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Exmoor and Porlock
Dec. 1st, 2006 04:28 pmOn Wednesday, we drove up over Exmoor and had lunch at the Exmoor Forest Hotel (to those readers who might think - 'but they just went from pub to pub!' I answer - your point?). It's a very varied landscape: lots of deep, steep valleys, heavily wooded until you get up onto the bleak heights of Dunkery Beacon. Exmoor was - until (IIRC) they made it illegal - a centre for stag hunting and there are still large deer populations. We didn't see any deer, but there were lots of ravens and we did go for a walk in Horner Woods along a swift running stream. Turns out my mother went on holiday to Horner, during the war. Now, in November, there were stands of spindle and hazel, and groves of oak and beech down the valley sides.
We spent the late afternoon and evening in Porlock Weir: this is the tiny village at the end of the valley in which Porlock lies. Fans of Samuel Taylor Coleridge will recall that he was interrupted in the writing of Xanadu (Kubla Khan? Can't remember) by a person from Porlock, who has gone down in literary history as the sort of arsehole whom writers are continually having to deal with.
Probably Coleridge's dealer, and the poet just didn't like to say.
The Weir has a very classy restaurant, a very old pub (they were re-thatching it) and a huge, echoing hotel, which also owns the pub. £40 a night for full board. In the pub, I read an account of the first car to make it up Porlock Hill, which is one of the steepest in the country: 1900, and it was a Napier. People took bets on whether it would break down, but it didn't. The hill, however, has 3 escape lanes and lots of signs to pedestrians to keep out of the road, in case of vehicles out of control.
Back in the hotel, we got as far as the fire and some guide books, but were interrupted by a very camp Irish waiter in a bow tie, proferring gin and tonic. Dinner was excellent: we were the only people in the restaurant apart from another woman. The wine list was good, as well.
There was a huge gale in the night and I managed to drop the thing that stops sash windows rattling out of the window (don't ask), so it was a somewhat disturbed night. Lovely place, though.
We spent the late afternoon and evening in Porlock Weir: this is the tiny village at the end of the valley in which Porlock lies. Fans of Samuel Taylor Coleridge will recall that he was interrupted in the writing of Xanadu (Kubla Khan? Can't remember) by a person from Porlock, who has gone down in literary history as the sort of arsehole whom writers are continually having to deal with.
Probably Coleridge's dealer, and the poet just didn't like to say.
The Weir has a very classy restaurant, a very old pub (they were re-thatching it) and a huge, echoing hotel, which also owns the pub. £40 a night for full board. In the pub, I read an account of the first car to make it up Porlock Hill, which is one of the steepest in the country: 1900, and it was a Napier. People took bets on whether it would break down, but it didn't. The hill, however, has 3 escape lanes and lots of signs to pedestrians to keep out of the road, in case of vehicles out of control.
Back in the hotel, we got as far as the fire and some guide books, but were interrupted by a very camp Irish waiter in a bow tie, proferring gin and tonic. Dinner was excellent: we were the only people in the restaurant apart from another woman. The wine list was good, as well.
There was a huge gale in the night and I managed to drop the thing that stops sash windows rattling out of the window (don't ask), so it was a somewhat disturbed night. Lovely place, though.
