It’s a bit of a wild place, is Porlock Weir. Something to do with those poets that used to hang around the place a couple of centuries ago. Most famously Coleridge. There is now a Coleridge Way which meanders through the area. More to do with attracting tourists than celebrating the man, I suspect. Anyway, they were all on drugs, him and that Wordsworth and Percy “Bysshe” Shelley (what sort of a nickname is that?). The Weir was the centre of a thriving fishing industry until the twentieth century. We walked from the Weir, along the shoreline and inland to the separate town of Porlock, and back. Avoided most of the showers.