Not so Delightful
After a year in a relationship, things start to transmute, the shiny starts to wear and the ordinary starts to show. That wonderful, smiling feeling, gets interspersed with frustrations, annoyances and pet hates. The aggravating little issues, that you never noticed when things were wonderful and exciting and new, start to creep in. This is where I admit to the things that are not so delightful about Dorset.
Now, let me clear things a little before you jump down my throat, I of course do not know the whole of Dorset as a County. Hell, I don’t know the whole of Lancashire as a County and I lived there most of my life. So there are a number of issues which may be particular to my vicinity, issues, that those lovelies who live on the coast or in one of the bigger towns maybe don’t have. Nonetheless, they are issues, which I would like to address, and issues you possibly need to be aware of were you ever considering moving here.
Let me start with the most important one:
There is not one good Sushi restaurant. I’m not on about little coloured plastic bowls going around on a conveyor belt, I’m talking about authentic, good, fresh, Japanese Sushi. None. Nada. Zilch. This makes me very unhappy. Good Sushi was a fundamental corner stone in my pre-Shaftesbury existence! when working in Manchester, lunch was a huge, delicious sushi role from Umezushi. I was there when they first opened their doors and I was a regular supporter for the first year of their trading. They are now, one of the most successful micro restaurants I know of and when I go home I visit. God I love that place. I took Esra on his first ever trip to the UK and we went again on our last visit up North. It is special. Now why can’t I get that here? arguably this is a very wealthy, middle class area, surely I am not the only, solitary individual that craves good sushi? surely? surely it’s not all pints of cider and a lovely Ploughmans for everyone. If I am missing something, someone please enlighten me.
That brings me to my second moan. Good restaurants. I’m not talking, good wholesome, home cooked food from pubs. I’m also not necessarily talking Michelin stars, as Manchester has their own dearth of those. I am talking Gaucho or Aubaine something formal/casual with a little pizzazz. Yes, I’ve been to The King John Inn in Tollard Royal, before you suggest that, and the food was good, the service was dreadful. The atmosphere was snobby and I got the impression they thought an awful lot of themselves, which to be fair, is quite easy when you are the only pub serving reasonably ‘posh’ food. It’s akin to the pretty girl in the village, but put her in the city and she’s average. I also want more than one good place to eat in the local vicinity, and where is the ethnicity? apart from the ubiquitous Indian restaurant, there is nothing else represented, that I have come across anyway. How about Lebanese or Greek, Mongolian or any African restaurants? again, surely I am not the only person who would love to see these foods? surely its not so white and ‘English’ around here?
Taxis! or lack of. I have moaned about it before, and it was a much bigger cause of annoyance when I lived out in the sticks, but it is still very annoying. There are no black cabs, they don’t exist in this part of the world, there are however taxi firms. But. And this is a big but. On a Friday night you would have needed to have your booking in by Thursday, at the latest, to get one. Try ringing them at 5pm on Friday to book a taxi back at 11pm. No chance. You can hear the smirk of derision on the telephone operatives face when you say that. It’s almost a sniggering “for what time sorry?” followed by a “no, the next available taxi is 2.30am”. Well what use is that I ask you!? none of the pubs are open until 2.30am, what should I do in the intervening 2 hours? I have had people steal my taxi before now. I’ll be outside the pub at the prescribed time, no taxi. Ring said taxi firm, “where is my taxi please?”, only to hear the response “they picked you up 20 minutes ago”….well clearly they didn’t! but that’s a story for another time.
Before this reads like a bitch-fest and I get angry letters from ‘disgusted from Blandford’ in my letterbox, I will finish with one final moan.
Good hairdressers. I sorrowfully said goodbye to mine last month as she packed up and moved to Australia, where do I go from here? a woman’s best friend is her hairdresser. Your hairdresser can make or break you, literally. A good cut (not something done with a knife and fork) and a good colour (not streaky highlights or a solid colour making you look like you’re wearing a wool hat) are paramount to my identity. I cannot find one. I can find average, who charge the earth because they have a pretty salon and use Aveda products, but I cannot find a good one. This, I think, is going to be a few years worth of searching and a few ‘average’ hair cuts before I find awesome. That makes me sad, because I am that vain, and my hair is that important to me.
Oh! one more….a good spa. Do I really have to travel back into London to find one? My old day spa was only a 30 minute drive away and was a wonderful way to spend a day off from work. In fact I plan to go again on my trip back up North. I haven’t been able to find anything locally. We did visit one for my Birthday but that was Wiltshire, let me be quite specific, I don’t believe a swimming pool with a jacuzzi strapped on the side and one of those little port-a-cabin sized wood clad steam rooms constitutes a spa. Am I being picky? possibly. Bugger off back to Lancashire then! I hear you cry…well, there is so many more wonderful offerings from Dorset, that in the grand scheme of things these are just a snobby, spoiled woman’s moans. However, as I regularly point out, my blog, my rules.