches of The Infant and had lunch. Anita had told us that, after doing the week's shopping in Somerfield, we would board another bus that would take us to Salcombe itself.
This, of course, was total rubbish. Anita is a very lovely, very sturdy sort of person, who thinks nothing of carrying double her own bodyweight in clothes and food whilst running barefoot through gravel, but the rest of us (who were having problems with baggage alone) were not so hardy. We therefore called 2 taxis to take us, our luggage and shopping to Salcombe. Here they are outside Somerfield supermarket with the shopping (meticulous photo-documentation is most definitely the name of the game).
Once arrived at Anita's granny's flat (which was LOVELY, and thanks to Sheila Ma if she's reading), the group unpacked and got down to some serious fun. Kate started the party off.
However, our holiday couldn't be ALL mindless hedonism. As responsible adults, we had to fend for ourselves and learn to correct our own mistakes, as Tom and Lizzie demonstrate below. Red wine is VERY bad for white carpets, yet you'd be surprised how often the floor received this baptism (average of twice a night).
On our second full day (Thursday), Anita announced that we would be taking a gentle stroll of a mile or so to a beach that she knew of. We all agreed that this would be a spiffing way to spend the day, and so, gamely ignoring the first drops of rain we took the ferry across the estuary to begin our walk.
Now, I've already mentioned that Anita is a very hardy sort of girl, so it really shouldn't have surprised us to find that her 'gentle stroll' turned out to resemble some kind of route march over terrain in which only a mountain goat would feel truly at home. It wasn't so much painful as... a little more active than we had expected. While Anita, Tom, Lizzie and Annie bounded ahead in desperate attempts to overtake each other (for once aiming for PHYSICAL rather than intellectual point-scoring) the more sensible members of the party (viz. David Kate and myself) cultivated our waddling technique.
Of course, when we reached the beach, it was still cold and wet. We didn't let that stop us. After lunch (sandwiches made and labelled in a stunning display of organisational skills by Kate), Anita, Tom, Lizzie and David displayed amazing stupidity enthusiasm and, after breaking the ice, went for a swim.
Observe Tom. It's hard to see from the crappy office scanner, but he is actually purple and blue in some parts. Later we had fun picking his fingers up from where they had snapped off and surgically reattaching them.
Afterwards, Tom, Anita and Annie decided that they hadn't punished themselves enough and in a spasm of self-loathing went off to clamber among the rocks. After a while they disappeared from view and did not re-appear. We started to worry a little bit. For one thing, there were no loos on the beach (of COURSE you can't go in the sea, think of the dolphins) and Lizzie in particular was a little agitated. Eventually she decided to go behind a rock, despite our presence and that of the 20-or-so small boys playing cricket a few metres away. Lizzie was forced to let me take pictures in return for tissues. Muahahahahaha.
Even this episode couldn't do anything to relieve the tedium of sitting in the rain waiting for Anita & Co. to reappear. The solution to this boredom was a logical inevitability. In our infinite maturity and creativity we located the necessary materials and dressed David as a woman.
The, ahem, chest may be artificially enhanced, but the bottom is all Davina's own. Really.
Anita and her now-exhausted entourage finally returned, feet bleeding, after a few hours (melodramatic? Moi?) and the group made a beautiful piece of installation art. Here is a really quite good picture:
I think it's really quite impressive. Look at the way the pole appears to distort the headland behind it. This was, of course, an entirely intentional angle on the part of the photographer.
After about 3 hours of masochism we decided to turn back, and Anita took us on the short-cut home (which took approximately a quarter of the time of getting there). However, we all managed to agree after tea at a hotel on top on the mountain headland that the pain had been worthwhile.
On the way home, David took some interesting photographs using black-and-white film, which, as Kate observes, has the effect of making everything appear amazing. Except, perhaps, for telegraph poles.
When we got back to the ferry it was fairly obvious what everyone was thinking: ice-cream. I should explain that the seven of us collectively kept the Salcombe Ice Cream Parlour afloat during our stay, spending at least £60 over 5 evenings. Mmmm.
Here are some more haphazard and random photographs of the week's activities. Here is Annie doing her 'Frodo' impression:
Tom found it entertaining to humiliate everyone by casually wiping the floor with them at chess, a game in which he claims to have had little prior experience. Anita's strategy in this particular game seems to have been to make herself sick in order to gain some breathing space, while her second, David, knows that the only way to dull the pain is to drink steadily. Both Annie and I watched each chess game intently (see above), but still neither of us have the slightest clue as to the rules, strategy or point of the game. Though I DID come away with a heightened appreciation of how nice the horses' facial expressions were.
Incidentally, we enjoyed a case of 18 bottles of red and white wine during our stay, due to David's work discount. Apparently they were quite good bottles - not that we, as students, would know, having only 4 working tastebuds apiece which are habitually assaulted by the assault of £2.99 wine from the Balkans. Mmmm.
As I have already mentioned, we fended for ourselves for the week (ooooh!), allocating each evening meal to a designated chef. Perhaps unwisely, the first evening meal was left to Anita and Annie's supervision (for people who don't know, Anita and Annie are unique in their apparent ability to set fire to any foodstuff, including water). Here is the result:
Only joking. Those were a couple of weeks before.
Anita and Annie's meal (spaghetti and some kind of sauce) was superb, as was David's (roast chicken), Kate's (risotto), and Lizzie's (sausages, potatoes, salad, garlic mushrooms and broccoli). I did lasagne with salad, which I thought was quite nice, but modesty forbids that I say any more (also the fear that Dalrymple HQ will be overwhelmed with messages saying how disgusting it was).
Here are Kate and Lizzie at work, looking 'natural', in the kitchen.
Here's an annoyingly blurred picture that Lizzie took of Tom and Annie with the group's sandcastle. Lizzie stresses that she also took part in the construction of the sandcastle (there you go, Lizzie).
I would have more pictures taken by Lizzie, but for some reason nearly all of them seem to be of, or involve, Tom. While Tom is undoubtably a very fine picture subject, I felt that equal attention should be paid to all aspects of the holiday. For example, here is another of Lizzie's photos which seems to show, rather amusingly, Anita inspecting Lizzie's bottom. Their story is that they were unravelling a kite string. Fat chance.
A very lovely picture of Anita on the beach. Note to self: buy expensive camera and black-and-white film.
Here is a picture that has nothing of any particular interest (apart from to show what Anita would look like if possessed by a supernatural force). Circled, in red, is my purple 'Waiter's Friend' bottle opener that has been missing since I left Salcombe. If anyone has stolen it, I would like it back please, and meanwhile would appreciate any information on its whereabouts.
Finally, we come to our last evening meal (my lasagne). This picture truly embodies Kate's vision for the week: friends, wine, food and dribbly candles. Just after this was taken, we went for our last ice cream (double cones all round), and took our remaining wine to the sea front at high tide, in the dark, where we drank it in wine glasses whilst being lightly soaked with the breaking waves. Aaaaaah. What a fantastic week. Thanks everyone.
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