This time last week, I was on the beach at Treyarnon Bay, trying not to get sunburnt (I failed). Exactly a week later, I’m on my sofa listening to the storm rolling over Cardiff. I’m just back from a sunny, fun week in Cornwall, and I feel… flat. That post-holiday feeling. So I’m going to make it worse by going through the holiday photos!
It was a lovely week of beaches, knitting and hanging out with my mum. I hadn’t been home for an hour before we were back in the car and headed for the beach – we both agree that the seaside is the only place where we don’t need any kind of entertainment. Just looking out at the sea, watching the tide come in and getting some serious barbecue envy. And counting how many boys were wearing Batman towel ponchos. Twice, kids we’d never met before came over to sit with us, to the embarrassment of their parents. One girl didn’t say a word to us, just lay down on our blanket. Hard not to laugh!
On Friday we went for a walk. I requested a short, flat walk, so we ended up clambering up and down the coast path from Fowey for hours. The plan was to go from Readymoney beach…
Quiet at low tide
Via the cliff path, with some pretty views…
To Polridmouth, pronounced Pridmouth.
Read Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier? This is *that* beach! We made a very exciting discovery here:
David Beckham, if you’re looking for your pants, they’re at Polridmouth.
Unfortunately, wherever we sat, we were surrounded by very bitey flies. We’d planned to stay here for an hour then walk back, but I couldn’t keep still (I hate being bitten, ever since the Horsefly Incident of 2012). So we decided to carry on and see how far we got before we had to give up – neither of us is very fit, and it’s a very hilly walk! Off in the distance was Gribben Head and the Daymark, but we knew that was way too hard for us.
We made it! The last bit before you get to the Daymark (like a lighthouse you can’t use at night, because there’s no light on it – pointless) is a MASSIVE hill. We seriously weren’t going to do it. Too hard. Too steep. But we did it with a lot of rests (really an embarrassing amount of rests). We were too tired to take photos, so you’ll just have to trust me that it is honestly the biggest hill I have ever walked up voluntarily. In most of the photos above, you can see it in the distance, which is quite gratifying now I’m on a sofa, not a cliff path! We had lunch, then practically skipped back to Readymoney beach. Why does it take two hours to walk there and one hour to walk back? I don’t really care, what’s important is that we had enough time to sit on the beach and have an ice cream.
Busier at high tide with the sun out!
The hill up to the car park felt like NOTHING compared to our earlier mountaineering!
Obviously on the weekend we were ruined and couldn’t move (except to go to some wool shops…).
On Monday, we went to Charlestown. I love it there – my great-grandfather was the harbour master there (about a million years ago) so I walk around like I own the place. We were only there for half an hour in the late afternoon, but we managed to time it exactly between rain showers. The sun was so bright I had no idea what I was taking photos of.
Can you see that headland poking out into the sea? That’s Gribben Head. Squint. Can you see a red and white tower out on the end of it? OK, maybe you can’t, but trust me, it’s there – that’s where we were on Saturday! Looks like quite a nice, flat walk out along the headland, doesn’t it? We didn’t go that way. We went the hilly way.
The harbour was really busy – lots of kids jumping in the water, which scares me to death because I’m never sure how deep it is there. I love this photo; the boy in the blue t shirt, right in the middle, cracks me up.
I love going back to Cornwall. I know exactly how lucky I am to have parents who let me visit them as often as I like, and who even let me live with them last year (sorry again about that). For me, the best thing about going home is the sky, and how it speaks to the sea. Living in a city, I can never get enough sky; it’s always penned in by roofs and tall buildings and unambitious horizons. But in Cornwall, the sky goes on forever and the light is rich and pure. The light in a city is like treated water – a bit chemical and recycled. But at home, it’s like drinking from a mountain stream. I know why so many artists live in Cornwall; it seems to me that it’s the only place where you can really see what you’re doing.
Enough of that. Now, I’m very aware that these photos make it look like all I do in Cornwall is hang around at beaches, like some sort of tourist (or emmet – *spit*), but in fact, I also spend a lot of time under blankets – these two in particular.
My sister and I have had many conversations about who will get which blanket when we cart our parents off to a home and split up their stuff between us. She’s got her eye on this one:
A multi-coloured Granny stripe, knitted (aptly enough) by our Grannie. It’s massive, heavy and very warm. And it’s clearly made up of odds and ends of wool – classic stash-buster. I love the mid-row colour changes, where she clearly ran out of a certain colour. But I’m after this one:
A Granny square blanket that my mum made when she first moved to Cornwall. She told me that she remembers laying all the squares out on the floor of the house where she lodged. I hope her landlady thought she was mental, like people think when I do stuff like that.
In my last post, I set myself a deadline to knit a present for a baby by Tuesday… I did it! It’s going to get its own post, because I’m going to go on about seams and patterns and sleeves and sewing up. See you then!