Not quite. It was Easter. But it felt like Christmas.
Driving through the beautiful Dartmoor was an unforgettable experience – the majestic views, the barren landscapes. And the near-frostbite on my fingers.
I left the car just for a few minutes to take whatever pictures I could take, but the wind, combined with occasional hail, made it a thoroughly miserable experience.
Yet, the ice-cream van was there, patiently waiting for better times.
I was glad to be back in the tiny village of Scoriton on the edge of the national park, not just because I knew my fantastic B&B owners would have fresh home-made cake and a cup of much-needed hot tea for us. I also loved the tree in the village, one of the most amazing trees I’ve ever seen.
I’m going to go back there in the summer. I want to experience it all again and eventually use my walking boots which stayed in the boot all Easter weekend. (The norovirus episode, which I’m not going to delve into here, didn’t help either).
Dorset is a lovely place and I took this postcard-worthy image to prove it: