The images that go with this bit can be found here.

Friday 3 rd. July

When I woke in the morning I was informed I; “Smell like a brewery,” according to someone we all know. Funny that, I thought I would have smelled like a hedgerow after all the time I spent falling into them on the several ways home I had taken. We spent the morning cleaning out the apartment. Well at least Lee-Anne did, I mainly watched.

Once I was compos mentis again I drove to Wynn’s and collected Bethy. Her and her co conspirators were just waking as; “We were up to 2.00 am on MSN chatting with people.” It was so nice that Bethy had had some company of her own age on this holiday, rather than just us old farts, I think she learned a few things off Bron too.

Getting back, and Nicol rang to call me a cunt, which was nice of him. More pleasantly, Jamesy came round to see us off, which was kind of him, and then we went and said goodbye to Mam and Louise. Hard to leave the place, we’d been there for a week, but again, would love to have stayed longer.

In fact we did stop off at the local rugby stadium, so as for me to go to the shop there and buy a Scarlet’s rugby jersey. I ‘ll wear this to some Aussie rugby matches so as I can get beaten up.

We drove to Swansea, not out of any particular affection for the place, but so Bethy could now visit the “Blue Banana” again. She, beguiled by the sales patter of the multi-pierced-tattooed freaks who worked as sales assistants there (truth be told they were a lovely crowd for all their attempts to change colour/poke holes in themselves,) bought some shoes and more clothes. Our baggage allowance was going to go through the roof.

We drove out of Wales, our trusty Sean navigating the road which I had traveled so many times as a youth. Actually, in getting us out of Swansea he was invaluable, but, despite my protestations, he had to stay on for the rest of the journey, even though I could find my way to Sennen blindfolded. We passed the beautiful scenic Port Talbot, and passed on through Wales. I wish we could have stopped off at the lovely Castell Coch, but time was pressing. It’s a long journey form Llanelli, I remembered this from the last time I did it. It turned out to be roughly twice the time I’d predicted, which didn’t go down too well with her indoors.

We soon found ourselves crossing the Severn bridge into England, and on the M5. We were congratulating ourselves on the good time we were making, when we hit an eight mile tailback just the other side of Bristol. We crawled along for what seemed like hours, when we found the cause of the delay, a crash on the other side of the motorway. All the blockage was caused by people in our side of the M5 rubbernecking the crash. (Though it did look like a doozy.) I felt sorry for the people on the other side of the motorway, as the tailback there was down to two lanes and about twenty miles long.

Getting near Exeter traveling in the fast lane to make up time, we came across the biggest and freshest skid marks I have seen in a while. They, all six of them, went from the outside lane to the hard shoulder. There a jeep and a horsebox were upside down on the embankment. It was rather obvious what had happened. The twat towing the horse box must have been traveling at ninety mph plus and had had to swerve to avoid another vehicle. He had lost control and jumped on the anchors, which had then locked up the wheels. The weight of the box had swung through 180 degrees and  across three lanes of traffic. Then their impetus had turned them over, at least once, onto the embankment. I felt sorry for the horses. The police were there in force dealing with it all.

We stopped at the service station at Oakhampton for a pasty. While we were there, two old (60 yrs +) Hells Angels pulled in. I was a big fan of the Hells Angels when I was a spotty adolescent. The papers were full of their exploits, and a series of pulp books mythologised their status. I wanted to join them when I was a kid, but I didn’t think riding my fathers “Honda 50 step-through” would have cut the mustard. Seeing these old boys now in the hard light of day certainly demythologised them. They looked old and fucked. But they were still riding their Harleys (a crap bike at best) without gloves on, like good hardmen do. Their colours looked faded.

We stopped off at Penzance and collected some offerings. Then onto Howard and Janet’s. They were all ready for us, and after greetings and insults were exchanged, we had a wonderful al fresco dinner. After dinner, a stroll over to see the local badger set was had, and sunset viewed as we were from behind the village church was watched, and was beautiful.

We stopped off at my old local for a beer, “The First and Last”. Fortunately this is now getting back to the proper pub it was when I lived there. The Landlady, and old friend by the name of Daphne, has made it back into the haunt of locals, and it’s all the better for the.

But more on this later.

Saturday 4^th July.

In the morning Janet and Howard had planned a treat for us, an open top bus ride into St Ives. Hooray! I’d not done this before, so a new treat for me as well as my two, and it turned out to be a hoot. We managed to get seats on the very front, and watched the splendid views as we traveled along the most beautiful coastline in all the UK. The bus driver, an old mate from the pub, whose name totally escapes me, took great delight in entertaining us by putting cyclists into the ditch and crushing cars through the hedges. Or at least attempting to.

Passing through St Just, a village best described as “a right shithole” when I lived in the area,  Janet pointed out what a chic little place it had become, with galleries and other shops all opening up. House prices are through the roof there now on the back of this. We decided to come over in the evening to see for ourselves.

In St Ives I had the first, and possibly the best, “proper” pasty of the holiday. We cruised around the town, visiting galleries, and having an excellent tour accompanied  by guidance from Janet who’s an expert in matters artistic, (the pottery of Bernard Leach in particular.) We stopped for a cuppa at the open air café on the beach (after drying the chairs and tables following a downpour.) Then on to more touring. We climbed up “The Island” which is actually a headland, and took in the dramatic views. We strolled around the chapel of St Nicholas on which I want first dibs for converting into a house.

We stopped off for a pint at the Sloop, a lovely old traditional boozer. I could have stayed there all day, but there were more galleries to see. A new gallery which had opened recently, had the most incredible, actually incredibly bad, art on display. One shop seemed to have nothing but broken toys, and old dolls heads with burned matches for hair. Another shop’s wares consisted of bits of slate with “meaningful” words on bits of gold tape glued to them. We didn’t buy anything.

We got to the bus stop to catch our bus back to Sennen a little bit too early. Early enough to pop into the pub for another quick half in fact, this was good as there was rugby on the TV. The Lions were playing, I’d forgotten all about that! The bus ride back was equally glorious, though it wasn’t until we got off that we realised that we were now sun/wind burned to a deep red/brown colour. For the rest of the holiday people would comment on our “Aussie tans”.

When we got back to Howard and Janet’s, the bus dropping us right outside their front door, I was still feeling a bit restless. So I borrowed their dog, Kai (Cornish for …erm… dog!) and took a stroll. Kai is a perfect walking companion, much in the same way Barnum, my dog is. He also, much as Barnum does, has the same marvelous ability to keep you amused on a walk, by doing incredibly dumb things.

I decided to go take a nose at our house, to see if it was still standing. Traveling across the fields I came across Aiden, the farmer who owns one of the two farms next to our house. Good to see him again, we chatted and caught up. He, kindly, showed me around all the new work he and his partner have done on the farm buildings. I must say it was absolutely boggling, the work, although new and wonderfully designed, blended into the farm buildings in a way which brought out the best of them, while still keeping the “working farm” feel of the place. The work shop for his partner Patrick (the famous author!) was to die for, I was very envious. Speaking of the devil; Patrick came out of the main building to meet us. It was the first time I’d actually met Patrick, and it was great to, at last, be able to put a face to the name.

After saying my farewells, I had only got a few yards when I bumped into Graham, who is the farmer who farms the other farm, and did the catching up thing with him too. We agreed to catch a pint later in the pub.

In the close where our house sits I was doing the nosey bit, when Sara our neighbour popped out; “fancy a beer?” Oh well, if you insist. We sat in her new conservatory (I must get one of these for my place,) and chatted. She showed me her new workshop, and I must get one of those for our house too.

Kai and I strolled down towards the headland, on the footpath which skirts our house. Aiden had sewn flowers along all the field edges, the place was a riot of colour, I’d never seen this area look so stunning. I was nearly in tears. We reached the top of Najizal headland, the view here is one of the most sublimely beautiful area of coast, in an area where beautiful coast is everywhere. The only thing spoiling it for me was the total cloud cover, which didn’t give me any inspiration to fire off shots. Ah well…

I decided to knock on the door of our house on the way back, just to see if our tenant was in. The door was answered by a man in his thirties, holding a small child; “Is Helen in?” I asked politely. He replied in a rather belligerent manner; “She’s out in the village, who are you and what the hell do you want in any case?” I explained that I was the guy who owned the house, and that I was wondering how things were going with her. Abrupt change in manner; “Ah, oh, yes, she’s not here, you can come in and wait if you want, she shouldn’t be long, and you can have a cuppa. Do you want a cuppa? I’ll give her a ring on the mobile let her know you’re here…” I explained that wasn’t needed, and that I was staying at Janet and Howard’s if she wanted to get hold of me. As it happened I bumped into her on the way back to H&J’s and we had a chance to catch up.

Back at H&J’s Janet had made us a Thai meal, with the most gorgeous hot and spicy Thais soup, oh god it was so good!

We took ourselves to St Just in the evening and visited the four pubs on the main square there. Two of these were heaving, two were as still as the grave. Howard explained how the pubs each fall into, and out of, favour over a period of a couple of months, and how the ones full today may be empty next month. All very parochial in St Just still then, if you know what I mean.

We got back to the First and last, and yet again I found myself in a time warp. All the old faces were back there, most of whom it was good to see again.

There was a bloody awful band playing in the bar, so we stood outside with the smokers. Soon we had a great entourage built up, including, as promised Graham. Daphne saw me standing by the bar, getting a round in, she vanished, and reappeared two minutes later with a glass of something red and dangerous looking. “Neck this in one,” she said with not a little guile. I did. I don’t know what it was, it tasted sweet and firey, but I was seeing double from there on in. Watching the performers outside, and remembering I had been one of these once so don’t take the micky Thomas, I managed to fire off a few shots. They would come in handy, as I knew I wasn’t going to remember much about who I’d seen that evening.

Back at H&J’s we took turns in introducing each other to the most ludicrous things we knew on “Youtube”. Don’t ask me why, it seemed fun at the time.

Sunday 5 th July.

I woke up surprisingly, astonishingly even, refreshed and took kai out for another walk. I decided to do the complete loop of my old favourite stomp from my time living there. This takes in Najizal/Carn Boel/Lands End/Sennen lookout/Sennen village and back. It was great fun, and the wind in my hair and kai doing his suicidal romps on the cliff tops were both very enervating. Unfortunately the light was still as flat as a pancake, so no great photos. I stopped off at Pordenack Point, my favourite of the headlands hereabouts and spent some time sitting and thinking. Though, to be truthful, most of the time was just spent sitting. This, I decided, is where I want my ashes scattered, though preferably not until after I’m dead.

The walk through the bloody awful Lands End “attraction” was as nauseating as ever. The place was full of people, as everywhere is these days, with mobile phones clamped to their ear; “What, I can’t hear you! There’s lousy reception here. I’m at Lands End. Lands End in Cornwall. No, it’s shit.”

 

Then onto Sennen coastguard lookout, and more nostalgia than it’s possible to bear, so I moved straight on. Coming back into the village, I noticed that several new houses were being built on the top of the headland. Or rather, several old houses had been knocked down, and rather palatial McMansions were being built in their place. Nice, if you can afford it.

I got back to H&J’s a bit later than expected, the old legs ‘aint what they once were you know. Vickie, H&J’s lovely daughter and her two sweet kids, both daughters too, were there to join us. This was great, as Bethy loves looking after small kids. So seeing as I was back from a long walk, and knackered, we decided to take a walk down the cove. Carrying bags. Actually it was a great call, as by now the sun was trying to break through, and I could fire off some shots at last. Along the way Bethy and the kids collected some pet snails, and we watched some beef being made. We eventually got back to Sennen headland, where I got a good shot. One. Then we made our way down along, and through, and out of, the cove to a grassy bay where we could shelter and snack. Excellent.

I was dreading the walk up Sennen hill, it’s a bit bloody steep and I was full of good cheese and fruit. But Janet had a brainwave; “Let’s take the bus.” Hurrying down the cove, well hurrying as much as me and Howard are capable of hurrying, we managed to jump on the bus just before it set off; “Next stop please!” Of course the next stop was right out front of their house. Laughing!

Soon it was time for our treat. After much palaver of getting dolled up in our finest, we set off. Howard was kindly driving, under the instructions of Sean. Our destination? 15 Cornwall, Jamie Oliver’s charitable enterprise restaurant.

We got there in plenty of time, our table was booked for 8.00 pm. We got in early and I had a pint of “Betty Stoggs”. Funnily enough I had been drinking Betty Stoggs (Skinners Brewery) at the First and Last, but it was only on reading the wine list at JO’s that I found out it was voted “Beer of the year 2008” by CAMRA, and they know a thing or two about beers. I couldn’t disagree with them, it’s a truly gorgeous drop of ale.

We were shown to our table, there was as marvellous informal attitude about the place, nothing pretentious at all (not at all what I had expected.). The evening has a set “taster menu” with five, which turns somehow into seven, courses. The only choice was vegetarian or non vegetarian. Funnily enough, most on our table, Howard included, chose the vege options or the fish.

I took photos of each of our courses, I had to, they were each fucking unbelievably good. Quote of the night came from Lee-Anne, who, on trying her first taste of the risotto said; “My mouth just had an orgasm!” Bethy was NOT impressed.

The view of the sunset from our table was an unexpected, but much enjoyed bonus. I pointed out that my glass had a round top, but an oval base, a neat design which fitted snugly into my hand. So Janet pinched one. Our entertainment was also enhanced by the party on the table behind me. One of the young ladies had, rather obviously, a new boob job. She was very proud of these, and 90% of them were on display to the public. Unfortunately, to the disinterested observer, they looked like a dead heat in the Zeppelin race, not attractive.

A lovely evening was had, the food, the company, the wines and beers, the cheeses for my desert, were faultless. We were given copies of the menu to take home with us, we haven’t dare attempt the recipes yet, the memory of how good the food we were served there still lingers. Highly recommended if you are in the area.

Howard kindly drove us back. I think he was the only one of us who didn’t fall asleep on the journey home. At least I hope he didn’t.