Sunday, 26 July 2015


A few weekends ago, I was in Dorset. Dorset; the little county in South West England on the English Channel Coast. Home to Poole Harbour; the second largest natural harbour in the world, after Sydney, of course. 
I went with my school's chamber orchestra and barbershop choir for a mini music tour. It consisted of busking on Brownsea Island for the National Trust, eating fish and chips, swimming in the sea *but only up to our knees of course, because otherwise the risk assessment would be oh so much hassle,* buying hula hoops in Co-op and buying lots and lots of sweets. Oh, we also performed in the Christchurch Priory which happens to have the longest nave in the country, don'tcha know. 

The weekend was lovely, as was the weather, although I believe my thighs felt very violated by the sun *should've worn factor 50*...

The trip was certainly one of the strangest music tours I have ever been on; with honking the mini bus horn every time we passed a road sign, to getting everyone on the bus to call their parents Barbara for an evening. Even to prank calling the phone number on the back of an orange coach, claiming that the driver was a long lost uncle, and then calling the other mini bus to say that we are following said coach, and not to follow us because we are going wherever that long lost uncle is going. And having them believe us due to fake crying and several phone calls. And lunging. There was a lot of lunging... 
In a nutshell, Dorset was lovely and I had an amazing time. And I took a lot of photos which are now being published on this small space on the internet. And I want to go back to Dorset and I want to find out if the coach company ever called back. I also want to warn you that if you are staying in a Travelodge; the breakfast boxes aren't as nice as they sound...

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