Almost made it to Sidmouth on our Devon jaunt last month; got as far as Exmouth when the heavens opened driving us into the local Subway (as if we needed an excuse; thank God for Subway I say - where one can be assured of a decent sarnie at a reasonable price without speculating on what local establishments have to offer; long & bitter experience teaches us to stick to the chains!) where we re-drew our battle plan somewhat. So, no Sidmouth - but at least I got to see the celebrated Multiple-orifice Disgorgers in the church at Woodbury en route! And what a place Exeter is, where you can see stuff like THIS at head height! What a happy bunny I was that day...

And I still read that as Dickens purring in in his gravey. I was never a great one for Dickens, whilst I enjoyed elements of The Pickwick Papers in my misspent youth, and The Signalman remains one of my #1 English Ghost Stories of All Time, I find the trashy inhuman sentiments of his novels quite nauseating. I was forced to watch a recent TV adaptation of Oliver Twist the tenor of which struck as the most cynical celebration of social-class apartheid I'd ever seen. In my heart, I was following The Dodger into whatever sort of misadventures awaited him whilst horrid little Oliver gloated in his oasis of privilege. Maybe that's how we're meant to respond, but I doubt it somehow...