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 .........
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