One night in Weymouth....and other horror stories?

Well, Dave, since you ask....

I’d gone down to Dorchester on the train from Taunton and, although it’s a lovely journey through Chetnole and Maiden Newton, it’s an irregular service and often involves a poor connection at Castle Cary. Indeed, when it was suggested Weymouth FC could have investigated travelling by train on that snowy Tuesday last season, I had an image of the whole squad filling the shelter at Castle Cary waiting for a late-running main line service from Paddington. The mobile refreshment van in the car park would have been delighted by their presence....”burger for Phillips!”

Anyway, on that particular day, there was a fair old wait for the train back from Dorchester with the prospect of an especially frustrating delay at Castle Cary. So, suddenly, the idea of spending the night down there stated to appeal. I’d done it before and knew that – summer season or not – it was relatively easy to find accommodation in Weymouth. But, of course, the key factor in this tale is that it was a pre-season friendly on a Saturday in August.

So, after prevaricating and waiting for the next down train, I arrived in Weymouth at around seven o’clock and started to look for somewhere to stay. My previous experience indicated that, as the evening wore on, proprietors may be more likely to let a double room as a single at an agreed rate. I tried a few places on the front, then down Abbotsbury Road where I’d easily found a room the previous time. Nothing doing and by now in a determined state of mind - “I will find something!” – I headed towards Wyke Regis before completing the circle back into town. By this time the last train had gone but – what the hell! – I’d find somewhere along the front or up the Dorchester Road. A few vacancy signs to tease but no single rooms or attractive “last minute” deals.

I guess at some stage the idea of sleeping rough began to appeal as a little adventure in itself. Being a Saturday night in a seaside resort, I tried to mentally plot the main routes back from nightclubs as places to avoid. Consequently, from the angle of feeling safe as much as anything else, I headed away from the town centre past the Sea Life Park towards Overcombe. Eventually I found a comfy shelter near Bowleaze and slept for a while only to be woken once by a sniffing dog, a second time by voices. Somehow that seemed rather too “public” so I carried on to Preston where the church porch provided a safe haven for the night. I slept reasonably well, rose at dawn and walked back to Weymouth for a breakfast before spending the day around Abbotsbury.

Various lessons were learnt including:

(a) seaside resorts have a lot of accommodation but they can be busy on Saturday nights in August.

(b) every now and again it might be worth spending more than normal on finding somewhere to stay.

(c) it can be cold sleeping in chrurchyards - even in August.

(d) it’s not bloody worth it for a pre-season friendly.


But, on the other hand, I'd rather sleep in a church porch than a particular B&B in Oxford!

Any other horror stories in the name of following Torquay United?