Here are some shots of Dartmouth, taken on a sunnier day than today (it’s raining at present, but the garden says thank you). Chris stayed in the car (and roasted) while he waited in the queue for the ferry to Kingswear; Roland went off to look at boats and a cannon, and I was entirely happy taking photographs of anything I found interesting…

The harbour at Salcombe in the South Hams (South-West Devon) is not on a river but an inlet, as the water-taxi driver told me when I took a walk onto the floating pontoons where people waited to be picked up by water transport. That was the day we went to Burgh Island, and, coming back, we called in at Salcombe for an ice-cream and a stroll around the harbour.

As you can see from the photographs, Salcombe is a well-loved spot for tourists, especially those who enjoy sailing and yachting (and the more sedate folk who simply like to sit on a bench by the waterfront and watch the life on the water).

Bigbury and Burgh Island in South Devon hold a very special place in the hearts of Chris and me because we went there on our honeymoon. On one hot day recently we decided to pay another visit and take our friend, Roland (who is over from Australia), with us. The beach was packed with holiday-makers but the tide was coming in as we arrived and we had to wade across the last twenty metres or so to reach Burgh Island, which only becomes an island when the tide comes in. The beach is an isthmus, therefore the sea laps at its shoreline on both sides.

Chris, Roland and I had lunch at the Pilchard Inn and, before taking a walk on the cliff-top, we watched the beach begin to disappear. We had to take the famous tall tractor back to the mainland but, as you can see from the photo’s, some intrepid people preferred to hike up their clothes and wade through…

You know that my husband Chris loves ironing – well, if you didn’t, you do now – and you know that our friend Roland from Australia is staying with us at present (he has featured in so many blog posts!). This morning, just as I was getting dressed, I wondered about the household washing (as you do when you’re getting dressed)…

“Did you deal with the white wash from yesterday?” I asked Chris, who was getting dressed also.

“Uh huh,” Chris mumbled. (Well it seemed like mumbling to me because I’m still deaf after my recent virus.)

“And did you give Roland his pile of clean washing?”

“All dry, ironed, neatly folded and up in his room,” Chris answered.

“Oh, you are lovely to do that for Roland – fancy ironing his clothes!” I exclaimed.

“Don’t all husbands iron their male guests clothes while their wives are still in bed?” asked Chris ironically.

I should have said, “Then you shouldn’t get up so early,” but I didn’t think to say it because I was laughing so much.

Yesterday my blog showed the best photographs I took of people jumping off the breakwater at Babbacombe but today I’m going to put on the rest in order to save any disappointment from those brave jumpers. Please excuse the poor photography but it’s ever so difficult to time it right and actually catch divers and jumpers in mid-air (there were almost as many photo’s of big splashes as jumps), especially on my little mobile camera.

Having been out for most of the day at a family get-together in Somerset, Chris drew up at my sister’s place to drop her home when Mary suddenly realised that she didn’t have her keys. She checked her handbag a second time, spilling the contents (a red lipstick, a pink flower clip and a pair of joke glasses) onto her lap.

“I’ll have to come back…” Mary began then had a change of heart, “No I won’t, I’ll break in through the back – like I’ve done before.”

She jumped out of the car and was about to wander around to the back of the house when another thought struck her.

“Maybe Geoff forgot to lock the window, seeing as he knew I’d be home soon.”

And Mary checked and found, to her great satisfaction, that she was right. Mary and I looked at the narrow window.

“I think I can fit through there,” Mary said and looked to me for confirmation.

I nodded but I rather fancied the idea of having a go myself (we’ve always been rather athletic and daredevil sisters).

“Let me try,” I said as nonchalantly as possible to hide my excitement at the prospect. “I’ve got longer legs than you.”

“No that’s alright, I’ll grab a chair from the garage.”

Amongst the many items of furniture housed in the garage, the only chair within reach was a wooden high chair, which Mary dismissed, no doubt after imagining the difficulty of trying to step up onto it (almost as hard as climbing in through the window).

“This paint tin will do,” Mary said, putting it in place under the window sill.

My sister stood on the paint pot and raised one of her legs in the hope that it would stretch effortlessly over the sill and into the window. Sadly, although a former expert at doing the splits, she found that her knee was crooked on the wrong side of the sill.

“I’ll do it – let me try,” I urged. (Surely, being that little bit younger, I was still limber enough to extend my leg to the desired elevation.)

Mary stood on the paint pot and twisted and turned, working out her method of entry.

“I’ve got it,” she said delightedly, “I’ll just dive in head first and you can give me a push if I need it.”

And that is exactly what happened, as you can see from the photographs…

It isn’t every day that you come across a ferret on a breakwater, or even at the beach: in fact I’ve never met a ferret anywhere until today. Muffin’s owners take him everywhere, including the beach at Babbacombe. Sorry to say that, although very cute and adorable, Muffin was a trifle smelly. Luckily little Ryan didn’t notice or mind when he picked him up. Oh, and Ryan has three brothers – Jack, Lewis and Owen – all such nice boys.

It can be a little boring when you’re fishing for hours and you don’t get a bite, and the fish aren’t biting maybe because of all the racket going on and the people throwing themselves, left right and centre, off the breakwater; but it wasn’t boring because of all the people, of all ages, who joined in jumping and diving off the breakwater at Babbacombe. Who could blame them on such a hot day? I took a lot of photo’s so that the jumpers might see how great they looked in action; and, of course, it rather relieved the boredom of just standing on the breakwater fishing without a hope of catching anything.

These are the best of them…

It was so hot on Tuesday when I went fishing from the breakwater at Babbacombe (near Torquay) that people kept jumping off into the water. I didn’t follow suit – I was too busy catching my large pollock (which had to be thrown back) …

You can’t come to this part of Devon without visiting Haytor Rock on the edge of Dartmoor… Our friend from Australia thinks he’s becoming a mountain goat.