When I went camping with the dog last year, it was tough. I enjoyed it, but it hurt. Let’s just say, there were more aches than adventures. It saddened me as I realised my hardcore camping days were probably behind me. However, a couple of weeks ago, I began to contemplate a ‘Last Dance’ with camping. The thought popped up when I was sent a marketing email about the place I stayed last year (those targeted ads know how to get you).

The Glamping Revelation

I ultimately decided against the camping redux, but I did notice something called glamping pods. These little marvels were available for a minimum of four days, and as fate would have it, those days matched when Jennifer wasn’t on her A&E shifts. It was written in the stars—or, at least in my inbox—so I booked it. Off we went, complete with a dodgy 5-day weather forecast that promised rain, wind, and a few moments of sunshine to keep things interesting.

Glamping Arrival: Where Luxury Meets Efficiency

We arrived at the campsite and were greeted with Swiss-level organisation. The barrier recognised my car, the key safe number had been sent via text, and before we knew it, we were in. No need for the awkward chit-chat with a receptionist who’d been worn down by six weeks of school holidays. I don’t mind small talk, but this no-nonsense entry—complete with a Google map to our doorstep—was right up my street.

The pod itself? Better than expected. Modern kitchen, proper bathroom, big double bed, and gas central heating. It could even have been romantic, if it weren’t for a black spaniel that refuses to acknowledge it’s in its ninth year of life. Compared to last year’s 2-man tent, it felt like a week at the Ritz.

Dinner at Martin’s Bar

After a late walk down to the wonderfully secluded Eype Beach, we stayed local for dinner at the campsite bar, charmingly called “Martin’s.” In an act of corporate genius, the sign was designed using the Martini logo. The corporate feel extended to the pricing—everything was expensive, including the food, which was as dull as the darkening skies outside. Still, we slept well, and as men of a certain age often do, I was up at dawn’s crack.

Dawn Patrol: Walking the Dog and West Bay

Normally, being up that early is annoying, but when you’ve got a deserted, spectacular beach to walk the dog along, it’s pure joy. By the time I got back, Jennifer was stirring, so we headed out on another stroll to West Bay.

Now, West Bay is many things, but ‘picturesque’ might be stretching it. It’s a seaside village known for its stunning cliffs and rich geological history. Dramatic sandstone cliffs? Check. A semi-charming harbour? Yep. A few quirky shops and a market? Absolutely. Stick around long enough, and a local will definitely tell you it featured in Broadchurch. And yes, in the rain, it does look like the perfect setting for a gloomy ITV drama about a child murder.

Highs and Lows: Seatown, Bridport, and Pizza in an Industrial Unit

In the afternoon, we wandered around Bridport before heading to Seatown, where the dog enjoyed a swim, and we enjoyed dinner at The Anchor Pub. Expect to pay through the nose here, but the food’s good, and the view’s even better. Sometimes, you’ve just got to accept that you only live once and, occasionally, you’ll need to pay for it.

Wednesday took us to Bridport Market. If you haven’t been, go. It’s absolutely bonkers, full of things you can’t imagine anyone would buy—but they do. The atmosphere is brilliant, and it’s a true sensory overload. We even had a vegetarian curry in an antique shop—cheap and lovely. How often do you get to say that?

Later, we hiked up Colmer Hill, wandered around the Symondsbury Estate, and on a recommendation, went for pizza…on an industrial estate. Marcetos is as strange as it sounds, but the pizza is authentic, imported straight from Italy, and delicious. Try it; it’s bizarre but excellent.

Rain, Rain, and Some More Rain

Thursday brought relentless rain. I still managed a very wet walk along the beach, but by mid-morning, we were bored enough to try out the campsite’s steam room, sauna, and pool. Not our idea of excitement, so we headed out to Charmouth and Burton Bradstock. Both looked grim in the rain, so we returned to West Bay for lunch in a not-so-great beach café and to check if anyone had been murdered (no one had).

The rain didn’t stop me from enjoying another wet walk in the afternoon. There’s something oddly satisfying about slowly trudging through wet sand—thanks, Morrissey. Dinner was a takeaway curry from busy looking Sundorbon restaurant, which we ordered with enough waiting time for a pint at the cosy Woodman pub. There is something thrilling about ordering a curry and having enough time for a swift pint in a pub opposite. Was it good? I think so but curries are like wine to me; I know a bad one, but I couldn’t tell you the difference between good and excellent. Those people who claim to be curry connoisseurs? Liars, the lot of them.

The Final Breakfast and Conclusion

By Friday, the rain had fully set in. After another oddly satisfying beach walk, we hunted for breakfast and hit the jackpot at the Red Brick Café. Tucked away on a run-down industrial estate, this place was alive with colour, fresh food, and friendly staff—a perfect end to a great short holiday.

Sure, the weather was only good in fleeting moments, but with an overactive black spaniel, a heatwave would have been a nightmare anyway. Thursday’s downpour tested our patience, but we managed. West Dorset might not be everyone’s idea of a perfect holiday spot, but for us, it was a delight.

We’ll definitely be back.