Yesterday the weather was warm and with sunny spells.

Nicky and I set out on an adventure. Her mission was to show me that Dorset – the next county east of Hampshire – had some wonderful beaches – perhaps not surf beaches – but wonderful nevertheless. We put Domino and Tilda, her springer spaniel, in the boot, and off we set.

The first stop was Sandbanks spit in Poole Harbour, which has a chain ferry to Studland, our walking destination. Sandbanks is the Palm Beach of Britain, with the 4^th highest land values in the world. I had never heard of Sandbanks! As we made our way down to ferry, the suburbs gave way to luxury abodes, McMansions. Rick Stein had a restaurant on the high street.

After a short ferry ride, we parked the car in the National Trust car park on the other side and made our way, for an hour, down the beach to Harry’s Rock, ancient formations in the water; they are similar to those found on the Great Ocean Drive in Victoria, Australia, except there are only three of them. On the way, it was rather disconcerting to find amongst the punters, nudists displaying their wares proudly. No modesty here. The message was clearly, “Look at me everybody!” On the ferry home, you could clearly see Brownsea Castle on the island of the same name. The National Trust own the island and there are sweet cottages to rent. Another resolution to go and stay there.

We had a quick look at The Pig – the group of restaurants with luxury rooms at the end of the beach and resolved to come back for a stay.

We then drove closer to the Hampshire border to Mudeford Quay in Christchurch Harbour. There is a passenger ferry which pootles you over to another golden, sandy spit. I was convinced – Dorset has some spectacular beaches.

As we drove home, tired after the fresh air and sun, I felt that summer was really here. Summers are golden times. Songs are devoted to the theme. Songs about holiday romances. Think of Olivia Newton John in Grease, when as Sandy she sings, “Summer loving had me a blast…summer loving happened so fast…”

In my teens I had a huge crush on a boy at Kingsgrove High School called Colin Moody. He was two years my senior and the most eligible boy at school: handsome, clever and a sporting hero. I was friends with his twin sisters Liza and Lindy. I had loved him from afar since day one of starting high school. I looked for him every day. I was sure he didn’t know I existed.

The twins asked me to come camping with the Moody family to a beach, Narabeen, north of Sydney Harbour. It was the December summer holidays and it was day after day of heat and sun. The Beach Boys song Good Vibrations was playing every ten minutes on the radio. Everyone was singing it under their breath.

By then I had two years of school under my belt. Even if Colin didn’t know I existed, I was ecstatic to be at close range to him. Colin had invited his mates from school to stay too. We were all down at the beach after dark, hanging out and mucking around and when we were walking back, I felt an arm slip over my shoulders. It was Colin’s. We were an item for eighteen months. The first bloom of innocent, uncomplicated love. Nothing as sweet.

Today I am back to London.