My first experience of Cornwall was as a student. A friend and I beach hopped for several weeks on the north east coast. Highlights included being rescued by a lifeguard when I ended up stuck in a strong undercurrent, experiencing my first vertigo whilst climbing up a rocky cliff and overindulging in Cornish scrumpy during a folk singing event in the hotel, ending up giving what must have been a horrendous rendering of a Glaswegian song, accompanied on the guitar, no doubt, by some poor bastard who wished he’d never been born.
Decades later my son and I spent a week body boarding in Perranporth, near Newquay. We stayed in a lovely bed and breakfast, and spent most of the day on the beach, surfing and generally chilling out. We ate out well in the evenings, our favourite restaurant being one which served the most scrumptious chocolate cake. I remember his frequent glances at the puddings trolley, his anxious observations of its cake each time a nearby table were choosing their dessert, and his temporarily reassured disposition as he whispered to me that it was okay, there were still slices left.
My most recent foray into this south western county has just ended. A week in Pendeen, not far from Land’s End. This time our accommodation was a traditional cottage, described in the information folder as having ‘evolved’ rather than being ‘converted’ or ‘refurnished’. Subtext: verging on substandard.
As a rule, we don’t seek out luxury accommodation when we're away, and I've been known to criticise those who judge the success or otherwise of their holiday on the hotel alone. But we do favour some comfort and ease, especially when returning with wet wetsuits. This was a challenge. A kitchen so narrow that it couldn’t accommodate two people passing each other. A weird plumbing of the sink taps where one tap controlled the water temperature, the other supplying the water, which would have been fine had the temperature range ventured higher than cold. A dingy shower room with a wash hand basin again featuring only cold water. A washing machine which didn’t work, a dirty iron and no ironing board. Not that we were hell bent on looking smart, perhaps occasionally just slightly less crushed.
On the positive, there’s good cycling in the area, scope for lovely coastal walks, and of course, surfing opportunities, which is what took us down there.
Website photos suggested St Ives is a picturesque harbour town. We cycled there to check that out, and yes it is quite attractive - and pricey. It was there I bought the most expensive icecream I’ve ever eaten: £1.70 for a smallish scoop of vanilla flavour.
Surfing at Sennen Cove was fun, on the days that riptides didn’t deter us from venturing into the sea. Land’s End is dramatic, and an easy cycle from Pendeen. At Lizard Point I indulged in a slab of high calorie chocolate fudge cake and glass of elderflower cordial.
Evenings involved watching DVDs of the US series, 24, featuring Kiefer Sutherland, to which we’ve become hopelessly addicted, the series, that is, not the star,
and a couple of fiercely contested games of Scrabble, the second one particularly so. We’d been out for dinner in the local hotel, and feeling, as one often does, like ending the meal with some chocolate, my partner was despatched to buy two chocolate cream eggs for my son and me, when he paid the bill. He returned with one – the last one. Neither my son or I was generous enough to sacrifice the chocolate to the other. The only option was to play for it.
Never has a game of Scrabble been undertaken with such ferocity. Imagine the tension as an erudite word placed on squares with no double or triple scores merited a mere 9 points, and more banal words cannily placed on other squares acquired the player a score of 36. I should come clean and erase any perceptions people might have of me as being morally upright, by admitting that although my son achieved an impressive win, I was so inconsolable – my taste buds having indulged in 90 minutes of anticipatory pleasure – that my partner produced a serrated knife and sliced said egg in two. I didn’t lower myself enough to check out that each half was equally sized, instead popped my share into my mouth, but not without a degree of shame.
Sheepishly yours
Jane
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