Weymouth Sea Life Centre, SandWorld, Museum

The second full and final day of our time in Weymouth as part of our short break to the West Country would see us dodging the weather and hitting a few sights of interest at the northern end of the Dorset town in contrast to the day before where we’d mostly headed south (see: Weymouth and the South West Coast Path). On this day we’d be taking a look at the town’s aquarium and a nearby attraction showing off sand sculptures before heading into the main part of the town for lunch and a chance to hit the museum that we’d discovered was closed before, and because we’d finally learnt our lesson about needing to book reservations for a decent meal during the pandemic we’d be concluding the day at an Italian restaurant on the beach.

The view from our hotel window right on the seafront was very nice first thing in the morning. Mostly blue skies, calm-looking water, people out taking their dogs for walks along the promenade and across the sand; but the wind was pretty strong and cold and we knew that the forecast was for the conditions to change quite significantly.

Breakfast done, hoodies on, we headed off northwards along Weymouth beach, one eye on the increasing cloud cover and another always looking for something to take a photo of. I was in full Marty Feldman mode. One of the first things to catch our attention was a crow trying to extract the inhabitant of a shell from its protective layer. It was doing that bird thing where they pick the shell up, flap into the air, then drop it to crack it open, only it wasn’t flying high enough and the shell was resolutely remaining intact. We offered some words of encouragement and tried to instruct the bird that it needed more altitude but our efforts were in vain as it transpired that the corvid didn’t understand English. Ridiculous. Coming over here to our beaches and not even speaking the language. Confident, however, that it would learn – they are fabulously smart after all – and aware that we were getting odd stares from people out and about that conveyed a mix of confusion and suspicion at our gesturing and talking to a bird on a beach, we pressed on.

It’s practically impossible to walk along the seafront at Weymouth and not be struck by the sight of the Jubilee Clock Tower. This is on account of it being revoltingly ugly. Standing on a base of Portland Stone and constructed from wrought iron in 1888 to commemorate Queen Victoria‘s Golden Jubilee the bold colour scheme was applied in the 1920s during the terrible taste famine that blighted the south coast of England.

From something garish (but still lovely in its own way) to something undeniably beautiful next with the sight of the Pier Bandstand right on the water’s edge. Observant people and possibly even you might have already realised that what’s pictured clearly isn’t a pier and clearly isn’t a bandstand but nobody ever questions why we still refer to people in parliament as politicians when diabolically duplicitous detritus is what they all are so here we are. In fact, as you’ve probably guessed, this structure used to extend out to sea and on that pier there was a bandstand but neither now remain. The pier was constructed just ahead of the outbreak of war in the late 1930s and incorporates Art Deco design like many similar seaside attractions around the UK’s coast but with some early modernist construction techniques. Sadly, those techniques weren’t robust enough to withstand nature and the test of time. In its heyday Weymouth’s pier hosted dances, concerts, wrestling, roller skating, and Miss Weymouth contests but following the decision to demolish the pier the remainder of the building that stands today is home to an amusement arcade and an Italian restaurant. We would be visiting it later in the day.

The sand of the beach farther south had given way to shingle at this point but it was no less an attractive, typically traditional, British seaside to walk along, or be blown along as was the case for us. Buildings along the shoreline had all the elements of Victorian and Edwardian resorts you’d expect to see on vintage postcards.

We knew we’d reached the point along the beach at which we’d need to turn inland once we hit the stone jetty. Rather than being protection for the shore this stone outcrop actually protects an outlet of water that runs under the beach and nearby roads. I used the spot to snap a few photos of some of the cruise ships anchored in Weymouth Bay – you know me and my love of cruise ships – but the promised rain was clearly getting extremely close now and the darkening clouds rolling in looked ominous against the bright colours of the seafront chalets.

Our first stop of the day was at SEA LIFE Weymouth to give it its apparently official name, but I’ll be slipping and referring to it as “the Sea Life Centre” on occasion (or even just Sealife Centre) throughout picture captions and in this account of our day simply because I have an aversion to putting things in all capitals for no obvious reason and, to me, all aquariums are Sea Life Centres as the first one we ever visited in Portsmouth was named that so the name’s stuck. Incidentally, the one in Portsmouth is now called Blue Reef but we still call it the Sea Life Centre much to the annoyance of the manager when I mentioned it to him several years ago.

Getting into the town’s aquarium was entertaining. We’d needed to pre-book tickets and an arrival time and we turned up just as that slot – and indeed the aquarium itself – opened for the day. There was a small, socially-distanced queue ahead of us and entry to the building could only be done upon a satisfactory temperature test using a digital infrared thermometer. I’ve talked about infrared thermometers and our quite surprising experience with them where my wife’s concerned on our arrival in Weymouth (have a quick read of the opening paragraphs of our First Evening in Weymouth to get up to speed there) but the short recap of that is that they’re useless, people don’t know how to use them, and they have big problems with my wife.

Well…

The young man with the thermometer was standing in place, pointing his gun at people’s heads, glancing at it, nodding, then allowing people to shuffle forward. It was slow-going because the timed, pre-booked ticket system still seemed to involve an awful lot of faffing inside the building but it was gradually progressing and while the rain had finally arrived on the scene it was thankfully little more than a misty drizzle at this point. It was our turn.

The gun was pointed at my head. The trigger was depressed. The man glanced down, nodded, then turned to my wife.

The gun was pointed at her head. The trigger was depressed. The man glanced down, frowned, then tried again. Then again. Then from closer. Then from a little bit back. Then pointed it at her wrist. Then tried again on her forehead. He tried it on me again and it apparently worked fine. Back to my wife. The trigger was depressed. The bottom of the thermometer suddenly opened up and the batteries ejected onto the ground. The batteries were retrieved, rubbed together for luck, reinserted, and the thermometer was tried again. Nothing on my wife.

“I’m just going to assume you’re okay,” he said nervously, looking at us and the queue behind us that was growing with every second in the strengthening rain.

And that’s the story of how we discovered my wife has a built-in infrared thermometer electronic warfare system.

As you can almost see from the map of Sea Life Weymouth above the exhibits at the attraction are set in zones of interest and on our visit, because of all the Covid precautions in place, there was a one-way system in operation. That system couldn’t be entirely followed because some of the spots double-backed on themselves and we ended up looping around on a couple of occasions anyway in order to escape a particularly noisy section occupied by screaming or shouting kids in the hope that a second wander through might be more peaceful. The enclosed spaces with hard walls and glass surfaces do amazing things with echos of children’s lungs, but not good amazing things.

The star of the Sea Life Centre for us was the octopus. It’s no secret that we’re drawn to intelligence – it’s why we’re together and why we despise most of humanity, after all – and you don’t even have to read all the accounts of these fantastic creatures working with tools or escaping their tanks to sense the thinking going on beyond those fascinating eyes.

Seeing a fish swimming upside down immediately made me think that either something was wrong with it or with Earth’s gravitational pull localised to that tank in the aquarium. A quick discussion with my wife as to which was more likely concluded it probably was the fish after all which was disappointing from a major physics discovery perspective. As it turned out, neither was correct, which just goes to show why arguments of the type Is It X Or Is It Y? are inherently flawed. Lionfish have strong control over their swim bladder and swimming upside down is perfectly normal behaviour for them. I mean, it’s still a bit weird and freaks out the other fish, but it is at least normal.

Hey, Ted, are you upside down or am I?

It’s me, Jim, don’t panic. Just floating on my back for a bit, looking at the world in a strange, new way.

Phew! Thought there might be a local problem with the gravitational vector strong enough to offset the effects of the fundamental interactive forces of nature for a second.

Nope. Just thinking about how if the surface of the water was really the ground.

Are you on something?

Sure am, Jim. High as a freaking kite.

Weymouth Sea Life Centre has not one but two species of penguin to gaze at (ideally with clothes pegs on your nose). The first of those is the Humboldt Penguin, a vulnerable species indigenous to northern Chile and Peru. A far-less-threatened species and therefore far-less-likely-to-be-seen species of penguin – at least outside its natural habitat – is the Fairy Penguin which is stupidly cute, but since it can typically be found in Australia is quite likely venomous or something. Quite why they were in Weymouth wasn’t clear but never rule out a lack of bar work during lockdown meaning they needed something else to do.

A couple of unusual attractions next. The Night and Day Experience recreates a coral reef across a full day cycle, incorporates some interactive elements, includes sea turtles (which my wife adores), and was mostly too dark to take any decent photos in. Other visitors’ children seemed to very much enjoy this area judging by the noise. Outside there was a Wetlands area (all the areas outside were wet by this time, but this was designed that way) which is there to encourage local species into the park. The pond and bushes should attract bees, birds, and butterflies, while the rusting car might persuade James May to nest.

Aquatic mammals were the next creatures to win our attention. We braved the spitty rain to stand and watch both seals and otters in their environments, the latter getting quite excited when they caught a glimpse of one of the employees at the Sea Life Centre, an indication that it may have been nearly time for food. It was interesting to observe that the seals seemed to be evolution saying “Let’s take a dog and put it in the water” while the otters were the result of a similar experiment with cats, yet in each case they behaved in the opposite manner to their land-based cousins with the laid-back attitude of the sea dogs and the irritatingly excitable attitude of the sea cats feeling completely wrong.

We almost left the aquarium at this point as it looked like the only zone we’d not explored – Castaway Bay; a splash zone for youngsters – didn’t have anything we’d want to see, but in the interests of completeness we decided at the last second to take a quick nose around it which was handy as that’s where we discovered the Rainforest area. There was a queue to get in because social distance markings were being observed by visitors but the narrowness of the entrance and the need of some people to stare at tanks for sometimes minutes at a time or to yell at little Bobby to get back and come look at the seaweed created a bottleneck. We waited patiently. Most people waited patiently. Some people barged through to see what the hold-up was and were duly and rightly beaten about the heads with sticks and told not to crowd or jump the queue. Or stared and tutted at. One of the two. I forget which.

For me, the stars of this final set of aquarium tanks to pass by were:

• Unicorn fish – Clearly the inspiration for a lot of psychedelic cartoon characters from the 1960s.
• Four-eyed fish – The unicorn fish may have had the nose but these are the nosy ones, ensuring they don’t miss any action above or below the surface of the water with their split eyes that can see in both air and water.
• Poison dart frogs – You have to love thinking about the microscopic evolutionary steps that led to this species of frog promoting the genes for “Screw this, I’m fabulous and I want people to see me!”

That brought our visit to Weymouth’s Sea Life Centre to an end. It was very good. This was the second aquarium we’d visited in a few days and if I had to compare then I’d say that Plymouth’s National Marine Aquarium was better for adults and older children with an eye towards education while Weymouth was far better for families and younger children in general. On a bright day and hopefully one devoid of global viruses running rampant it would be a great place to spend many hours.

This wasn’t a bright day. This was decidedly wet now. In fact, as we left the park the heavens really opened up. Luckily, SandWorld could barely be any closer to the aquarium so we were in and under shelter very quickly. This was very switfly a place we realised would likely also be quite lovely with good weather but it’s hard to get away from the fact that during our time there the general feeling was of something quite grim. The lack of colour probably had an impact. The sound of the rain tipping down onto the plastic overhead or the somewhat terrifying sound as the wind slammed into the sheeting or bent a nearby tree overhead to scratch along the roof also didn’t help. When you read those tales every Christmas of the people who visit local Winter Wonderland World attractions just so they can be quoted in newspapers saying “Our kids were expecting reindeers and igloos, not a shipping container with a bag of half-melted ice cubes suspended on string from the ceiling!” then there was just the merest hint of that about this place. Nature played a part, definitely, but the organisers could certainly look into making the site more appealing in these conditions.

There’s no disputing the quality of the artwork and intricacy in the details in making the sand sculptures, though, and many of the artists were working on them as we visited. With some families around it might have been nice if there was some indication of interaction or a look-up on occasion with a smile but since I own three t-shirts with variations of the phrase “Grumpy Bastard” on them and my wife invented the resting bitch face we really can’t comment too strongly on this. There were also some areas to play in the sand for kids and a shop selling anything even remotely sandy so since we didn’t catch it in its best light (I hope) I’d recommend it as worth a visit, especially if you’re planning on hitting the aquarium anyway.

That concluded the two main things we’d wanted to see on this day in Weymouth to an end but we still wanted to hit the museum that we’d failed to account for not being open the day before. That meant a trek all the way back along the beach – with a ten-minute shelter in some public gardens when the driving rain forced us and a couple of other people scurrying to limit just how drenched we were all getting – and since it was early afternoon we also took a minor detour to one of the bars we’d visited before, the Nautico Lounge, to grab a bite to eat and a drink. The museum is on the south side of the harbour and we timed our subsequent walk to it to perfection and got to see Weymouth’s bascule bridge opening to let some boats in and out.

Weymouth Museum is not big. It’s probably one of the smallest museums we’ve ever visited, but this is reflected in its low entry fee. Don’t miss it if you’re visiting the town, however, because some of the stuff there is great, and the wartime exhibits in particular were fabulous. My absolute favourite: there was a transcription on the walls from a 1978 edition of the Dorset Evening Echo of the account of Lieutenant John Hoare accepting the surrender of a German U-Boat in 1945 and escorting it back to Portland which, if it’s still there when you visit, I insist you read. It’s an incredible account that really brings home the human side of war as the two sides exchanged stories and photos of loved ones on the submarine heading towards Dorset; respect; camaraderie of people in similar professions just doing their job; then despair at the treatment of the Germans on land by superiors wanting photo opportunities and obstinate Americans wanting to throw their weight around.

All this fraternisation may appear reprehensible. Judging by the home papers there is a hysteria or hatred about – a desirable thing maybe in war, but I cannot say I like it now we have won.

The horrors of the concentration camps were unbelievable. But I refuse to hold all Germans responsible for such crimes. I would stake my life that the Germans I have met could not, and would not, be devils incarnate.

That certainly added a sombre mood to proceedings even if it was thoroughly interesting but it did at least mark the end of the cultural aspects to the day. For the remainder we’d be indulging in what we do best thanks to excessive practice: eating and drinking.

Our plan was to first have a couple of drinks in the Doghouse Micropub that we’d discovered the previous day and which was our sort of place. And that’s exactly what we did. We then planned to freshen up back at the hotel, have a bit of a rest, then head off for our meal once the time was right. And that’s exactly what we didn’t because some people came in the pub who we then started chatting to. So we had to stay for some more drinks. Quite a few more. We’re easily swayed by good conversation in close reach of alcohol. In fact it reached that point where I suddenly realised we had twenty minutes to get to the restaurant and we had to down our glasses quickly and say our goodbyes.

As you’ve previously read if you’ve not skimmed past, Al Molo was on the beach in Weymouth in the former Pier Bandstand building. We arrived dead on time for our sitting and proceeded to enjoy some pleasant views of the sea in a really lovely location ahead of a very enjoyable meal served by an extremely friendly waitress. I can’t quite remember what we ate but you might be able to work it out from the photos. I do know that we didn’t stop drinking but that’s what happens when you give us the opportunity to do so. At the end of the meal we had for a brief moment wine to finish, a cocktail each that we’d ordered, and a shot each of limoncello (for that’s the law in Italian eateries) all on the table. I’m not complaining.

Al Molo gets the thumbs up from us if you like some fine dining and you’re in Weymouth.

This was our last night in Weymouth and we spent the final twenty minutes outside in it walking back along the promenade to our hotel. It was still raining, as you can tell. On the next and last day of our West Country break to come we would spend an evening in Southampton to meet up with some travel blogging friends for a meal and ahead of that we would pay a visit to Beaulieu Motor Museum, a reasonably regular haunt for us not too far from home. That will be covered in the concluding post in this travelogue series.

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