Lupins and Bluebells.

The scent of home is lupin and bluebell. Huge drifts of bush lupin surround the caravan. The thicket field is deep covered in bluebell.

Heading home.

A night in the disused station car park at Roscoff (romantic). 

Roscoff in the sunshine. 

Next thing we’re entering the gates of Hades again as we board the sixth ferry of this trip. 

Could there be a better crossing? Bright sunshine. Calm. Ferry at half capacity. Short queues for breakfast. 

Minty watches films. 

KC watches the water. 

Plymouth.

Plymouth. Approaching from the sea it looks glorious. The Hoe. Drake’s Island. Mount Batten to starboard. Mount Edgcumbe to port side. 

Drive off the ferry onto Union Street and all that changes. It’s a hot day and there’s far too much white tattooed fat on display. The roads out onto the A38 were not chosen for their beauty, or the beauty of their people. 

And when did Britain become a country of mobility scooters? They hardly exist across most of Europe.

The Tamar Bridge, the view of its estuary. The Saltash Tunnel. Then the green kicks in. Britain does green like nowhere else. The flowers are fewer, but perhaps more noticeable for that. Through the woods of the Glynn Valley. Cornwall does us proud. Even Redruth looks good. Well, Carn Brea does. 

The far west. Two months of growth. The expansion of the hedges turns roads into lanes. The trees are at their best. Gorse and brambles claw at the van on the track down to Goldings. 

Home.

At last there’s home. A better home than the one we left. Various jobs that have been dragging on have been sorted out in our absence. 

Home. The strange place where we chose to live twenty five years ago while still working in the cities.

It’s on the edge. Hard to get to. Hard to leave. Better for both of these.

We sit for a while, enjoying being still.

But then there’s the realisation of the work to be done. 

Hedges that have leapt upwards, and narrowed the paths that they have created. Two miles of path that has disappeared under spring growth. 

Leave it. 

Let’s go to the pub and we’ll tackle it all tomorrow. 

At The Queens a shared fish and chips, Arthur’s Ale from Tintagel Brewery. Chats with this one. Chats with that one. We’re home. And it feels good. 

Porthleven.

The doctor gives me a prescription. She says accept no substitutes. The local pharmacy doesn’t have it.  

Minty’s on the case. Calling around. She finds it in ‘lev. 

Like tourists we park up and wander in wonder as our favourite costal village basks in sunshine. 

Lunch. Crabby Crab and Scallop Bollocks (really) at Mussel Shoal gazing across the harbour as the gulls shit bomb the visitors (and locals). 

Half an hour lying on the beach (too hot). 

Bloody marvellous. Why did we drive so far? 

Ah! Because this combination of place and weather without the crowds is utterly unpredictable in Cornwall. But when it happens it’s better than anything anywhere in the world. I haven’t been everywhere, but I’ve been to a fair few places and I’ll stand by my statement. 

Thursday 08.15.

Already too hot to sit on the east side of the house. Curtains closed against the sun – continental style. Coffee indoors before I start shifting rocks and sand. 

The mowing? Six hours so far. All enjoyed. Just paths. I’ll walk them to see how far. I reckon a mile and a half, maybe two, winding through fields. 

There’s a wild carrot variety that looks like cow parsley and thrives by the stream. It’s acrid when cut. There’s worse down there, giant hogweed and knotweed too. I was slack on both last year and have more to deal with more this year as a consequence. 

Between our triangle field and Bob’s orchard there’s a double hedge planted with friends four years ago. It’s finally showing signs of progress, upwards and outwards. This is an exposed field and establishing anything takes time. It’ll provide shelter for both sides. Eventually.

Willow on the right. Mixed hedging of hawthorn, holly, rose and field maple on the left.

Alone?

Minty’s back to work today. 

Strange to wake alone after so long together. 

What can I do about it? Go off in the van! 

Truro.

Truro first. Dental hygienist. I haven’t been able to get into our dentist since 2019. Can you believe COVID is still being used as an excuse? The hygienist is far more thorough so I go there if I have a concern. 

I try to see Truro through tourist eyes. It’s not doing it for me. Rough and ready Penzance does, full of students Falmouth does, but not Truro. It welcomed the big brands through the ’90s, but they’re mostly gone now. It lacks charm for me.

However I did manage to replace the broken van step at the ever amazing Mallets Hardware – purveyors of exactly what you need for over 100 years. 

Open Mic. Porthleven.

Back in Porthleven for the second time this week. This time I’m staying over at Mill Lane. In the van. Alone. Open Mic at Shoals.

Right now I’m enjoying more Tintagel Ale in The Ship, possibly the best pub in the world.  

Continental friends get excited about British pubs. Having not been to one in three months I do too.

There’s an Open Mic night at Shoals Brewery. Dodgy beer but great music. It starts early, 8pm, so the old man can get a couple of hours of good tunes and still be in bed early.

Falmouth. Off its knees.

My mate Mark and I worked at the sports shop as lads. We shared each other’s cars. I drove fast, he took it steady, never keen on changing gear. My Spitfire was exciting. His Rover P6 was as close to a limo as either of us has ever been. He’s now my optician at Alexander Miller in Falmouth.

An excuse to visit Falmouth should be taken. Mine was my varifocals that scared me a few times while driving some of the difficult roads of the trip.

Like so many towns Falmouth’s decline started in the early 2000s and accelerated through the next decade.

Unlike so many towns Falmouth has reversed its fortunes, largely through the opening of its university, but helped by its benign climate and the country’s seaside renaissance.

A great beach. A castle. Shipyards building luxury yachts (that will mostly sit used for year after year), and shipyards repairing naval vessels. Its deep natural harbour can host huge cruise ships, although it’s debatable whether that’s a good thing, but it is a thing. Its retail scene is more varied and independent than most and its student driven coffee scene is unlike anything else in Cornwall.

My favorite town is Penzance. But I’m going there tonight, too late for the blog.

Enough of writing for now. There are windows to clean. I’ve just had five tonnes of soil delivered that needs raking and seeding. Then the most important task – collect mother for lunch!

Thank you for following us and supporting the blog with your comments. We’ll be back, but I’m not sure when.