Translate

Tuesday 11 September 2018

Cornwall 2018 - Part 4

Thursday 6 September

Beastie slept a lot yesterday, which meant that despite Ronnie and YG looking forward to a less disturbed night now that Gwen has gone home, Beastie had other ideas and was wide awake by 4am.

I was up late on my own last night, guzzling and catching up on blog posts, so didn't hear a thing until Ronnie woke me with a mug of tea at 10am, having already thrown some bacon and sausages onto the Weber.

Dishes cleared out of the way it was time for Beastie to have a bath in the caravan.  This was a bit of a moment for us as 24 years ago, while on holiday in Cornwall we took a picture on Ronnie having a bath in our very first caravan, also a Bailey.



Beastie is very tired and won't give in, so I volunteer to go out for a walk with her.  Stubborn girl she was, and we'd walked some considerable distance before Dats won.


I was getting worried though as I fast approaching the point of running out of clean songs I know to sing to her.  A rendition of Yogi was next, and there's only so many clean verses of that I could think of!

The helicopters that do the shuttle over to The Scilly Isles and back appear to have changed their flight path the last couple of days.  It's been particularly busy this afternoon, and at one point it was as if we were pitched up in Vietnam, at one point I considered firing up Alexa and asking her to play some Hendrix,Creedence and The Doors for full effect.

Late afternoon and we head off out for a look round somewhere and a bite to eat.  Bagging a free parking spot on the quayside at Porthleven we have an amble round and a brows in some of the niche gift shops.




There was a buzz of activity as we took a table n the lower deck of The Ship Inn for food.  A film crew were setting up and a sign informed us that the pub was closing early for said film crew.  Ronnie offered to be Des and I wasted no time in throwing a few pints of Zoider down my neck before he changed his mind.


I had a crab nachos dish, which was actually superb to my surprise,  I was later informed that Ronnie and YG had picked up the tab for tea which made it even better.

Friday 7 September

Disturbed night last night.  Herself had consumed rather a lot of falling over juice and by the time her head hit the pillow she was out for the count and broadcasting her own concerto.  This usually isn't a problem for me, once I take out my hearing aid I don't hear a thing at night.  Unfortunately Herself is also thrashing out with her good leg and every 30 seconds or so the concerto is accompanied by a kick in my back.  If I was facing the other way it would have been a kick in the gonads!

I endure this for what seemed like an eternity, all the time getting more and more frustrated, and I'm afraid to say that by about 1am I'm at the end of my tether and gently prodded Herself's bad knee.  She woke with a fright while I gently dropped off into an unconscious state.

Another bright start to the day.  I wake at 9am and Herself has already been out with the dogs and is playing in the awning with Beastie.  I pick up a bag of dirty clothes, and armed with a fistful of pound coins head over to the launderette.

People are knackered.  Ronnie and YG are enjoying a bit of extra shut eye as apparently Beastie has been awake on and off since 2am.  We didn't get breakfast on the go until gone 11am and by the time everyone has sorted themselves out it's gone 2.30pm as we're loaded up in Vera and heading up country.

Despite the lateness of the season Perranporth is still quite busy, but parking was relatively easy.  Herself and I take a table with a view of the beach at The Willow and hold onto the dogs while Ronnie, YG and Beastie tour the gift shops on the main drag.



Next we have an errand to run.  Roids collects Zippo lighters and was taken with one in Newquay, Why he didn't buy it at the time is beyond me, and we make tracks over that way.  Time is getting on though (well it would do if you don't get out until some time after lunchtime)` and I'm not that confident of getting there before the shop shuts up for the day.

Any hopes I did have evaporate as we hit a wall of traffic approaching Goonhavren.  Nothing seems to be moving anywhere - at any sort of rate anyway - and once we eventually negotiate the first mini roundabout the reason for the delay becomes apparent.

Sitting in front of us is a set of temporary traffic lights, one of a set of three, but these are not being controlled by a timer or sensor or anything.  Stood at the side of the road, and taking flak off frustrated motorists is a young lad dressed from head to toe in orange Hi Viz gear that Cornwall Council have seen fit to let loose with a remote control at rush hour on a busy junction.

We roll into Newquay at gone 5pm and I jump out and head straight for the shop.  Shutters down - bollox.  In hope I walk further into town towards the tobacconist, and as luck would have it, he's had new stock in since last week and all shiny in the display case I spot a Kernow Zippo.  Phew!!


Back at the car it would appear that Beastie has taken over driving duties and is anxious for the off.


We rock up to Bowgies at West Pentire and take a table in the empty beer garden with a view over the beach.  Not much to say except we ordered food, it come pretty quickly, was very nice, we ate it and made tracks for home.




Dark again by the time we get back and we're all on our chin straps.  We stay up long enough for Ronnie to sort out all Beastie's kit before turning in quite early.

Saturday 8 September

We had  a drop of rain overnight, but the weather is well on it's way to clearing as I take the dogs over to Sennen and watch a lone fishing boat bobbing around some distance off shore through my perverts glasses.

By the time I'm sat in the awning with Beastie in her "Circle of Neglect" the sun is shining lovely and is very warm through the perspex windows.


Today has a distinct end of holiday feel, though we are not heading home for another 3 nights, but Beastie goes home tonight after her late feed.  Herself and I make the most of the morning playing with her while Ronnie and YG start semi packing and pop over to St Burynan to get some fresh Jersey Cow milk to take home with them.


Breakfast of poached eggs is fitted in somewhere and we are in Vera by noon making tracks once more towards Porthleven.

Ronnie and YG want to do some gift shopping and Herself had also seen some tat that she wanted to buy for the olds when we were here a few days back.  Why she didn't pick it up then is beyond me.

Having no interest in walking from shop to shop and standing outside I take the dogs off and sit down on a bench overlooking the harbour, watching the world go by munching on pasties.


Entertainment is initially provided by a bloke who throws a floating toy into the drink for his dog to retrieve.  The dog refused, and one can only assume that the toy had cost a few quid coz this bloke then wades in chest deep while fully clothed to rescue the toy from the drink.  He didn't throw it a second time.

They are done with shopping and I suggest a bite to eat.  Pasties are purchases from Philps, where my West Wales negotiating skills are given a good work out and I pay next to nothing for 2 standard and 2 large steak pasties.


The pasties are eaten while we watch the local kids jumping off the quayside into the depth of water the high tide affords, before adjourning to the Harbour Inn for a pint to try and sooth my burnt mouth.  Why are Cornish Pasties so bloody hot?

To my disapproval, Jax gets a ride on the pushchair back to Vera while Ronnie carries Beastie (he's one spoilt mutt he is.)


Ronnie and YG have failed to find something for the olds so we point Vera's nose towards Marazion.  It's getting close to closing time and if we parked up and walked into the village the shops would be slamming doors in faces, so I drop them in the centre and park up under the shadows of the Mount to throw a ball for the dogs.


The mission was a success and we are now almost fully booked in the gifts department.  Back on site I help Ronnie load up his Beamer before we enjoy a fish supper.  Beastie has her last feed and gets strapped into her seat.  Many hugs are given and I've grit in my eye as we wave to Ronnie's tail lights as they head towards the A30.

Herself and I retreat to the van and it immediately strikes us how empty it is.  We're lost for a while just sitting and looking at each other.  I go to retrieve a pair of PJs from the wardrobe and just sit staring at the two empty shelves that were full of Beastie's clothes just a few hours earlier.

We've both thoroughly enjoyed having her down here for a week, and have savoured the opportunity to spend so much quality time with her (and her parents of course).  But we retire to bed just a little bit deflated this evening.

Sunday 9 September

First morning post Beastie and the caravan feels very empty and very quiet.  We are missing them.

 By the time we spring open the blinds our neighbours to the left have departed and the ones to the right are flat out breaking camp.

After the dogs have been walked I pop over the site shop to buy some fresh bread and bacon.  As soon as we're done I start the laborious task of breaking camp.  The weather down here can be quite unpredictable and I'm keen to take the opportunity of packing away a bone dry awning.  It takes me some time, mainly due to Herself's knackered knee and inability to lend a helping hand.

It's staggering how much kit you set up for a two week break, but by 3pm the Vango is down and stored away and our temp camp for the last few nights set up.


Exhausted from the effort I down a Coke Zero before collapsing in the recliner for a well earned snooze fest.  Out cold I was when Herself nudges me.  I open my eyes to see what can only be described as a fleet of Dutch motor homes rumbling down the track into the next field. If I'd paid for one of the hedge side pitches on this field with a direct sea view I'd have been pissed off.  They all pitched side on presenting a wall of white and all immediately raised their roof mounted 2ft satellite dishes.

We've nothing in the fridge, except for remnants of booze and Herself is hungry. It being a Sunday, and learning from last year's experience we know that the only place that will be serving at 4.30pm will be Lands End.

Rolling into the place at 4.45pm Dick Turpin has clocked off for the day.  I trot over to the pay and display, and at this time of day they still want £6 to park up, but it reduces to £2 after 5pm.  I return to Vera and dig out our ticket from last time and that gets put in the windscreen and I ignore Herself's protestations as I walk off towards the hotel.


We take one of the many vacant tables outside in the sun, but despite it being glorious Herself is feeling a little cold - probably due to her lying in the sun all day pretending to have a bad knee while I slaved away under the midday sun breaking camp.

I take the dogs back to the car and park it in a shaded spot while Herself retires inside and places the order.  Herself orderes a burger and I opted for Moules Frites.  When it arrived there was a distinct absence of frites.  On quizzing (who I assumed to be a work experience kid) the waiter I'm told they would be out soon as the portion that was cooked was too small.

After waiting 5 mins I see a bowl of frites exiting the kitchen, but the work experience kids seems to have forgotten where we are sat as he wanders round aimlessly trying to find us.  I watch helplessly as he hands over the said bowl to a (hopefully more experienced) colleague.  He then wanders off giving the frites a guided tour of the restaurant until Master Work Experience spots us and chases his mate.

The frites are delivered to the table and I immediately clock that the bowl is only half full.  I hate to think what the earlier smaller portion would have looked like! Herself looks at me, I look at her and she's suddenly on edge as she knows what's coming.  She doesn't like complaining and will always talk me out of it.  I pick up one chip and it's stone cold.  before Master Work Experience can escape I've got hold of his towel with my free hand.  Herself looks down.

"Chips are cold son."
"Are they?"
"Well yes, do you want to try one?"

He picks up the bowl and goes to speak to one of the cooks.  The cook gobs off at him, takes the bowl and returns with another one.  On approaching the table I notice that this bowl is somewhat fuller than the last one.  He puts it down and goes to turn.

"Not so fast son."

I dip down deep into the bowl and fish one out to try before dismissing him. I wouldn't want them to think they could get away with just sprinkling a few hot ones on top, would I?


The dish was superb, and I enjoyed my meal a lot more than Herself.  How much of that is down to Herself's aversion to fried food of late, or my behaviour I don't know.

We exercise the dogs in Sennen on the way back to site to sit down and relax for the remainder of the evening, where I get lost in a few very large G&Ts.



Monday 10 September

Blue skies again this morning for our last day down here.  We're booked onto the pitch until tomorrow, but as is the norm for us, we'll leave some time this evening to give us a full day at home tomorrow to sort ourselves out before returning to the grind.

With dogs taken over to Sennen I go about knocking up a breakfast from what we have in the cupboards.  Just eggs and some mouldy bread greets me as I open the doors, so after picking off the spores I throw together some eggy bread.

Our day out today will revolve around a few errands.  First stop is the new St Buryan farm shop in the hope of picking up some cream teas.  They didn't have any, nor did they have much of anything else come to think of it.

Next is The Moon and Sixpence for milk to take home before making tracks for Philps in Hayle for pasties and cream teas - also to take home.  Vera's tank gets brimmed at the Shell service station just outside town and I think we're done.

Herself has other ideas though and drops the good news that she needs to purchase another gift. Time is getting on now, so I hatch a plan to fit in some lunch into the process.

Vera is abandoned in Penzanze where we clip the dogs on and walk around the harbour to near the Scillonian III docking point.  Herself exits the gift shop and to my relief we are now fully stocked in the gift department and no additional requests for gift shopping will be entertained.


For the past two weeks when we've been driving past this spot herself has been banging on about a boat that is not floating.  I've been driving and the road here is extremely busy so have not had the chance to tale a look. She's right though, and I don't rate this one's chances of floating on the next high tide.

Time to get back on track, and lunch.  Herself fancies stopping at The Boatshed Restaurant instead of ploughing on giving her knackered knee more gip, and takes seat at an outside table.  I glance at the menu and am rather taken with a mackerel dish they have on it. I'm not taken with Herself's choice of table though.  Herself gets up with a few grunts and announces that we'll just go to the Dolphin Tavern instead.

That's my mackerel lunch out of the window then, but I say nothing and follow on dutifully.  A table is taken outside and I put a menu down on the table.

"I'm not hungry." she says, "We'll have something later" she also says.  I'm looking at my watch and the cogs are turning as I know that everywhere will stop serving at 3pm and not start up again until 6pm, at which time I was hoping to have the van hitched up to Vera and her wheels turning.

I fail to talk Herself round, and it transpired that any chance of lunch had also gone out of the window with my mackerel.  Google will tell you that this pub is one of the most haunted in England, so I go inside and do battle with the ghosts to get a few pints of Korev.

The landlord moves up a gear as he's pouring them and straight into sales mode.

"Don't fancy eating then?  We have mackerel on the specials board."

I sneer at him "Ha Ha, you're funny you are!" before returning to our table and slamming the pints down.  I'm frustrated as I know that in about 1 1/2 hours time Herself will be ready for food, but by which time places would have stopped serving.


Walking back to Vera I look to my right and see that the incoming tide is indeed enveloping the stricken yatch, and by high tide only the top of it's mast will be visible.

Back on site I go about breaking camp fully.  Time had run away with us, and any thoughts I'd had about having a nap went out of the window with my mackerel lunch.  I'm just about done at 4.30pm and Herself announces that she is now ready to eat.
"All the best with finding somewhere" I quip as she gets on the phone to firstly The Kings Arms, then the First and Last, and even a last resort of 190 Degrees West.  None of whom intend to warm their fryers until 6pm.

I walk over to the site shop to get a loaf of bread to go with the curled up ham and Hoolahoops we have in the van.

One last dog walk is taken on Trevedra's dog walk, and both Tali and Gwawr know what's coming so take the opportunity of a free run before being banged up in Vera's boot.


By 5.30pm we are hitched up and ready to roll.


We hit traffic at Crowlas, but apart for that Vera's wheels turned continuously as she got into her stride.  I even gave her a pat on the dash as she ate up the first big climb of the tow at Indian Queens, its a savage hill when towing that one is.  Does anyone do that, or is it just me?

Dartmoor is skirted and we drop down towards Exeter and the M5, where the traffic is somewhat heavier.  A brief stop is had at Taunton Dean to give the dogs a stretch,  a pee and to throw some crap down our necks provided by the Golden Arches, before pressing on.

Frustratingly the M4 is shut between J45 and J46 and I'm resigned to threading our bulk through the narrow roads of outer Monkey Town.  Luckily the traffic was very light and after nearly 6 hours behind the wheel we are pulling up outside Home-is-where-you-drag-it Towers.


Been a great 18 nights away.  Herself and I managed to squeeze in some quiet time around family time.  Beastie came to stay and we grasped the opportunity to get to know her really well.

We thoroughly enjoyed our time in West Cornwall, it's an area that we never tire of and always leave feeling energised.  Trevedra is an ideal base and one we keep returning to, I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is something that draws you back time and time again.  We've been back there every year since our first visit in 2013, missing just one due to tragic personal circumstances, but we are mere novices and always seem to be pitched up next to someone who's been going there for 30 plus years.  It's that kind of place, and a sign outside the facility block proclaims "You are all part of the Trevedra family."  Maybe that's it, they make you feel like you belong.

Until our next trip .............

Thursday 6 September 2018

Cornwall 2018 - Part 3

Saturday 1st September

The day starts early as Beastie arrives to join us for the week at 4am.  She also brought her parents.  Apparently 4am is her usual be awake for a while time, so we sit up chatting quietly for an hour before going back to bed.

Ronnie and YG are still shattered when Beastie wakes up proper and she joins me out in the awning to help compose the next episode of the blog.  Family and friends on Facebook quip that the content may improve as a result.


Ronnie was complaining that they hit mizzle just after Penzance last night, and it still has not cleared as the Weber is pressed into action to provide breakfast.


Our Derek predicts that it's in for the day down here, and from experience we know that if it's like this here it will be a little better up country.  By the time we're all squeezed into Vera it is not possible to see the other side of the field.

It stayed that way right up until we cleared Helston and dropped down into Falmouth.  Finding a spot to park was relatively easy and we walk the main street as far as the pier, stopping off in various shops to spoil Beastie.



It's still very murky with a bit of damp in the air.  We have the dogs with us and are looking for somewhere to have a bite to eat, so we need outside seating.  Herself spots a market and wants a looky so off we go, but it being the end of the day all the stalls are packing up ... result!!

Empty tables under cover outside the Seven Stars catch our attention, and we take a free one.  One glance at the entrance hallway tells me we are not eating here and Herself is informed that it is a drinks stop only.

The inside was  not much better.  Old fashioned spit and saw dust type of place, except there was no saw dust thrown down so you were trudging though spit.  Now either the interior designer was an expert and had created a very authentic Shabby Chic decor or the inside of this place hadn't seen the right end of a paintbrush since WW2.  My money is on the latter.

This place also has 5 star hygiene ratings that are proudly displayed in the window.  You can't see them very clearly though as the windows also look like they've not seen a wet sponge since WW2 either.  One can only assume that money changed hands during the inspection process.


So we're sat outside.  Herself and I have a cider, Ronnie a coke and YG a black current and lemonade (please note YG's choice of drink as it's important).  The conversation was flowing and we're all having a good old laugh.  It was then that someone farted, not a silent one, but a loud rasping shred your underwear one.  It would be uncouth of me to divulge the identity of the guilty party but it wasn't me.  It also wasn't Beastie or Ronnie, and Herself does not ever do that sort of thing. So ..........

For some reason YG was a little embarrassed and got a fit of the giggles.  All was well and she settled down until just as she's taking a swig of her drink (remember what she had) Herself says something that sets her off again.  The mouthful of fluid that she had in her mouth spontaneously expanded and sprayed out of every orifice on the front of her face.

Everywhere it went, but the bulk of it headed straight over the table in my general direction with the force of an industrial sprinkler head.  Now I'm not entirely sure off the top of my head what water pressure BS 9251 requires, but am fairly confident that the purple coloured liquid had both enough pressure and spread to satisfy any of the required design parameters.

I'm covered, and look down at my freshly laundered pale grey hoody, that is now splattered with purple freckles.  By now we've managed to grab the attention of the hippies on the adjoining table, and they put down their shared funny fags to join Herself and Ronnie in mocking me relentlessly.

Time to leave......

I'd spotted a nice looking place close to where we parked up, no, not one of Rick Stein's rip off establishments, but a rather snazzy looking 5 Degrees West.  We take a table out back under a canopy and retrieve a few menus to study.  Turns out the choice is burger or burger.


We had burgers.

Back on site it's still very gloomy.  We are all knackered after a disturbed night, and don't know what time Roids is arriving, so decide on an early night to get some shut eye.

Sunday 2 September

Roids drove down here overnight and rocked up at 8am.  Brief hellos were said before he collapsed onto the air bed in the sleeping annex to grab a few hours kip. While we potter about and guzzle mugs of tea sat out in the sunshine.


No plans to rush off anywhere this morning so Beastie is put into her circle of neglect to have a bit of playtime.


A few hours later and we've got him out of his pit.  Beastie wastes no time in attracting his attention and gets some me time in before we shower and head off out.


Up the A30 we head in the direction of Newquay, fighting for space in the car park with other late season holiday makers.  We get as far as the first pasty shop and decide it's time for lunch.  Pasties are taken down to our favourite spot here, high above the beach looking over towards the harbour.



We eat lunch with a brass band belting out a few numbers in the background as we take in our surroundings and build up the courage to do battle with the gift shops.

Various shops are entered by the others while I take on dog lead holding duty outside.  It is a position I'm usually happy with, except that Herself has taken charge of my wallet, and had it with her inside the shops. It is returned to me considerably thinner than it left the safe confines of my pocket just in time for us to stop for ice creams.


We walk back up the main street to Berties pub and have a few drinks in the beer garden before heading back west.  Herself has suggested a fish supper from 190 degrees west, and bearing in mind that it's Sunday I know we'll not be able to spare the horses on the A30.  We make it just in time and they flip the sign on the door over as soon as Herself has placed the order.

With 2 disturbed nights behind us we are all on our chinstraps, so it's not a late night tonight.

Monday 3 September

A murky start to the day today and our @DerekTheWeather is not predicting anything decent until this evening.

A lazy morning around the van is had until everyone is getting cabin fever and we head off out towards St Ives.  The B3306 that hugs the coast line is very scenic, though  my memory of it is fading as I've not driven it in anything other than thick fog and rain for a few years now.

As we drop down into St Ives it clears a little, but is far from nice.  I suggest the park and ride at the rugby club, but that suggestion is dismissed instantly by Herself due to the aggro involved in getting our dogs onto the bus.

30 mins later after a few unsuccessful circuits of the town's car parks we are feeding an unreasonable amount of pound coins into the pay and display machines` at said rugby club and waiting for the arrival of the bus.

I'm sure the driver recognised us from previous years and nearly didn't stop! Ronnie and I wrestle with Gwawr and Tali to get them aboard and stowed away and then we brace ourselves for a traumatic 10 m ins ride down to The Tate.

It was not pretty and it was not fun.  Tali slipped his harness once and once down at sea level he's scrambling to make a break for the hissing doors as they open.

While I'm at it I'm going to have a  rant about the money grabbing going on here.  Anywhere else where you use the park and ride, you pay a fee to park and then hop on a free shuttle bus.  Not here though.  They take £6 per car off you to park and then an additional £1 per passenger to jump on the bus.  All told it cost us nearly £20 to get onto St Ives.  We alight just outside the Tate and take in our surroundings before making tracks towards the town.




Now I've used the word serendipity before, and like this time I relied on google to correct the spelling for me, but somehow when threading our way through the signposted streets we got lost.  I say we because we were a group of 5 adults, but apparently it was my fault.  Anyway things got worse as we were presented with a not inconsiderable flight of steps.  Not usually a problem except we are 5 adults, 4 dogs and a baby in a pushchair.  Also factor in Herself's knackered knee and you can imaging assault  my earhole is currently under.

Well, any way, we get to the top of the two flights and the most gorgeous little beach comes into view, double bonus is that it is the only beach in St Ives that is dogs friendly.


Herself didn't join us as there was a rather steep flight of steeps down to the drink, so stayed up top with Beastie.  The steepness of said steps and a dynamic risk assessment meant that the dogs were unclipped at the top and they made their own way down with us trying to catch them up before they caused mayhem at the bottom.

We failed miserable and by the time we've sand under our feet they've stolen a ball from an ageing Lab and upset the owners of another.

With wet and sandy dogs we continue to the town centre.  It's rammed and their run on the beach payed dividends as they were more controllable on a lead through the narrow and crowded streets.


As far as I'm concerned the shopping expedition was a roaring success due to no purple bits of paper leaving the safe confines of my wallet, Herself has a different perspective.  The problem with St Ives is that there are few places with outside tables to sit, so Herself suggests leaving town and getting a bite to eat elsewhere.

Back to the bus stops we trudge.  We miss our shuttle bus, but no matter as they run every 10 mins (or so the yellow chain smoking vest tells us.) Lying git, 30 mins we waited for the next one to turn up in the howling wind.


Another traumatic bus journey was had, but at least the journey up has the satisfaction of saving you walk up the steep hill.  Loaded into the cars we head for Hayle.  We were heading once again to The Cornish Arms, rocking up at 4.30pm.  I run in but the very apologetic owner informs me that they do not start food until 6pm.  What is it round here about getting food?  Very few placed seem to serve all day, which is quite poor for a tourist destination.  Anyway, he directs us to somewhere that does and we sit in the wind tunnel outside Salt as we wolf our meals before the wind chill gets to them.

We head back to site, deciding that a nice evening in the awning is required, having a good old slurp and a late supper of kebabs cooked on the Weber under torchlight.

Tuesday 4 September

Blue skies this morning thankfully, and breakfast is cooked outside on the Weber during a morning of not doing much at all really, apart from playing with Beastie.

Not going far today, just down to Lands End. £6 for each car is handed over to Dick Turpin in his toll booth at the entrance before we abandon the cars on their waste land, clip the dogs on and walk out towards the viewing point.


Herself is struggling today, and hobbled as far as there and back as far as the hotel. I could see that the pain killers she's swallowed thus far were having little effect, so suggested a stop where she could throw a large glass of chilled dry white down her neck.


We take a table with a view out to Longships and I go into order some drinks.  While at the bar I also accidentally ordered 3 plated of assorted sandwiches, a meat platter and a few bowls of chips.



The sun is lovely, although the wind is a bit strong and we're having to hang onto our drinks to stop them blowing away.  I spot the young boy coming out of the conservatory with trays loaded up with our lunch.  All was going well until he rounded the corner and the gust caught him tidy.  First we lost our salad, next was the bread slices and finally the Parma Ham - all heading towards The Lizard at a rate of knots.

He puts the tray on the table and the conversation went something like this.

"Is everything OK for you?  Can I get you everything else?"
"Could we have some salt and vinegar please? Oh and would it be too much trouble to replace the food that you just fed to the Gulls?"

He looked puzzled.

"The food that just blew off the tray before it got to our table!"

He grinned and trotted off.

We start eating what's left on the plates until he returns 5 mins later with just salt and vin.

"Where's our food?"
"Oh, you're serious?"
"Well yes, I just spent £90 in there, and you just fed £30 of it to the gulls!"

We had our food, but there was much pointing and flapping or arms the other side of the glass before we did.

Next up they want to look around the Lands End shopping village.  I take up my usual position outside, clinging onto the 4 dogs who are intent on starting a fight with any passing K9.  To tell the truth I feel like a bit of an exhibit myself, and the dogs are getting more attention that the helicopter I'm sat under!

Back on site and Herself, Roids, Ronnie and YG have a bloody good go at sleeping off lunch. I decide to take off with the dogs for a bit and rig up a lead for all four of them.  To be honest I under estimated just how much combined pulling power they have between them, and must have made for an entertaining sight as they dragged me through the site while I shouted "Where's the brakes on this thing?"


You could have planted spuds in the trench I ploughed trying to hold them back.

A skittles evening is planned with a lane being booked at Country Skittles just the other side of Penzance.  I got thrashed again and even Beastie joined in the fun of beating me.


Not content with the skittles thrashing, Roids grasps the opportunity to also humiliate me on the pool table before we head for home.

Wednesday 5 September

We wake to another blue skylight.  Herself and I are trusted to look after Beastie while Ronnie and YG take the dogs off for a run around.  On their return I set off on ab it of an expaedition, only to get some milk mind, but this is no ordinary milk.  I'd heard on The Book that some of the dairy farms round these parts had taken to selling their own milk via dispensing machines.  The site owners confirmed there was one in St Buynan, just a few miles away, so off I set, armed with a rinsed out plastic bottle.

Sure enough, exactly where I was told stood an old shed with a wrinkly tine roof, and hoardings outside that promised fresh  milk from their own Jersey cows.



The farmer's wife insisted on showing me how to work the machine, and in doing so dispensed the 2 pints for me.  It's as if she didn't trust me or something, maybe she's a relative of the launderette lady from last year?

Back on site we breakfast on eggy bread before piling into the cars and making tracks fro Penzance, where I mainly stood outside shops holding onto the dogs while the rest of the tribe went in and out purchasing various items for me to hold onto while they went in the next shop.

Holding onto dogs outside shops works up an appetite so a spot of lunch is suggested.  It's just gone 2.45pm when we're dropping down into the cove.  All looks promising as we see a few empty tables outside the Old Success.  Parked up we amble ever so slowly - Herself's knee is giving her some serious gip, and an amble is flat out for her currently - taking in our surroundings and the sheer natural beauty of this place.




We take an outside table at 3.10pm and I pop in for some menus.  I catch the attention of the young lady who's very apologetic in telling me that they stopped serving food at 3pm.  My pleading and pointing out that if they could keep the chip pan warm they'd have  an extra £70 in the till fell on deaf ears.

I trudged back out, had a go at Herself pointing out that it was her fault as she's walking so slowly and then stormed off in the direction of the Surf Bar.  They serve food all day, but have one menu for 12pm to 3pm and a different one for after that until close.

I'm no fan of pizza, but it would appear that the only offerings after 3pm are variants of the extortionately priced dough.

At the bar I place an order for 5 pizza at the same time asking if it would be possible to have a few bowls of chips as sides. Mr RightUpHimself behind the bar tells me that they stop doing chips at 3pm.  My asking if the chip fat had time to cool down yet appeared to rile him slightly, and our cokes were served warm and flat out of a bottle.  Asking for ice also served to be fruitless, as their ice machine was out of order - more like turned off after 3pm.

Once I'd had my little rant about how poor this place is, we settled down to lunch at a table with a view.


Having forked out over 80 notes for some glorified dough, there was no way this place was getting any more money out of me, so we upped and left, scowling at the staff at the Old Success having a fag break as we passed.  A table was taken by the Lifeboat station to devour an ice cream each before we head back up to site.




Roids is heading home, so help him load up his car and wave him off in a cloud of dust and tears in our eyes.It's been lovely having him down here for a few days, and I'll miss him, but console myself with a few litres of good old gulping cider.



Beastie needs some clothes drying, so I grab one of the on site dryers, taking a bench outside and watching the sun drop into The Atlantic just off the bottom field.


Until next time .........