Centrist Dad

Sometimes, the bleakest days on holiday can be the most memorable

Wet and hungry in Dorset, Will Gore and his family try to find reasons to be cheerful

Monday 07 August 2023 07:38 EDT

Both the windscreen wipers and Will Gore were trying their best (Getty Images)

With a holiday comes pressure to have fun, or at least to do something different. Never mind that the children would rather just look at a screen in much the same way they would at home; nor, by the same token, that I’d be pretty happy just drinking tea in the kitchen as I might on a normal weekend. Different kitchen, I suppose. And different screens. Still, sometimes you have to force the issue, ignoring pleas about the weather being bleak, or there being an important video to watch on YouTube.

This is how, on Wednesday, we came to be driving through tippling rain and mist on the old Roman road that links the villages north of Bridport to the county town of Dorchester. The low cloud around Eggardon Hill ironically helped to lift the mood in the back seat, albeit only because it apparently raised the possibility that we might have to turn around and head back to the warm holiday cottage. No chance, I told them grimly.

We’d not made many plans for our week away, the weather forecast suggesting we might need to be flexible in picking our moments to venture out of doors. But one definite date in the diary was an afternoon with my cousin, who was handily placed for a visit. Deciding we should make a full day of it, I’d told the rest of the family that we’d visit Dorchester en route, where there were – I assured them – many things to do, even in the wet.

What I had failed to consider was that every other family holidaying by the coast had taken one look at the persistent rain that morning and also decided to find an alternative to the beach. As we drove into the town, windscreen wipers doing their best, car parks announced their fullness in glowing letters.

We found a spot in the end, by which time the hammering rain had lightened to drizzle. Things were looking up, I thought rashly.

I’d told the kids there was a small museum they might find interesting, though they’d not seemed as wild about it as I’d hoped. When we arrived, there was a queue stretching along the pavement outside. We joined it as the drizzle became a little firmer.

Finally reaching the front, we shelled out 40 quid and bustled in alongside the other families who were looking for a way to occupy their grizzling children. Fossils in cases, pictures and models of dinosaurs and explanations of Jurassic geology vied for my son’s inattention, while my daughter pointed out typos and nearly toppled a polystyrene megalodon. We managed to stretch our investigation of the museum’s four rooms to an hour, not without grumbling, and just about avoided a tantrum about the dino merchandise available from the small shop.

As we departed, I wondered briefly why there was no longer a queue outside. Then we stepped into rain that was practically monsoon-like and I had my answer. We buttoned up our jackets and I raised my eyebrows yet again at my daughter’s decision to wear sandals and cycling shorts. My wife struggled to raise her brolly in the blustery wind.

“Well, that wasn’t the best museum I’ve ever been to,” I admitted.

“Dad, it was trash,” said my son, with the bluntness of youth.

We hurried towards Dorchester’s main shopping street, keeping our eyes peeled for a cafe. The first didn’t have a table for at least 20 minutes; the next had no availability at all. Nor did the third. The fourth seemed completely empty, but that was explained by the “closed” sign on the door.

We kept walking, glad at least that the rain seemed to be giving up. There was no chatter between us, each member of the family seeking out hidden eateries amongst their sad thoughts.

“What. A. Shambles!” exclaimed my son suddenly, to break the silence. The rest of us laughed aloud at his perfect summary of the morning. And lo, suddenly there was a cafe, with tables to spare.

Never mind that my son didn’t like his toasted sandwich, or that my daughter left her bag under a table and only realised 15 minutes after we’d left. This was a day that will live in the memory long after we’ve forgotten what the kitchen of the holiday cottage was like, or what the kids watched on the telly.