Now that we’ve suddenly realised we won’t be living in Cornwall much longer we’ve taken to having Cornish minibreaks, 1-night micro-holidays in our own county. It’s extraordinary how just a few hours somewhere can be as restorative as a whole weekend if it includes a good night’s sleep, and of course we’re never more than 40 miles from home.
Pubs are best; hotels are a bit expensive, and usually not nearly as classy as they would have you believe. B & Bs are a bit, well, glum, and you have to go out to eat, so pointless if you have to drive somewhere to do so. A couple of weeks ago we had a spontaneous Friday night at the Gurnard’s Head, a classy place halfway between St Ives and St Just that had been on the bucket list for a long time.
Last night we headed for the Old Success Inn at Sennen Cove, as far west as you can go if you’re ignoring the Land’s End horrorshow, which you should. Our arrival coincided with the monster storm you’ve been hearing so much about.
The waves were colossal, the wind ferocious, so after being blown about for a bit we retreated inside. Later on, a bunch of locals took to singing a capella in the bar, which is the sort of Cornish Saturday night you hope for.
This morning things had calmed down, although the surf was still not to be sniffed at. The top of the beach was covered in the usual depressing stuff you find after a storm: plastic bottles, aerosols, pulverised bits of plastic and polystyrene that will end up in the food chain – and cigarette lighters, dozens of them. Not a huge deal in the greater scheme of things, but how hard can it be to persuade matelots not to chuck their lighters overboard when they’ve done with them? I shall ask the International Federation of Shipmasters, which, Google tells me, represents ships’ captains the world over, about what plans they have for educating their crews.
But enough of that. I forgot to mention that we dropped in on the Penlee Gallery in Penzance to catch the exhibition of etchings by this chap.
Never heard of him before, but now desperate to own something by him. There wasn’t even a postcard to be had, though...bah. All in all, a thoroughly stimulating 24 hours...where next, I wonder?