Kilve

The Germans wanted a new stretch of coastline to visit, so I just sent them off to the North Somerset one. Minehead, Dunster, Kilve and The Quantocks. They will like it a lot, and it is quite close to Bath.

Kilve is particularly English, with a garden cafe selling Cream Teas in the shadow of a ruined medieval abbey, a much used village cricket pitch toward the end of a rough lane leading to the beach, and the beach itself with huge, round pebbles which make sunbathing next to impossible. Oh, and there is an old lime-kiln just before the beach.

Running through the pebbles toward the sea, a fast stream courses down from the Quantocks to merge with the salt water. I once needed some large, round pebbles for work, so I went to Kilve to steal some. They have plenty, so they would not have been missed.

I took a rucksack to carry them the quarter of a mile back to the car and selected about six for the job. I had to put the rucksack on a low bank, then back up to it to get the straps over my shoulders. Lifting the weight straight up would have been impossible.

All went well until I reached the stream which had to be crossed in small hops, dry bit to dry bit. I fell over and was unable to get up because of the rucksack full of stones. I lay there in the mud waiting for help from a passing stranger.

I have suffered for my Art...