Tuesday, July 10, 2007


After a bit of an emotional rollercoaster as a prelude to leaving London, we washed up in Torquay, on the south coast of Devon. It was here that John Cleese was inspired to write Fawlty Towers in the 1970s. Today Basil Fawlty would be less concerned about Germans, builders and Siberian hamsters than the hordes of Spanish and Polish teenagers jamming the streets around Tor Bay for a summer of English lessons.

We had lunch on an "aspiring to be twee" pedestrianised street in Babbacombe, self-proclaimed jewel in the crown of the English Riviera: some tuckshop sandwiches brought kicking and screaming into the 1980s with some limp salad and a cairn of corn-chips. Bondi brought forth some rather scary individuals with scary local accents and scary local teeth.

Bondi had a bit of a romp on the path down to the secluded Babbacombe beach, his paws and flanks reddened with the ochre used to paint the sails of local fishing boats.

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