Old Harry Rocks

On Friday night, I excitedly hopped on a plane from Manchester to Southampton in order to be reunited with two very dear friends that I made whilst out on my ski season. With the recent onslaught of hail, snow and winds, it’s safe to say it wasn’t the smoothest of flights and definitely not the smoothest of landings. I’m not a fan of taking off (slightly inconvenient for a gal who loves to travel) and had downloaded a playlist earlier on in the day to entertain me throughout the short flight. As we were preparing for take off I was reminded of the horrendous nausea and sweaty palms that plague me with the roaring of the engines. Pushing the ridiculously negative thoughts to one side, I popped my headphones on, and hit shuffle on ‘Songs to Sing in the Shower’. I kid you not, my ears were greeted with the unmistakable sound of the Beegees’ hit, Staying Alive. If I wasn’t convinced of my imminent death beforehand, I sure as hell was now (even if I was holding back the laughter.)


Needless to say, I made it into the arms of my friend at Southampton arrivals in one piece and was whisked away in their Mini Cooper to the nearby Poole Harbour. The next morning, after some mishaps with poached eggs in a frying pan (I know, I’ve never made them that way either) we set off in pursuit of some adventure. We hopped onto the Sandbanks chain ferry over to Studland, the home of Old Harry Rocks, one of the most recognizable parts of the Jurassic Coast and previously captured amazingly by one of my favourite photographers and insta-grammers @amslebrun.

The rocks were stunning. Sheer, dramatic cliff face shot down at such an alarming vertical angle that it was made all the more incredible. White stone soared out of emerald and turquoise waters and a few people in kayaks weaved in and out of the awe-inspiring formations. The entire site was so easily accessible that I was seriously suprised at the lack of people, considering it was around midday on a Saturday. (Or maybe most people don’t consider going to look at rocks a priority on a winters day?)


This was, needless to say, finished off with a pub lunch at The Bankes Arms, a quintessential country inn of Purbeck Stone, draped in glossy ivy and really quite charming.

Thank you to my wonderful friends, Hannah and Lizzy, for being my personal chauffeurs and Bridget Jones’ Drinking Game teammates. 


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