Wednesday 2 September
We wake to clouded over skies, but the sun is doing its very best to break though the early morning gloom.
I'm in the shower and I can hear Herself busying herself in the kitchen. After a bit of flossing I come out from the back and clock two bowls of strawberries and raspberries sitting on the front chest.
"What's that?"
"Breakfast."
"We don't usually have a starter with breakfast."
"This is breakfast, I fancied something light."
"That is a dessert, not breakfast."
In fairness she did offer to knock up something more substantial for me, but by now my inner mule has come surging to the surface, and I push the fruit around the bowl for a bit.
When they were down here MBW had talked Herself into getting herself something loose and comfy to wear around the caravan and at home. I've no idea what it's called, but it has lots of patterned material and she got it from a hippy shop in Perranporth. Herself wants another one.
We make tracks northwards and as we drop down into the town are happy to note that it's still relatively quiet. We find a space and while I go off to pay the ransom Herself goes about getting the dogs out. She's stood there with an arm full of leads, harnesses and a day sack and about to open up Toyah's tailgate, when an aging couple pull into the space directly behind us. The blue rinse gets out of the passenger seat, clocks Herself stood there and then proceeds to direct the bald pipe into the space until he's manoeuvred the Skoda to within 15mm on Toyah's rear end!
The blue rinse then says to Herself "Oh, have you got enough room there?"
Now Herself is usually a diplomatic type of person and will do almost anything to avoid conflict, but the blue rinse has really got to her.
"No! But you don't really care about that do you."
The blue rinse clearly wasn't expecting the repose, and by the time I've emptied my pockets of change she's whispering in the ears of the bald pipe while giving furtive sideways glances to Herself.
WE make out way down to the other end of St Pirrans Rd where I stand outside the Festival Shop as Herself goes in to procure another patterned material thing.
I'm now looking on longingly through every cafe window as couples tuck into a Full English, and suggest to Herself finding somewhere to have a coffee and something. We're back by the promenade car park now, and the Dolphin Cafe's windows are resplendent with "Full Breakfast Takeaway" scrawled across them in white writing.
"That looks OK, shall we get something there and take it over to the benches on the Prom?"
"Let's see if there's any tables outside Seiners."
There were, and while Herself gets herself and the dogs settled in on a table next to a gang of chain smoking chavs, I go inside to put in an order.
I direct my order at the friendly bloke the other side of some wrinkly perspex sheets hanging from the ceiling - they've done COVID on the cheap here.
"Black coffee, pot of tea and two bacon rolls please."
"Kitchen's closed."
"You sure? This is a hotel."
"Yup, opens at 12 for lunch service."
I didn't pout, honestly I didn't, though Herself will probably have a different view point on this episode.
It's quite breezy, but behind the glass windbreaks it's quite pleasant, so we stop a while, even having another "non alcoholic" drink watching the comings and goings on the beach as the chavs on the next table announce to the world that they've elected a new pope!
Time is running out on our ticket, and we're just loading Tali and Gwawr into the boot when blad pipe and blue rinse return to the Skoda. The car park is full now and I can see that even with blue rinse and her expert arm waving, he's going to have difficulty reversing out of his space, but if I pull out he will be able to drive forwards and straight out.
Childish I know, but not a key was turned until he'd done a 20 point shuffle to get out. We still beat then to the exit barrier and nodded them good day!
Having checked the web cams we're heading down to the south coast, to the Roseland Peninsular. It's not a holiday in South Devon or Cornwall for us unless we've crossed a body of water on a ferry. Now the ones at Fowey and Dartmouth are interesting affairs, being barges dragged by boats, and involve no small amount of pilot skill to beach the vessel on the ramps either side.
The King Harry ferry though is a chain driven affair, and the most exciting part of the crossing was coughing the £9 return fare.
We cruise into St Mawes and find a space rather easily. The breeze is stiff down here and while not cold, it's rather uncomfortable in just shorts and a tee shirt.
We walk around the corner and up Marine Parade, but to be honest, it's not that picturesque with the tide out.
Turning on our tracks we make our way as far back as the St Mawes Hotel and grab a table opposite. BY now I'm starving, but a cursory glance at the menu on the way in suggests that the prices are some way outside my comfort zone, and Cod Roe (what ever that is) would fall some way short of satisfying my growling stomach and replenishing my fast dropping sugar levels.
I step inside and immediately feel uncomfortable. Aside from a few bottles of hand sanitiser scattered about, you wouldn't know we were still fighting COVID. No social distancing is evident and the place lacks any perspex screens of any sort, not even one at the bar!
Two pints of Korev in plastic glasses are taken outside. We're not keen on St Mawes. In the 28 years that we've been coming down to Cornwall, only once before have we darkened its doors. We didn't think much of it back then either!
Pasties are procured from The St Mawes Bakery (where I have a go at a bint who thought it OK to stand directly next to me at the serving table) and a bag of chips from the counter of the Watch Out kiosk.
The weather takes the promised dive, and we drive back west through intermittent rain. By the time we get back to Trevedra the site is shrouded in a thick Cornish Mizzle.
It stayed like that and didn't lift - at all. We stopped in, going only as far as the cool box to grab another beer.
Tali has been struggling today with his hip, and on one of my cool box excursions I look through the window into the bedroom pod and see that he is really comfortable on my side of the bed. Don't know if I've got the heart to move him from there.
Thursday 3 September
We wake and the moderate breeze has done nothing to shift the Mizzle. In fac, as I take the dogs over to Sennen to sort themselves out I can't see to the edge of the cliff, never mind Cape Cornwall just a little way up the coast.
Events back home have got us nervous though, and none of us are ready for the moment. You see, Beastie is due to start school today. It seems rather all too soon to be as she's only 2, but never the less she starts today, attending for 3 hours 5 days a week.
Herself wants to put a hamper together for Grumbles and Creaky with a Cornish twist. I'd been up to reception for a few tips and with fog lights on we set off firstly though the lanes to the farm shop at St Buryan.
From there we take a spin over towards St Ives, but not to the town itself. Ronnie rings to update us on the Beastie going to school situation. Turns out she trotted in without turning back leaving Ronnie and MBW as blubbering wrecks at the gates!
The conversation moved onto where we were and what we were doing. Herself is quite adamant that we WILL NOT be going into St Ives.
We drive up the track and into the yard at Trink Dairy.
Signs promise a Farmer's Market every Monday, but today is Thursday. The lady in reception at Trevedra had read out a list of their wares from the website to me, so I confidently proclaimed "Don't worry, they also have their own shop selling all sorts."
We get masked up outside and use the hand sanitiser as requested. To our dismay the farm shop is just a bloody vending machine. All this way for a vending machine!
I go back to Toyah and get some coins so that we can at least purchase a few "overpriced" bags of their own chocolate buttons and a slither of Cornish cheese.
Back on the road Herself enquires about our next destination.
"Shall we drive through St Ives to have a look?"
"OK, but we're not getting out!"
"I know, I heard you tell Ronnie, but some of my imaginary friends on Twitter said it was remarkably quiet there this year."
"Did they now?"
"OK, hows about we take a spin, if we can't park in the town, we'll know it'll be busy so won't stop."
Herself thinks she's onto a winner here as we've never been able to park up in St Ives, having to park out of town and catch the bus in.
I know if we try over by The Tate we'll have no chance so throw a curve ball and take a different route, finding a rather tight and small car park off North Terrace. The car park is full but 3/4 the way round our first circuit I spot a couple carrying bags.
"Are you going?"
"Yes, we're just leaving."
Result!!
Herself isn't happy, and to be honest I'm a little apprehensive myself as we walk down Bedford Rd towards the town centre in the drizzle.
There are signs banning traffic, but motorists are ignoring them. It's mayhem, and to make it worse Gwawr gets spooked by a bloke slamming hos pallet truck onto the lift of his lorry.
We get onto Wharf Rd by the lifeboat station and I take a hard right onto the slip road for a bit of space.
While standing there gathering our thoughts we see some dogs on the beach. This is puzzling as every other time we've been here dogs have been banned. I check the dog ban sign, and it's apparent that the ban is lifted on 1st September. We drop down onto the sand and immediately regret wearing closed in shoes as we trudge through the wet sand and standing shallow water, with our feet getting wetter and wetter.
The dogs enjoyed the run though, and by now we're sweltering (Herself glowed) in our Pac-a-Macs as the drizzle eased off and the skies started to open up.
We make out way up and take a table on the beach opposite The Sloop Inn, strip off some layers and have a few beers looking out over Harbour Sand.
By the time we need to return to the car it's really opened up and we're happy to climb into the air conditioned cabin for some relief.
We take the scenic route back that hugs the coast along the B3306 through Zennor and St Just.
Back on site the Weber gets fired up and we dine on Chinese chicken, BBQ pork fried rice with some calamari on the side.
Too early to settle down though so we bundle the dogs in the boot and head towards Sennen Cove, firstly walking them in the field above the cove, before dropping down and parking up near the harbour. There's a bit of a swell with the high tide and we spend quite some time watching a load of kids jumping off the sea wall.
Friday 4 September
It's dry when we get up after a bit of a lie in, but clearly evident we've had a drop of rain in the early hours.
A leisurely morning is had around the van before we make our way into Penzance for a wander. Parking up at St John's Hall we make the mistake of wandering through the Farmer's Market, where the local WI lady must have had a quiet morning. She accosts Herself and some how we part with some folding for 4 assorted jars of homemade jam that we didn't want.
We take a left up Causewayhead and I'm dismayed to find that my favorite shop of all time, Jims, is closed for lunch.
We reach the top and take a table outside The Farmers Arms. The landlady puts down her vape to rush outside and sterilise the bench we're sat at before rushing back inside to mask up and serve me, but not before I've filled in the necessary columns on the Track and Trace clipboard.
I don't think she was taking much notice of who was signing in though because I looked around the pub and couldn't see Captain Pugwash anywhere!
No local beers on tap though, and despite being grateful of the rest, we're happy to finish the unremarkable pints of Fosters.
Back down the hill and we turn left onto Market Jew St. Herself looked in a few jewellers but was unimpressed, I managed to get a storage bag for out Kampa Fry Up, and we had the glass screen protector replaced on Herself's S9 (again!!).
Back at the top we take a table out the front of The White Lion. Not the most picturesque of locations, but busy enough to make very interesting people watching.
I go inside, fill in another clip board and place my order. I'm told that I can't go back out the way I cam as the pub has a one way system, so as directed, carrying 2 pints of 1664 (no local beers again), I go out of the back door, down some steps into the public car park off Union St then up a back alley onto The Greenmarket where Herself was about to send out a search party.
We'd not been sat long when our entertainment started. We've still really no idea what happened, but it went something like this.
Chav #1 #2 and #3 appear to our left running up out of Union St and straight across the road up towards Causewayhead. For some reason, while they are running Chav #1 rips off his tee shirt and discards it on the white lines. Chav #2 stops to pick it up as Chav #3 sprints past.
Similar to a prop forward you know they're running flat out by the expression on their faces, even if forward progress is not that rapid. These 3 though, even though skinny as rakes must have been abusing Ketamine for far too long to be threatening Christian Malcom any time soon.
It would appear that their target got away as they return a few moments later gasping for breath. Chav #1 now has his tee shirt back on. They're heading back towards Union St when Chav #1 looks up the alleyway by HSBC and shouts "He's up there!" He sets off in not so hot pursuit, once again taering off his tee shirt and throwing it into the gutter. Chav #2 stops to pic it up before dutifully following. Chav #3 can't be arsed and disappears down Union St.
We've drunk about 1/2 a pint now, and word seems to have got inside the pub that something was going down as a group of 3 lads came out to take the other table and watch the show.
Chav #1 and #2 come back (he's got his tee shirt back on again) and head down Union St.
We hear raised voices and turn around to see Chav #4 and #5 (the female variety) carrying a poor toddler and bags for life full of booze followed by Chavs #1 #2 and #3. The conversation is animated. Something was said and it all kicked off.
I can just imagine this lot occupying the stage of Jeremy Kyle.
Chav #3 says to Chav #4 "FFS, the police said to take the baby home." to which Chav #4 shouts "It's only 2 in the afternoon, I'm not going home for no one."
This lot have clearly been drinking paint stripper since breakfast!
The Police turned up.
Chav #3 goes to sit with some randoms over the road, Chav #4 and #5 (with the toddler) go back down Union St. Chav #1 and #2' having once again discarded and picked up the tee shirt, and ran off in another direction have returned and are walking off towards Alverton St.
There are now Police cars darting about all over the place. Out of nowhere comes Chav #1 and #2. He's shirtless again, and #2 is carrying it again. They run flat out down hill out of the arcade, straight across the road and in through the front door of the pub towards the back.
The Police scream around the corner and the young lads start pointing while shouting "They went this way!!"
All this time Chav #3 who was involved with the original chase is sat pretending he's an innocent bystander watching events unfold.
It's all getting a bit too close for comfort now, so in true Ross Kemp stylee we agree it's time to scarper.
Provisions are bought in Morrisons before we head back to site to see out the rest of the day. Tea was trout and butter lemon sauce once again, and it tasted all the better having procured it with a yellow sticker on it at the fish counter.
We didn't move all evening. Herself's knackered knee was giving herself some serious gyp, so she curled up on one of the sofas and lost herself in a bottle (or two) of Sauvigon Blanc in TV land while i occupied a berth in the awning consuming far too much sugar than is good for me whilst arguing with far too many imaginary friends on social media.
Been down here 2 weeks now, it's gone all too quickly with only a few nights left before we return home.
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