The hotel at Studland came with its own beach hut. After we eventually found it hiding in a bit of high-altitude undergrowth I managed to open one door (which wouldn't stay open) and half open the other. H.I. sat in a deckchair and peered through the bushes at the glorious vista hiding behind them.
I am not going to post up any pictures of The Pig On The Beach because if you want to know what it looks like there are plenty of photos on Trip Advisor, etc. The world can do without more.
For me, the best thing about the place is its WW2 connections with the top brass of the time, including - as I have already mentioned - Winston Churchill, who stayed there during the disastrous exercises in preparation for the D-Day landings. I am not going to talk about them either, as plenty of other better-informed people already have, and you can find all that on the net too. Somewhere on You Tube there is film footage of the event which I mean to look up.
Since I don't intend to give a review of the hotel either, some of you will probably be showing signs of frustration with me, but suffice to say that one night spent in this place cost more than the last holiday we had, which was a week in Venice at a four-star hotel including breakfast and flights. Was it worth it? That is not for me to say. It was a gift from our family and we don't look free horses in the mouth. I will say that I suspect the waiting staff are on minimum wage though. Make of that what you will.
Talking of family, Step-Daughter has just bought a little black Pomeranian dog which I have yet to meet, although I did get an introduction on Facetime last night. I have never seen a creature which does such a perfect impression of a fruit-bat before.
On the upper lawn of The Pig there is this rusting object set into one of the low pillars either side of the steps leading down to the lower, and for a while I tried to puzzle-out what it could be. Then I understood.
It is a mount for a light machine-gun pointing toward the seaward approach to the house, just in case a pesky German tried to creep up on Mr Churchill as he sat in a deckchair smoking a big, fat cigar.