![f0059-01](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/434lexxjcwcknvus/images/file3MURG8VW.jpg)
![f0060-01](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/434lexxjcwcknvus/images/fileFOG4DO17.jpg)
![f0060-02](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/434lexxjcwcknvus/images/fileRDFS0SPH.jpg)
![f0060-03](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/434lexxjcwcknvus/images/file2GR0ICHP.jpg)
![f0060-04](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/434lexxjcwcknvus/images/fileK5BHTB6Y.jpg)
![f0061-01](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/434lexxjcwcknvus/images/fileY2XD74E6.jpg)
![f0061-02](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/434lexxjcwcknvus/images/file66EEACFA.jpg)
After a long drive slaloming down country lanes to the edge of Exmoor, I’ve reached two conclusions. Firstly, this part of the country is gloriously devoid of traffic and glazed with shatterproof serenity. I’m visiting in October, when the summer crowds have melted away, but still…people live here, right? Secondly, I’m in desperate need of refreshment.
Arriving in Minehead, I pop into Apple Tree Tea Rooms on The Avenue, which is on the verge of closing for the day. Sensing my urgent need for cake, the owner – a lovely lady called Jacky – kindly serves me a generous slab of homemade Victoria sponge and a pot of tea, which I thoroughly enjoy on the patio in the late afternoon sun.
Cake fix complete, I wander in the direction of the beach and pad barefoot on the mile-long stretch of silky sand, breathing in the salty sea air, listening