These are the Sennen Cove Diary pages. Filled with challenging intellectual debate and snippets of happenings from the gritty underbelly of Cove life. Read them if you dare and before the author finds himself pegged to the beach or in the dock for wicked statements of a libelous nature.
Previous Months:
February 21st - Tuesday
A far more exciting day today. Having read it, you may well disagree but I tell you it doesn't get much more interesting than this in February.
We started the day with a little Lifeboat exercise. It was actually to test some modifications to the radar system and the boat was out for just over an hour. It would have been a shorter time but it had to wait a few minutes in the bay for the very excellent Shore Crew to finish their rather first class breakfast at the café next door. Come on, you can't hurry a breakfast like that. As it was I had to leave a slice of toast behind.
It was while we were standing outside the Lifeboat station congratulating ourselves on another text-book recovery (let's face it no one else was going to congratulate us) we noticed some goings on down on the beach. There were two chaps in yellow safety jackets surveying down by the tide line. One was traversing the beach laterally on a quad bike while the other intersected his lines walking up and down the beach. As you might imagine we postulated several outlandish suggestions as reasons for their presence.
With the tide not long on the turn I took the opportunity to take the bleddy hound down. This was not just for her benefit, you understand, but also an attempt to divine the true purpose of the surveying intrusion on our hallowed sand. It took some guile to track the surveyors down. The chap on the quad bike was clearly not going to stop for a chat as I suspect that the lines he was running required a constant speed and approximate equidistance between each traverse. When I set out, the other surveyor was close by my sitting rock at the far end of the beach, which was convenient, but by the time I had arrived there he had moved up into the dunes.
I sat and threw the ball about for the bleddy hound, lulling the walking surveyor into a false sense of security. It worked a treat because after a short while he came down from the dunes and plied his craft close by. On his return up the slope I pounced.
At first he was quite reticent to reveal his purpose stopping only to say that he was profiling the beach for its shape. He must have seen the gritty look of determination in my eyes and the bleddy hound eying up his pole for her own purposes for he returned with further information. He said that his company had been commissioned by the council and the Environment Agency as well as other interested parties. I surmised that these bodies would not have commissioned this expensive work in these cash strapped times unless some financial return were envisaged so I pressed him further. He tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially and urged me not to spread the information further. So I must warn you, dear reader, keep this under your hat.
The council is very aware that this could be a busy year for Cornwall. We have the Olympic Flame starting down here in May, the Queen's Diamond Jubilee and The Old Boathouse Stores will be open. Now that the beach has been properly surveyed every part of it can be mapped onto a grid of one metre square boxes. Come the season when the beach is full of happy visitors enjoying whatever visitors do on the beach, a council warden will be deployed clutching to his breast a GPS enabled device that will calculate the amount of beach used by each party. Each square metre of sand occupied, or part thereof, will be charged out at an hourly rate. The machine will happily accept credit or debit cards and issue tickets.
Naturally the state of the tide and thus the available amount of beach at any given moment and the numbers of people wishing to use the beach will affect the forces of supply and demand. Happily the system will be clever enough to take these factors into account and apply variable charges accordingly. At the head of the slipway and on The Beach car park automatic signs will be deployed indicating "Beach Full" at busy times.
It goes without saying that The Old Boathouse Stores will step up to the mark on behalf of all potential beach users this year. As you would expect we cannot let such an outrage be inflicted upon our valued visitors and we fully intend to do our bit to help. I have made some initial enquiries and it looks entirely possible that we will be able to provide a clip together one metre square grid so that visitors can assess the area of the beach that they are using; it will be a must have accessory and for just £9.99. For those beach users wishing to be forewarned of the cost of their beach usage a deluxe model will be available that has a calculator strapped to one of the poles for an additional fiver.
Never let it be said that The Old Boathouse Stores does not have its customers best interests at heart.
I am so glad we were able to lay any nasty rumours to rest there. So let me start another. The Royal Mail has been in touch over the last few weeks first to ask me how I would like my information delivered to me - by email, post or carrier pigeon. I elected to have it sent via email as I get far too much post through the door these days.
Today I got an information letter through my door from the Royal Mail. They sent the same information by email to, for good measure. It seems we are due a price hike for stamps at the beginning of April. Unfortunately, due to the consultation process, they cannot reveal what the price will be until the end of March. It must be one of those special consultations as no one I know has been consulted and none of them know anyone who has been consulted. If you know anyone who has been consulted, dear reader, or know if any of them know anyone who has been consulted please consult me, as it would be rather nice to know someone who has been consulted, even by proxy.
Sorry, I digress, where was I? Ah, yes. The rumour to which I refer, although I think it was rather more than a rumour, is that the Royal Mail will be allowed to charge what they like for First Class postage. The proviso is that Second Class mail will only rise a few pennies so that poor people (i.e. anyone who isn't a banker, Royal Mail executive or council chief) can still send letters, so long as they don't expect them to arrive in any timely manner or perhaps arrive at all. Of course we won't know until a few days before the price goes up so we will have precisely no time to do anything about it but never mind, all those consultees will have been able to sway the Royal Mail away from any unacceptable rise in price, won't they?
Sounds like it will be an excellent summer, what?
February 20th - Monday
Out of my bed this morning like a West Somerset badger from its set. Well, not exactly, I wasn't coughing as much for a start.
The game plan was to get out on the road early, get through my chores list and be back in time to take the bleddy hound out before we complete lost the beach. That was the game plan. The fact that I never got through the door until at least half past eleven demonstrates the detailed level to which my plan had been, er, planned. Of course it didn't help that I couldn't find the Missus's passport.
I should explain. It was not my intention from preventing the Missus from ever leaving the country again, although the financial gain might have been attractive and one that I hadn't initially considered. No, this was all to do with my accountant or, more accurately, the Government. Apparently it is a ploy to reduce the amount of fraud and to prevent people that are not me from submitting my meagre accounts, though why they would want to I have no idea. New rules mean that although I have been with my accountant for eight years they must now have a copy of my passport to ensure I am me.
So having found the passport and wiped the accumulated dust from mine, gathering together the other essential items for my journey and walked the bleddy hound round the block I eventually managed to extricate myself.
One of the other purposes of my sojourn was to track down a suitable bookcase. I noted last year that the bookcase in the shop is a little over-crowded and we have such a collection of local interest books now (including one very excellent volume by a local author!) it would be worthwhile separating them. I had considered, after the ripping success of the dog basket plinth and the artful ball stand, that I should make my own. Unfortunately I considered this aloud and, after she had finished laughing, the Missus suggested that it would be more expedient to purchase one not to mention ending up with something that resembled a bookcase.
Finding a bookcase that met the required measurement criteria as well as the budgetary constraints took a considerable amount of time. In fact despite thoroughly searching both the furniture shops in Penzance I was unable to find a suitable bookcase. It was a little disheartening to find that when I returned the Missus had found one in the pages of a well-known high street catalogue company while sitting in the comfort of our home. In fact she had found it ten minutes after I left and never called to let me know. Anyone might think she was glad to have me out of the house.
I was so late in returning that the bleddy hound never got her run down to the beach. Heston Missus had also been hard at work in the kitchen again mixing up some experimental gourmet cuisine. I am beginning to suspect she might be a feeder and is keen to see my lithe and athletic frame ballooning out of control. Fortunately we are open again in a few weeks and it will be back to something out of a tin if we can be bothered to find the opener.
February 19th - Sunday
What glorious sunshine we were blessed with today, weighing down on The Cove. We could tell it weighed heavily as there were so many scales on the street outside our door. Sorry, I just couldn't resist.
The Missus made some cupcakes to celebrate her mate next door's birthday. I love the idea of several little cupcakes instead of one traditional cake. It means that samples can be left behind for my own delectation rather than having to beg a slice off the birthday girl. Selfish? Moi?
I suppose if I had been bothered to rouse myself early enough we could have romped upon the big wide open beach, the bleddy hound and I. I didn't and instead pottered and procrastinated until the tide was nearly in late in the afternoon. I almost didn't bother then either except it was exceptionally glorious and, although still chilly, that sharp wind had mainly dissipated.
It was so glorious that I decided it worthwhile to take my camera with me as we walked up Mayon Cliff at the start of the usual roundabout route. Glorious indeed until those wicked weather gods noticed I was lugging my heavy camera up the hill and promptly hid the sun behind a cloud. It stayed there for most of the walk, only peaking out when there was nothing in view to take a picture of.
It wasn't long after we got home that we were piling out the door again in the direction of the F&L to join the birthday girl for a birthday meal. We know how to make these days special, I can tell you. We went up early so that we could let the bleddy hound out to chase rabbits in the back field. Well, when I say 'chase rabbits' there are indeed rabbits in the back field at the same time as the bleddy hound gets there. We know this as her ball dropping to the ground disturbed one, sending it bolting for the nearest hedge. I can tell you without fear of repudiation that if I wanted to hunt for rabbit I would have to buy a ferret as the bleddy hound would rather chase a ball.
It was not until bedtime that we realised in all our excitement that we had forgotten to feed the dog. I think it unlikely that she will fade away in the night especially as she had most of one of the Missus's lamb chops at the F&L. I think if I were to expire and return as a dog I could do a lot worse than to come back as this one.
February 18th - Saturday
As I walked out along towards the Harbour early this afternoon there looked to be a suspicious group of blackhearts hanging around the wharf. When I drew closer it was certain that it was a group of suspicious looking blackhearts - The Cove seine net syndicate.
The syndicate, a gruesome bunch of fearless fishermen, is very much akin to the Cosa Nostra except they are called the Cosy Nostra on account of the amount of tea they drink. They have their own secret signs and phrases such as, 'fancy a cup do ee' a revelation that, no doubt, will cause me to wake up with a fish head on the pillow next to me.
Seine netting is an age-old method whereby a long net is driven out in a wide arc on a falling tide around the prey. As the tide falls away and the net is drawn in, vast quantities of oar weed is harvested. The process is less than efficient and on occasion large numbers of fish, namely grey mullet, are hauled in with the weed leading to much frustration amongst the netters. This time they seem to have been most unlucky with many of boxes of fish lined up outside the Lifeboat station; so many in fact that a large articulated lorry had to be called to take them away.
They were there when I took the bleddy hound out along the slender ankle of sand for a short run once the rain had given way to chilly blue skies. Hence to her single minded dash to the beach was such that if someone had built a high wall across the road she would have found a way around it. Today I had to drag her away from the boxes of fish being piled up outside in the opposite direction; unlike the Missus, the bleddy hound loves fish.
They were there when we got back too with a small army of helpers washing and loading the catch onto the lorry. Such was the bounty they eventually finished shortly before I decamped to the F&L. And what did the Missus fancy for tea, yup, fish and chips from the rather good chippie at the top. I find it quite bizarre that she likes the occasional fish and chip meal; the Missus hates fish.
The trip to the F&L was a given. The truly excellent Devil's Creek were playing a set and, goodness, can that boy play guitar. As ever they were on perfect form and in the second half had the dance floor jumping with some lively rocky numbers.
Just when you think things can't get much better you look up on the journey home on a clear star studded sky and gaze on in wonder with the echoes of Bullfrog Blues still ringing in your ears.
February 17th - Friday
From ghoulies and ghosties And short-legged beasties And things that go bump in the kitchen Good Lord, deliver us!
A traditional Cornish shopkeeper's prayer and so very apt for today, at least.
The brother-in-law's wife telephoned this morning ostensibly to talk to the Missus. I would have thought of all people she would have known better than to telephone before mid afternoon. She was a bit reticent to talk to me at first but when I pressed her she explained that they had been having a few odd things happen in the house. This had apparently been going on for years but the latest development was that she and her daughter had some photographs.
To cut a long, and to some probably a fairly yawnsome, tale short I had her send the photographs to me. I messed about with them using some photograph editing software to enhance the rather grainy images. After about an hour the best I could determine was that it was some sort of large cat with three legs and two tails or possibly a butterfly with one wing. It wasn't until later in the afternoon, after the Missus had spoken with her, that I discovered that I had the photograph the wrong way up. Even from a sceptic's point of view it did rather look like two characters standing in a doorway.
I have no reason to doubt that the photograph was genuine and, along with the reports of other unexplained activity over a considerable period of time, would suggest some very spooky goings on. I would certainly not propose the evidence conclusive and you must draw your own conclusions. I am just glad they are a few hundred miles away.
I managed to wrest our short-legged beastie away from our junior dog walker for a few hours this afternoon, more for my benefit that the bleddy hound's; I was getting a touch of cabin fever. I have already explained the constraints placed upon us by the state of the tide so with that in mind I dragged her up Mayon Cliff and around our usual Cove route. We haven't had much in the way of rain down here in the last few days so there was little in the way of mud. The other short-legged beasties, foxes and badgers, hadn't left much in the way of evidence lying around either so we arrived at the beach largely wholesome and clean.
It was also considerably milder than of late with that nagging northwesterly gone away to nothing but a light breeze. This left me somewhat overdressed for the conditions and a tad hot under the collar. Mother Nature must have thought it milder of late generally, not that I noticed, as there was a showing of daffodils down in the valley with hints of other colour here and there. No wonder I miss my little forays out.
Of course, all this walking about does build up a bit of an appetite in a young healthy chap. It does the same for me too. I think I have already explained that the Missus has spent rather a long time in the kitchen this week. We had the chowder the other day, lemon biscuits and last night a bit of turkey potato pie/bake thing. Today revealed some Yorkshire brack although Yorkshire brick might have been more appropriate. Not only did it resemble a brick in shape and size it also made a satisfying thump when it was dropped on the worktop. Nevertheless, having found a suitable chisel with which to prise a sizable lump off of one of them and lathered it with butter it was actually rather toothsome. Yorkshire brack, madam? One lump or two.
Inexplicably I found myself at the OS for a third night this week. I really must be getting to enjoy the place again. I really should come clean. The current management has done an excellent job of installing some character and atmosphere back in the place. Although I still suspect an element of frozen cook-in-the-bag cooking there is also a good selection of fresh food available that I really ought to try some time. The only thing that lets it down is that it is run by the St Awful Brewery. Every time you go to the bar you feel you are being rinsed.
Sorry, I digress. Where was I? Oh, yes, I found myself at the OS again being rinsed. It is the culmination of this season's poker nights and a play off is run to determine who will join the two winners in the regional event at Bristol. I have no interest in going beyond the village boundary to play cards but I do enjoy our cards nights that are always full of good humour and convivial company. I even did reasonably well and came a respectable third.
This will account for the happy little chap you might have seen chasing a short-legged beastie around the bottom end of The Cove, no doubt causing consternation among the ghosties and ghoulies community and making them go bump in the night.
February 16th - Thursday
We are being spoilt by our junior dog walker. Yet another day has passed where we have not had to lift a finger in the ongoing exercise regime of one bleddy hound. Thankfully she is only here for the week else I would lose the use of my legs completely.
It is not that I do not enjoy my forays out across the beach or over the cliffs, more that I would probably do less of them without her. The timing of the arrival of our dog walker could not have been better either. The tides are such at the moment that at the mid afternoon time, which is most convenient for walking the bleddy hound, the beach is showing only an ankle and a bit of calf. I could, of course, take her over the cliffs and avoid the beach altogether and before today that would have been an option. However, the Missus gave the bleddy hound a shower this afternoon and I think I would be the one in the dog house if, for the next few days, I take her along muddy paths fraught with the attendant dangers of fox and badger, ahem, stuff.
I stirred myself sufficiently to attend Lifeboat training in the evening. You will be pleased the learn that the use of hard hats by the very excellent Shore Crew has come to a head, so to speak. We have struggled for some while to combine the use of the hard hat with the chunky headphones necessary for communication between the crew at the bottom of the slipway, the winchman and the boat. Apparently the cowboy hat adopted by the Head Launcher as a workable alternative has sparked some criticism, not least that he looked like a cast member from the film Brokeback Mountain.
I am pleased to report that we have found an acceptable solution that will see the very excellent Shore Crew sporting some state of the art crash helmets similar to those worn by the Inshore Lifeboat crew, except ours will be made from old cornflakes packets and sticky tape.
With such sterling work under our belt we repaired for some well-earned celebrations at the OS and, of course, a return to the battle that is the OS Thursday night quiz. It seems that our absence last week has broken our run of good fortune in winning the quiz three weeks in a row - that and the fact that there were more than two other team competing this week. We came a pitiful second, second from last, that is.
The ignominy; the shame. It is fortunate indeed that our drooping heads will be obscured by crash helmets next time we're at the bottom of the slip.
February 15th - Wednesday
It was another morning with my nose pressed up against the computer screen on work related tasks. Shops don't run themselves, you know, although this one is as close to autopilot as you can get. Much of the time was spent on getting the shop opening hours right.
As you might imagine we are busiest when the schools are on holiday. While this may look straightforward we have to take into account that across the country the holidays differ. For example, here the Easter holidays commence at the end of March while in Coventry they are a week later. The two situations we try and avoid are watching a flock of eager customers bang on the shop door after we closed early and staying open late and twiddling our thumbs when everyone has beggared off home at tea time.
I am sure you are feeling sorry enough for us knowing we are slavishly trying to second guess and pander to your exacting needs without expanding on the latest irksome trial sent down by the Laurel and Hardy Newspaper Company. A form arrived from them this morning requesting nearly all the information that I had already emailed to them on Monday. I think they expected me to complete the form and send it back but as they had included an email address on the paperwork I forwarded my original email to the new address with the few additional details they had asked for.
I am sure you will forgive me, dear reader, for becoming frustrated and weary from actually having to do some work. After all I did some at Christmas time and surely deserve a modicum of respite from the grind. By early afternoon, therefore, I donned my walking gear and took to the beach with the bleddy hound. I have to say that she was not overly enthused so I took her to the OS as a treat. There is nothing she loves more than lying against the bar while I down a pint or two. Ask her next time you see her if you don't believe me.
When I returned home, the Missus, who clearly sympathised with my condition and deeply appreciated the supreme sacrifice I had made in the morning, had spent the afternoon in the kitchen preparing a seafood chowder. I have to say it was absolutely first class and so much better in the knowledge that some of the contents had been garnered for free from Gwithian's bountiful shore.
Golly! Life's good at the sharp end sometimes.
February 14th - Tuesday
So there I was in the middle of a furniture shop wearing waterproof over-trousers and wellies wondering where I was going to perch to have my picnic. I looked out of the window at a disconsolate bleddy hound sitting in the van; she hadn't been allowed into the shop to chase a ball up and down the aisles. My sense of prescience scares the pants off me sometimes.
It all started with the wind still howling through our keyhole and through the cracks in the front of the shop's woodwork. The Missus was out of the bed this morning like a shot out of a gun; a sure sign that shopping is on the cards. We had to entertain a representative first, an agent representing a number of companies we didn't really want anything from. So after ordering a lot of stuff we really didn't want the Missus set about making a bit of a picnic to take with us; a long shopping trip, then.
If I ever doubted the Missus's sense of geography or logical reasoning I couldn't fault her on this occasion and certainly not in the brass neck department. Gwithian beach, our supposed destination is just north of Hayle so obviously Travaskis Farm and Redruth, both to the east, are clearly en route.
The Missus has been trawling through her cookery books and has selected some, as yet unknown to me, culinary delights for the week. Part of the requirement is mussels and if possible clams so even before we got to Penzance we arrived at our first detour and visited every fishmonger in Newlyn. It is not a good time of the year to be seeking out exotic species of shellfish as during the winter the locals don't drive up a huge demand for that kind of thing. So it was that we left Newlyn empty handed. I could sense trouble in the air.
Sailing past the turning to Gwithian we headed up to Connor Downs to the rather excellent Travaskis Farm. I can't complain too much as the Missus was initially going to do her shopping at Tesmorrisburys. She succumbed to my plaintive request that we shop at somewhere a little more local and as Connor Downs is local when you're passing through it to go to Redruth then it was certainly local at the time we passed, if you see what I mean.
Had I not tried to ignore the fact that we would end up at a furniture shop in the industrial heartland of Redruth I would have made some enquiry regarding its location and the best route by which to arrive there. The Missus certainly hadn't and while ignoring the fact that I was ignoring the fact that we would turn up there ignored the fact that she would have to determine the route and know the location. Following so far?
By ignoring the half-baked directions I was being given and letting my natural sense of direction guide me we still ended up at the sofa shop. So there I was in the middle of a furniture shop wearing waterproof over-trousers and wellies wondering where I was going to perch to have my picnic. The Missus found the object of her desire which was when I was forced to point out again that in order to acquire such objects of desire it is sometimes useful to have the funds by which to acquire them, a salient fact that I had tried in vain to convey before we got there and thus rendering the extended journey unnecessary.
Having told the Missus that 'I want, doesn't get' and that she wouldn't have an ice cream if she didn't stop crying I managed to point the van eventually in the direction of Portreath that is, by my reckoning, in the correct direction for Gwithian and its fine beaches and, more importantly, is devoid of any shopping opportunities.
The inadvertent advantage derived from such a circuitous and stuttering journey was that the tide had retreated a long way down the beach when we arrived. The disadvantage of such a winding and interrupted path is that the bleddy hound was sick on her seat five miles from our destination, which incurred yet another delay while the Missus cleaned up the mess.
Above all Strap Rocks have something over all the fishmongers in Newlyn; they are awash with Mytilis Edulis, that is blue mussels to you. While I pandered to the hastily recovered bleddy hound and her ball chasing needs the Missus garnered a bag full of the small molluscs.
When I returned from another poor game of cards at the OS, the Missus had cooked some of our foraged shells. Though a little gritty, they were sweet and juicy and, as I am finishing off this Diary entry the following morning, can be consumed without ill effect.
I'm not sure the money we saved will buy the Missus a sofa but it is a small step in the right direction.
February 13th - Monday
Well there's not going to be a great deal I can tell you today. As I said yesterday we needed to do some work to kick start the beginning of the season and that is exactly what we did.
I am sure you would be delighted to hear about our discussions with a new supplier of postcard fudge boxes or perhaps how many pairs of men's board shorts we might require this year. You would, no doubt, be tantalised by the news that I have signalled to the wonderful Laurel and Hardy Newspaper Company how many copies of the Daily Express we think we'll need. (I am sure also that it would not surprise you in the least that I am yet to receive a reply.) Despite the immense joy all that would bring you I know you are teetering on the brink of one of those 'oops moments' that the television would have us believe all women of a certain age are prone to in anticipation of hearing all about the weather. So to avoid a rather unpleasant scene, unless you are properly equipped, I shall continue without delay.
They said it was going to warm up and according to the thermometer, it has. Why then does it feel twice as cold as it did during the coldest days we had here? It might have something to do with the fact the wind is in the northwest and is piling in our front door. Crikey, it's flaming freezing. It also wasn't as windy as we have known it in the past but it was certainly making a big fuss of rattling the boards on the shop front.
It was fortunate then that we spent most of the day discussing postcard fudge boxes, ordering men's board shorts and fixing newspaper volumes else I would have been out in it. Well, I did make one little foray up to the stores at the top. With all that beef left over from yesterday it would have been a criminal act not to have a sandwich of it with lashings of cholesterol inducing butter and artery hardening salt and on white bread, to boot. Well, for heaven's sake, it's not like it happens every day and if we lived our life according to the daily and often conflicting advice heaped upon us by the health fiends we would die of boredom. It is not surprising an increasing number of us end our days in demented confusion.
Still, the Missus fancies a bit of an expedition tomorrow. We may have to have a serious conversation expounding the definition of the word 'expedition'. I am of the opinion that it should be crossing over some sandy dune and exploiting a boundless piece of beach with the bleddy hound. I rather suspect that she has in mind urban yomping between furniture shops. I can't help thinking I'll end up in a sofa shop in waterproof over-trousers and a pair of wellies with a bleddy hound gagging for a bit of chase-the-ball up the aisles.
February 12th - Sunday
I managed to wrest myself from my clinging bed at an appropriate hour this morning despite the demands I placed upon my fragile being the previous evening. It was just as well because this morning the second Lifeboat training launch of the weekend was organised.
It was a very gentlemanly affair for the Head Launcher's party. Having launched both boats with some aplomb and set up for recovery we retired to the Breakers Café for a first class breakfast. Even the Missus came and joined us for a frothing cappuccino. What a civilised way to enjoy a Lifeboat exercise, except we almost missed recovery of the inshore boat. The Missus stayed behind while we sauntered off to wait for the boat, no doubt to discuss philosophy with the other intellectuals of the café set. I am pretty sure I spotted Simone de Beauvoir and Jean Paul Sartre in the corner so she was probably chatting with them.
Much as we would have loved to have stayed to have a light conversation on existentialism we didn't want to miss the big boat arriving, which we didn't. Recovery was, of course, text book considering we had the very cream of the very excellent Shore Crew making it look all too easy. One day we shall have to make a mistake just to show that we are human after all, though we would have to try very, very hard.
It was reasonably clement today, a little grey and chill but otherwise perfectly acceptable. Early in the evening a lump of rain passed through but by the time I took the bleddy hound out for her last run the stars were once again twinkling. Despite the fairish weather there were not that many people wandering around. The beach was busier than of late due to the half-term visitors but not so much that I would have avoided it. As it was I had already taken the unilateral decision that we would not be wandering far today. How very decadent - how very lazy.
Quite by chance our good neighbour dropped by and with a beef rib the size of a whale bone to get through we invited her and her sister to stay for some Sunday roast. It is not often that we get to enjoy our main meals of the day with some convivial company but today just seemed to slot together as if it had been neatly planned.
With our good neighbour taking some enjoyment in reminding us that the shop is open in three weeks, tomorrow is going to be a little less genteel.
February 11th - Saturday
After a single murky day of rain we are back to a bright sparkling day again. It remains to be seen how I might enjoy this spectacle as our junior dog walker is back on the scene, relieving me of my duties in that respect. Even the Missus took her out for her early morning constitutional - that is the bleddy hound, not the junior dog walker who, presumably, is capable of exercising herself.
I could have done with a lazy day too, as we sat up until the early hours watching the television, as we were unable to contain our anticipation of the final several episodes of a popular Danish thriller. I have certainly improved my knowledge of the tongue, kære læser, but not to the extent that I could turn off the subtitles. The bledig hund was also seriously put out at having to stay up well beyond her normal bedtime.
I tried to revive us both with a little whiz down to the beach at around midday. It was sporting very much a whole leg of sand at the low point of a very low spring tide, as opposed to barely a hint of ankle at high water; I think we may even have had a flash of knicker elastic. Despite that whole expanse of sand you could hardly say that the bleddy hound showed a great deal of enthusiasm, so we didn't stay long.
I resisted a trip to the OS to watch the rugby and watched at home instead and although the result was a happy one the play was disappointing. Later, despite the absence of a band, I dragged myself kicking and screaming to the F&L. Either the throng that appeared hadn't heard that there was no band tonight or they all sought the higher plane of intelligent conversation. Whatever their inspiration they would have been sorely disappointed on either score.
After so much disappointment in so short a time it was heartening to behold a wholesome sky on our way home. As you would expect with such a clear night it was rather frosty, so much so that even a thick beer overcoat struggled to protect us. Yes, 'us'. I had the rather pleasant company of a rare Saturday night appearance of Head Launcher. He tagged with PR at the gate to the footpath who very kindly saw me clear across Esther's Field unscathed. Then on the rest of the journey a big red bulbous moon, barely risen and clipped off at the top, clinging to the southern sky saw me safely home.
I can tell you, it doesn't get much better than that.
February 10th - Friday
I am grateful to the Cotswold Courier for bringing to my attention a 'sailors wanted' advertisement he received in his electronic mail. I must hasten to point out that this was not some unsolicited trawl from a seedy men only publication but a genuine request on behalf of the Cornish Maritime Trust.
In case you have not heard of this worthy group, in which case, shame on you, they are dedicated to the restoration and sailing of historic working craft and are based in Mousehole and on the River Fal. They are seeking a gritty band of seasoned sailors to man the Barnabas. Oh, do I have to explain everything? It is a double ended mackerel driver built by Henry Trevorrow in 1881 at Porthgwidden Beach in St Ives. She is 40 feet long and has a dipping lug (oh, for heavens sake, look it up!) and weighs in at 11.7 tons. She has also been selected to be part of the Queen's Diamond Jubilee Pageant on the Thames on June 3rd this year, a veritable honour. Her height and lack of power would make it unsuitable for her to join the pageant at Hammersmith so it is likely that she will form part of the 'avenue of sail' below London Bridge near the end of the route.
It is planned that a relay of crews, made up from the Cornish sailing community, will sail her up from Mousehole from May 20th stopping at various ports along the Channel coast and moor up at Faversham Creek before the final leg of the journey up to London. All weather permitting, of course. I would say that would be a jolly wheeze if ever there was one for the lucky crew members selected for the journeys.
Joining her in London will be possibly the oldest boat afloat anywhere. The St Michael's Mount State Barge was built in 1745 or thereabouts and, although rigged for sail, will be rowed down the Thames on 3rd June by a crew of six oars including four from Mounts Bay Pilot Gig Club.
Talking of the ancient and the glorious maritime traditions reminds me that our esteemed coxswain signalled a Lifeboat launch for this afternoon. It has been some time since we were able to go afloat on a training mission, so long indeed that we had almost forgotten what to do. Almost. Everything still appeared to work after we had knocked the rust off some important parts, even our most excellent Shore Crew and particularly the Head Launcher.
While the weather had warmed a little there were some blue hands at the end of recovery; it should be noted that the wearing of gloves is only for girlies. All in all a successful exercise and not a sign of a dipping lug anywhere.
And rounding off our nautically themed entry we should note the birth of Mr Samuel Plimsoll today in 1824 who, I am sure you are aware, came up with the visible Plimsoll line on a ship to indicate if it was being overloaded and school children everywhere would wear Plimsolls on their feet during games. Aren't we grateful he wasn't born Samuel Knicker.
February 9th - Thursday
We started out again with a crystal clear day but frosty with it. It took me a while to scrape the ice off the van windscreen so that I could inspect the crack that the Missus reported yesterday. When I took a first look before the ice had been cleared there was a long line down the middle of the glass and I was rather alarmed. It turned out that this was just a pattern in the ice, which was a relief. After clearing the ice away I was darned if I could see a crack anywhere. I had to rouse the Missus to ask exactly where it was and it turned out it was hidden by the windscreen wiper, which I already kind of knew about but had fortunately forgotten. As the crack is not obvious the best thing to do, for now at least, is to pretend that it is not there - again.
It was time to seek adventure in foreign parts with a hardy and experienced traveller, so I took the bleddy hound to Porthcurno for a bit of a change. With the sun shining down and a peak of low spring tides what could possibly go wrong? I have to say that I was expecting much more sand on show. When you look at the pictures taken from the Minack Theatre, Porthcurno looks a long and expansive beach; when you are on the beach it seems much smaller.
I was tempted to walk on to the next bay, Green Bay apparently, and possibly beyond but I had left it a little too late. The tide was fast approaching the point between the two immediate bays and although I probably had plenty of time there was no real point in risking it. However, while I was there several couples emerged from Green Bay long after I decided not to go and one group went the other way despite having to dodge getting wet feet on the way across. What were they thinking?
Walking back from the eastern side I saw an object in the water on the west side of the bay. It could have been a buoy, or a man swimming. It disappeared before I could get a closer look so I concluded, at the rate it moved, that it was a seal, although the sighting nagged at me for the rest of the time we were there.
The van was like a greenhouse when we got back to it and the bleddy hound was rather disinclined to get back in. I opened the door to cool it off before we returned home. Despite my best efforts to look elsewhere, like the road, my eyes were inextricably drawn to the crack under the windscreen wiper; it had taken me ages to forget it the first time.
Later in the afternoon I had to go up to St Just for a visit to the doc. I need to state at this point that the Aged Parents read this column and any mention of the doctor needs some in depth explanation else they will have apoplexy and expire on the carpet. So without further ado and for the sake of the carpet, which, let me be frank, could be an integral part of my inheritance and would be greatly devalued by people expiring on it, let me say that the visit was purely routine and that I am as fit as a butcher's fiddle. I only this mention this journey as on the way back I scarcely saw the road as my eyes were pinned to the bleddy crack at the bottom of the windscreen again.
Thankfully the Missus drove me up to the F&L tonight. They had put on a quiz, the proceeds of which were donated to the RNLI lifejacket appeal and it was only right and proper to put in an appearance. The quiz itself was concocted (I am sure there is a proper word for the concocter of quizzes) by a lady who had put some considerable effort into the concocting. As well as the standard question and answer rounds there was a music round where music was played and a connection lay between the answers and a round where the teams had to guess the contents of various pots containing herbs and spices. Despite some heroic, and perhaps some may say underhand, work our raggle taggle team came third.
On the subject of useless articles of information can I just leave you with this? The first recorded racehorse meeting was in Roodeye Field near Chester today in 1540. I have no idea what they talked about but it must have been popular, as they have been meeting ever since. I understand that canapes were handed around before they ate a meal and hence we have the term hors d'oeuvre - sorry.
February 8th - Wednesday
What a very bright and crisp morning it was. You know, one of those days that look so sharp and clear they look like they have been polished, well this one was polished, buffed and chromed. I think we were just about the warmest part of the country too, though that didn't stop it feeling darned cold.
It is the sort of cold that is clearly relished in this neck of the woods and our little end of The Cove was alive with activity. First this morning we happed upon the Picassos slapping some tarry goo on the Roundhouse. Sorry, that should have read, expertly applying a coat of protective paint to the Roundhouse. Then there was a school of fishermen mending nets in the car park. They have been there rain and shine for the best part of a week now; that's an awful lot of nets or not many nets mended very slowly. Some of The Cove's fleet has been out for the last few days, handlining for pollack in the main and some of the ones I've seen of late have been monsters, that's the pollack, not the fishermen, although …
The Missus took herself off quite early this morning up to the big city for a spot of shopping. Needless to say I was quite happy stopping where I was, although it did mean that I didn't have any transport to go off adventuring. Instead I did another round The Cove trip, as it was far too pleasant not to. The whole bay looked resplendent in the crystal air, the big wide beach set out below us from atop Mayon Cliff, oh heck, I'm starting to sound like Dickens again.
I strung out our little jaunt as long as I could, as it was quite temperate in the valley and on the beach. There was hardly a soul about, which will be short lived with half-term next week, so it was best we selfishly enjoy it while we can.
When the Missus returned laden with full shopping bags (were we expecting guests?) it was gone tea time. I had already anticipated this and had organised the frying of a bit of whiting, which was excellent by the way, as there was no point in sharing it; the Missus hates fish. She also returned with the bad news that the windscreen had developed something of a major crack on the passenger side. I suspect that it was the weight of the shopping effecting the stresses on the bodywork. Let's hope it can be fixed with a bit of potato starch and egg white as I don't fancy the boys from Autoscreen having much luck with their little machine.
The weather isn't going to help much tonight, either. At last knockings, as I took herself out for her last run, frost was already forming on the top of the cars. I might have to dig out my old fighter pilot goggles and flying jacket if I need to drive anywhere tomorrow. Algy, switch the magneto to on, old boy!
February 7th - Tuesday
Sennen Cove. A few days before the start of the half term week when school children will descend upon us like snow drops from a grey and sullen sky. They will come from afar and from near accompanied by pensive guardians pulling with them expansive luggage like lumbering workhorses pulling a plough. Up into their divers lodgings they will go with heads full of concerns and arms full of big winter coats pondering whether they needed them or no and whether they should have brought extra bedclothes instead.
Sun everywhere today. Sun amongst the wispy high clouds and carving its arc just above the hilltops as it will in early February. Sun reached into the long flowing grasses of the dunes that sit and sway like the arms of a hungry Roman crowd baying at the gladiatorial battle between the sea and the sand. Sun fell out along the wide and golden beach, its broad span picking out the tops of waves before they fell upon the sand like sprawling skaters on some icy pond. Sun picking out the lonely shopkeeper and his bleddy hound as they marched across the expanse like a solitary Bedouin and his camel seen from some far up air balloon floating over an endless desert.
Shopkeeper sat on a rock in a corner of the beach, and bleddy hound sat in a warm little hole she had carefully crafted with use of paw and snout, as if her constitution were analogous to that of a mole, and it was essential for her to burrow deeply to avoid the light.
Shopkeeper was about two-and-fifty years old. Bleddy hound was about three and far too many times faster than shopkeeper could keep up with. Shopkeeper was rather bald, rather red, and though an 'ansum and well-made man, too stern and grumpy in appearance to be prepossessing. Bleddy hound was very small, very hairy, and though (of course) an undeniably nuisance of a bleddy hound, was rather too small and too hairy to be of any use to man or beast alike. On the brow of shopkeeper, Time and his brother Stress had carved indelible marks, like a child with a sharp knife had been playing noughts and crosses for some length of time on a block of wood - while the countenance of bleddy hound was set about with, well, hair, really.
'Don't you think you are afraid of the sea, now?' I seemed to ask myself. Well I think that I would be if a moderately large wave came in. As it was the waves were more than moderately large towards the end of the beach and even larger beyond and out towards the place that is known as Gwenver beach. Even farther out, by Brisons rock, the waves appeared as large as the rocks themselves. It seemed impossible to shopkeeper that men, armed only with a plank of wood, might contrive to ride these veritable monsters, occasioned from the deep, through expert balance like so many buzzards gliding on a single breeze.
Much later shopkeeper would repair to the ale emporium to play at cards. He would enter the low, dark and gloomy den with tables set about, and two or three old high back church pews set into smoky corners. It was a place where you would half expect to find a man, strongly impregnated with the smell of liquor and a white-coated, red-eyed dog except on this occasion shopkeeper had left bleddy hound behind. It was just as well since the disturbance of his master's play, as often the case in recent weeks, might well have brought about the relief derivable from a kick and a curse.
Oh. But shopkeeper was a tight-fisted hand at the cards and one that paid him out in neither gold nor favour. Shopkeeper! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog-days; and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas. This helped not one jot in the playing of cards, although tonight he did rather better than he had of late.
It should not be of great surprise to you, dear reader that, as shopkeeper returned home in the cold and dark that he, who knew every stone, was fain to grope with both his hands at the stairs to his front door.
Now, it is a fact, that there is nothing at all particular about the post flap on the door except that it is big and shiny. Let it also be said that shopkeeper had not bestowed one thought on bleddy hound since he had left for cards earlier that night. And then let any of you, dear readers, explain to me why it was that shopkeeper, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the post flap, without it going under any intermediate process of change, not a postal flap, but bleddy hound's face?
As you may imagine, today's entry was the very Dicken's of a job. If the 200-year-old writer is not, at this very minute rotating madly in his tomb, it is only by virtue of the fact that he is yet to read this seminal work of tosh.
Happy Birthday, Charlie.
February 6th - Monday
Still a little cold and grey today in The Cove but not enough to stop a couple of surfers from taking to the waves. I would have hacked down to the beach myself this morning, not to surf, clearly, as it is a little too wet for me, but to run the bleddy hound around as she must be suffering a bit of cabin fever by now.
Unfortunately we had a postcard representative turn up this morning, the one who cancelled from a couple of weeks ago. On top of this the engineer who looks after our fridges and freezers turned up unexpectedly and very much used up all the beach running around time we had. Still, our fridges and freezers are nice and shiny and with a bit of oil here and there no longer shriek and whine when they are turned on.
Many of you will agree that The Diary contains nothing but rubbish. It is nice, then, that I can add to this pile by talking about more rubbish.
I think I may have said that Cornwall Council has selected another provider to take on domestic rubbish collection across the county from April 1st. This prompted me to look at the alternatives on offer for our commercial waste collection especially as the current provider has irked me somewhat by starting to charge a 'rental' fee during our closed period. I started the process by issuing them notice to terminate my contract with them from the end of March. Oddly they were very keen to talk to me about this but only after I had called to ask if they had received my letter in the first place.
It transpires that they are happy to drop the collection costs and waive the 'rental' fee, to which I responded that they must have knowingly been overcharging me for some while. As to the termination they insisted that the contract meant that any termination notice would take effect on the anniversary of the contract, which is March 8th, and run for a period of three months. Naturally during this three months I would be charged 'rental' and have to retain the bin unless I wanted to pay nearly £100 to have it collected. As you can imagine all this didn't exactly endear me to them.
One of the alternative suppliers, and the one that will take up the domestic service from April, is considerably cheaper. They also are able to bandy around TLAs (Three Letter Acronyms) like they are going out of style so they must be real professionals. I like them already. In the news today they are advocating the use of ATT (Advanced Thermal Treatment) plants. The council are right behind them on this too. The CMP (Cabinet Member for Planning) noted that these smaller EFW (Energy From Waste) stations are more environmentally friendly and crucially more acceptable to the communities in which they are situated than one large plant, like the currently on-hold plant at St Dennis. Well, when I say more acceptable to the communities, the first one planned only has 88 groups objecting to it. I don't know how they can be so reticent, after all we are talking about RDF (Refuse Derived Fuel), which can only be a good thing, surely? I can see how people can get confused; when I first heard about the anaerobic digester I though it was a keep fit and diet plan.
Talking of keep fit I managed to fit very nicely into our sofa for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. With the Missus on holiday I managed to get out on an adventure nearly everyday. Now she is back I have done next to nothing. I really must conclude that having a Missus around is bad for my health; I am seriously considering finding her another holiday.
February 5th - Sunday
Golly, is that what a lie in feels like. I think, by and large, I would prefer to be up early if I were to be entirely honest. After all the sun was out through the few patches of blue sky, the café next door was open with a few hardly souls enjoying the al fresco dining area and it was dry.
It was also a rerun of the cancelled Christmas family dinner organised by our neighbour that was first arranged for Christmas week. Fortunately we bumped into our good neighbour (not suggesting that the other one is bad, just absent) in the morning who asked if we were ready for the event, which we were not. It didn't occur to us that it was dinner that he had arranged rather than tea. Nevertheless we were ready in short order.
The Trewellard Hotel is an old, solid pile, conveniently enough, situated in Trewellard. I imagine that had it been in Carnyorth they might have called it something different. Anyway, we have variously dined and lunched there on numerous occasions over the years and it is a comfortable and well run establishment. It was no different today.
The assembled throng of our neighbour's family pretty much filled all the dining space the hotel has to offer. We ended up, with our neighbour, in a downstairs snug that was probably once the cellar. It was a lengthy affair but we were all served promptly with a Sunday lunch that was very acceptable and had no less than nine types of vegetable accompanying it. Even the fussiest eater would have found something out of that lot.
It was late into the afternoon when we emerged into a rather more cloudy day than we had stepped out of. Because the bleddy hound had been cooped up in the van while we enjoyed our meals we decided it was only fair to give her a run out. About the only place between Trewellard and home that doesn't have too many deep holes for her to fall into was Cape Cornwall, so we repaired there. At least this time the exhaust system on the van didn't fall off.
Just before we came away she decided to take a dip in a muddy puddle. Rather than let her back in the van in such condition I took her down to the beach so that I could throw her into a rock pool to wash her off. Though it worked a treat I hadn't considered that it was an awfully long and muddy way back to the van from there. I was lucky in that she reached the van largely unscathed but then disgraced herself by paddling through the same muddy puddle she had rolled in later. At least it was paws only this time.
After a large lunch, running the bleddy hound and catching up on a rather exciting, but ultimately disappointing rugby match you can imagine that the evening was somewhat sluggish. I would hate to disappoint you as well so carry on and imagine my dozy old frame reposing fitfully with even the bleddy hound snoring away at our feet. That's what proper Sundays are all about anyway, isn't it?
February 4th - Saturday
Well that was a very short sharp cold snap, for us, at least. I rather think that the warm front that has dumped some rather prolonged wet stuff upon us is dumping rather more solid white stuff further up the line.
The Diary's Canadian correspondent has filed his winter report and tells us that it is a warm as toast there - well compared to normal, at least. Christmas Day was a massive sixteen degrees warmer than the same day last year and prompted our correspondent to romp around half naked (all right, I might have exaggerated slightly) on his decking in the balmy four degrees. Apparently it has played havoc with the cross country skiing too. Nice to see that we are not alone in having some inept weather forecasters, as theirs suggested a colder than average winter.
But today we had to suffer a grey, wet and miserable day. Even the scheduled Lifeboat launch was cancelled. It was hardly inspiring but it did leave me to watch the two Six Nations rugby matches unencumbered. For the later, the Calcutta Cup, I sent myself down to the OS to watch, as it is hardly fair to foist it upon the Missus who doesn't like rugby. You must wonder at the sacrifices that I make to keep her happy.
It was dark, wet and miserable when this self-righteous shopkeeper wound his way home. Time only for a morsel to eat before wrenching myself once more from the comfort of home to help celebrate a respected pillar of the community's fiftieth birthday at the F&L. Of course had it not been for this and especially having already imbibed my 2.3 units for today I would have stayed at home. There really is no end to my charity.
It was a raucous and cheery evening, verily enjoyed by all. I believe that when I left, well past my bed time, many were still enjoying it. The rain had diminished to a damp mizzle as I made my way home, as far as I recall, and as far as I recall, I recall very little except the warm hands of Morpheus clasping me to his bosom at the last.
It must have been an especially deep bosom, which will explain the tardiness of this entry today.
February 3rd - Friday
I feel it in my fingers; I feel it in my toes. Well, yes, I certainly did but I rather think that the chap that wrote that wasn't exactly talking about frostbite. Man, was it ever cold this morning.
The ice on the slope up to Coastguard Row was as thick and solid as ever; it was fortunate I discovered this during daylight as this is part of the late night dash route. There is even ice on the big beach at the current high water mark; there is a geet, thick plate of it where the stream that emerges from under The Beach car park flows out across the sand. Despite its proximity to the warm sea, ten degrees, it was there late in the afternoon.
There was also a fair bit across the path up to Mayon Cliff, all areas where the sun at this time of the year doesn't yet reach. This will give you a fair indication that it was the round The Cove walk that me and the bleddy hound undertook today. It is the lazy alternative to actually thinking about an exciting adventure and she was quite lucky she had that.
The Missus slept in until gone lunchtime today. You could, if you were to be sympathetic, put this down to a long period of travelling and jet lag and nothing to do with the fact that this isn't long after the usual time of rousing. Nevertheless it appeared to be infectious this morning. The bleddy hound wasn't that bothered about going out, although while we were on our own she would rag me rotten about midday. And despite the fact I was up, about and doing things from quite early I wasn't ever so incited to be overly active either.
It is odd, because you know once you get togged up and out on the path with the blood pumping around the narrow arteries that things will be much better, and they were. By the time we hit the top of the Valley I was as warm as toast and full of joie de vivre. Vellandreath Valley itself was bathed in late winter sun and so warm in the shelter from the light, chill breeze, that you could easily mistake it for a warm spring day. We revelled in it. We revelled even more when we got to the slim sliver of beach, as the tides are really not in our favour, and chucked a ball around and dug holes.
The beef and chorizo chilli, prepared the previous day, was a very fitting repast at the end of such a day, warming to the very pit of the soul. It dovetailed nicely into a lazy and soporific evening where the Missus caught up on ten days of East Emmernation Street and I played some mindlessly violent and frustrating (because I'm useless at it) game on the games machine.
Nice that everything gets back to normal so quickly.
February 2nd - Thursday
Hmm, I think it was the layer of ice on my bald pate that roused me early this morning. I had entreated the bleddy hound to come under the covers with me on the grounds of some unusually empathic whim of mine that I thought she must be cold too; I must have been half asleep still. She eschewed my offer some minutes later but was as restless as a caged tiger (sorry, that was the best simile I could come up with at short notice) for the ensuing hour or so. She came back later and laid herself across my head and I noted how hot her belly was. It was quite comforting until she started licking my ear and I knew, regardless of the hour, that it was time to get up.
Last night the Missus made contact and told me how she longed for one of my famous culinary delights for when she returned home. I in return thanked her for the amount of notice that she had provided and vouchsafed that I would do all in my power to provide such a feast. Having already been prepared to drive into town to pick her up from the station I now had to make an earlier trip to collect the necessary ingredients for the homecoming meal. With the bleddy hound making it perfectly clear she required an adventure of the sort she had been getting everyday since the departure of the Missus it was plain that today was going to be a challenge.
As much as I would like to believe that the shops in St Just could service all my food needs even their broad range of products doesn't stretch to chorizo. I bought as much as I could from there but had to trek into PZ for the sausage. The look on the bleddy hound's face was priceless when she realised that our jaunt in the van didn't have a beach at the end of it and we were on our way home. A softer touch than I would have had a pang of guilt at such a pathetic facial gesture. Oh, come on, she has had a run out every day for a fortnight of at least two to three miles, so don't you start feeling sorry for her.
I left her to her misery as I prepared the fatted calf. She didn't do too badly out of it as she had a bit of beef and a bit of chorizo and I hadn't planned to leave her completely devoid of exercise. As the train was due into PZ at ten past five I concluded that it would be an excellent plan to take her down to Perranuthnoe, fast becoming a favourite location, and for a run on its smooth sands while we waited for the train.
With the sun setting in a perfect sky, the beach at Perranuthnoe was absolutely stunning. It was also less cold than I had anticipated especially at the eastern end of the beach that was sheltered from the easterly breeze. It was unfortunate that The Cabin shuts at four o'clock otherwise it would have perfectly rounded off our pre-Missus-collection time. I settled for a cup or tea and some cake at the station that was twice the price and half as good.
The Missus and her mates arrived on time, complete with twice as many bags as they left with. Even so by the time we got home there was insufficient time to finish off the gourmet feast and consume it ahead of Lifeboat training. I had to make an emergency dash to the excellent fish and chip shop up the top, which is what I had planned to do in the first place before I was entreated to push the boat out with some home cooking. The meal will wait until tomorrow without being spoiled, especially in the kitchen that is currently colder than the inside of the refrigerator.
Lifeboat training was a frightfully short affair. An exercise is planned for Saturday, thankfully finishing shortly before the rugby starts. With little more to do before then we repaired to the OS and the regular quiz where, almost embarrassingly, we won for the third week running. We let it go to a tie break, just to give the other team a bit of a chance.
Unfortunately the tie break question involved the originating date of the Curly Wurly bar. In my first year at secondary school I got into a small altercation over the very same chocolate comestible. During the fracas another boy, not involved in the original argument saw his chance and made off with my bar. Who would have thought that this unpleasant incident would result, forty years later, in securing a reward of thirty quid?
I learnt a valuable lesson than day at school - in a fight, always keep your hand on your Curly Wurly.
February 1st - Wednesday
Supristi monkeys! I had to chisel the ice off the duvet this morning. If it gets any colder I may have to relent and turn the new heaters on. There was even some ice in The Cove as I walked herself around this morning. I suppose it can't get much colder than that.
I procrastinated a little this morning, waiting on the tide to recede, but I hadn't really planned anything, at least on the scale of yesterday's adventure. I relented eventually and we took ourselves off on a local walk past Trinity Cottages at the end of Maria's Lane and across the fields. I hadn't travelled this way in quite some time and forgot just how boggy it gets towards the road. Once again I had a muddy little dog on my hands.
I consoled myself with a single pint at the F&L before retracing our steps and on to Land's End. We had sun in a clear blue sky and with the wind in the east we were relatively sheltered on the cliff path. A healthy pace was the only combat against the cold although I can't have been moving my fingertips fast enough because they were still freezing off by the time we got back to The Cove.
By the time we reached home she wasn't any cleaner so I decided to hose her down on the doorstep. I clearly hadn't thought this through, as although it got rid of the worst of the mud she was still quite mucky. When I opened the door to let her in the first thing she did was leap onto the furniture to dry herself off; if she had two fingers I'm sure she would have raised them in my direction. So much for having the place spick and span for the arrival of the Missus tomorrow, not that I have yet made any attempt to do so. I have also just remembered how muddy the back seat of the van is that will be used tomorrow when I pick up the girls from the station. It seems I will have a litany of tasks ahead of me before I collect them.
While I sat and considered the litany of tasks I had ahead of me I became increasingly distracted by the sun soaked beach widening out in front of the window. By four o'clock it had become too much to bear and I togged up and headed down there. I had only intended to be there a short while but we ended up throwing the ball around for an hour and repaired to the OS for a bit of a warm before heading home. It was then that I remembered that once again I had not prepared my gourmet evening meal, the last lonely repast for a while.
With no real plan for the disparate ingredients I had at my disposal I set about creating on the fly with some frying onions, floured beef skirt, potatoes, turnip, some peppers and tomatoes and finally a bit of green chilli to spice it up a little. Modesty prevents me from saying just how good the final result was but just let me say this, if shopkeepers made stews it would probably be the best stew in the world. Late though it was it was exceedingly welcome. I even have put some aside for breakfast tomorrow, really on the basis that I forgot to buy in anything for tomorrow.
As regular readers you will all be used to the ground-breaking elements in these pages so, hold onto your hats for the first ever Cove Diary recipe.
Ingredients: 500g beef skirt, cubed and rolled in flour (I used wholemeal) ½ litre of beef stock (I forgot to measure but it was about that) 2 cloves garlic (I forgot this, but wouldn't do any harm to add) 1 onion diced 2 good size potatoes, cubed (I used Estima) ½ turnip, cubed (that's swede to most of you) ½ green pepper finely chopped ½ red pepper finely chopped 3 tomatoes finely chopped (I didn't bother but skin if preferred) 1 green chilli finely chopped (optional) salt and pepper to taste
Method: Fry and brown the onions in a deep pan and add the garlic. Meanwhile brown off the skirt and add to the fried onions in batches. Add the stock, potatoes and turnip and cover. Simmer for ten to fifteen minutes or until the potato has begun to soften. Add the peppers and chilli and simmer for a further five minutes then add the tomatoes and simmer for fifteen minutes more.
Beef skirt doesn't take much cooking. If you are not lucky enough to be able to get beef skirt and have to use an alternative you may have to simmer the beef for a while longer before you add the potatoes and turnip.
If the resulting stew is not the best you've ever tasted you must have done it wrong.
