The Sennen Cove Diary
November 10th - Tuesday
Most of the heavy rain had cleared out of the way when it came around to taking the girls out first thing. It was still waterproof weather: heavy drizzle and wet all around but at least the wind had diminished or moved a bit.
I was a bit pressed in the morning as I had volunteered to not only place the order for materials for the range rebuild but also be there for the delivery. I had thought to leave at half past eight o’clock which was clearly the right thing because the builders’ merchant telephoned just as I was going out the door to say that the driver was just leaving from there, too.
I was five minutes ahead of him arriving at the range which allowed me time to set down some bearers for the wood. The OSB would need to go in under covers for which the firing point was ideal. The truck arrived a few minutes after I had finished and between us, we unloaded a fair amount of timber. Thankfully, all we had to put up with was a bit of drizzle in the air and the job was done in around twenty minutes. There is a bit of a back order, and I will have to wait until I get the call and go up again for the remaining four sheets of OSB.
It was off to St Buryan after than on a reprise of the trip I had made the day before. This time to pick up Mother and bring her home. I had thought that I might have to forego my breakfast again as I had another appointment in town at one o’clock but we had plenty of time.
There was little point in starting anything else major, so I set about looking at bodyboard ordering. We were supposed to have done the board, wetsuit and wet shoe stock count by now and placed the order for next year. With so much else to do and concentrate on, the task had slipped. Time is getting on, if it is not already too late to place the order, but I thought I would blunder on anyway. I knew that we had run out of bodyboards, so no count was required and thus I knew how many we had used. Ordering was therefore a case of ordering what we had sold plus a few, which I duly did.
That roughly left me enough time to run the girls out onto the Harbour beach and head into town for the appointment. Well, it was hardly an appointment: the lady who had been doing our accounts at the accountants for the past 23 years was being subject to a surprise party. She had been with same firm, in all its guises, for the last 50 years, so they had decided to honour her with a surprise party at a local ale house.
All the staff, present and past were invited as were clients who might have known her. I, of course, was in the latter group but since I knew none of the other clients or indeed any of the other staff, I felt a little incongruous walking into the back room of the pub where quite a few had already gathered. I found myself invited to sit in the nearest available chair and had a tentative chat with a couple of ladies already at the table. We found more to talk about than I imagined and happily the conversation lasted until the lady in question was shoved in through the curtains to rapturous applause. Alright, there was a small ripple across the thirty or so people attending.
I stayed for the speech and presentation of the flowers, waited a polite while and then made to leave. As I said my congratulations and farewells to our lady, I was introduced to her husband and our apparently common subject of dickie knees. I dwelled and chatted for a further fifteen minutes and when I got back to the truck, I discovered that I had returned exactly on the expiry of my parking ticket. It did not even look poorly when I left.
The event had been organised in the Bath Inn just off the Promenade in Penzance. It is a smartly decorated Victorian ale house maintained in its, or what I would imagine to be, its original splendour. It even has kept its public and lounge bars, although I doubt the price variation that used to be in place. In the lounge, I presume, where the party was held, the room looked how I might have imagined it originally did but with the addition of electric light and discretely installed wide screen television. When I enquired at the bar, the price of a pint was very reasonably less than £5. That alone told me that it had not fallen under the jack boot of the St Awful pub chain, not to mention that it still held significant individual character. What a little delight it was. If I had one of those at the end of my street, I might very well be enticed into it a little more regularly than the travesty of a mockery of a sham that we have currently.
Without further delay, I headed home. I had done my further delaying on the way in after finding that I was a little ahead of schedule. Detouring to the far side of town, I stopped off at the auto and cycle supplies shop for new windscreen wipers. It seems to be a regular visit after first using the windscreen wipers after a prolonged dry spell. Neither of us can abide the squeaking or the smears on the windscreen. It would be useful to get some washing solution to put in the water bottle, but I can never seem to remember it and always notice it on the way out of the shop.
I know it was a mucky day and would hardly encourage people out, but I was struck by just how quiet it was along the promenade in Penzance. I saw no more than half a dozen people walking about both to and from the event I attended. The traffic was light too considering there is a cheap version of Tesmorburys in Wherrytown. I presume that the roadworks that forced a closure of the road to Newlyn might have had a hand in that.
I mentioned the temporary traffic lights at New Shop yesterday, just along the road from the village in the direction of Penzance. They were still set up when I left today, and I had to wait on a red light. On my return, there was a lengthy queue to go through them, which was unusual to have quite so many cars waiting. The lights were obscured by the vehicle in front of me and when they sudden came into view, they were red. I assumed that the van in front had ignored the change through amber and left me having to stop quite sharply. I waited. Then I waited some more. I waited some more after that, but I was getting suspicious because no traffic had come through in the opposite direction.
These lights operate on a sensor; they will change according to traffic waiting or if it is clear. Therefore, with no traffic coming the other way, they should have changed to green for me and the sizeable queue behind me. Now clearly, being a law abiding citizen, I would never drive through a light on red. However, theoretically and hypothetically, if I were not, what I would have done is edged forward until I could see through to the other end of the restriction. I would acknowledge that there was also a queue of vehicles waiting on a red light at the other end, advance to make my intentions clear, then run the gauntlet with the full weight of the rest of the queue behind me to enforce our assumed right of passage.. I am pretty sure that this is what happened to the queue in front of me, which is why I was suddenly presented with a red light.
A gentleman, of course, would have stopped by the car waiting at the other end to explain the situation. As, in this hypothetical case, I was a selfish road hog, my actions would also have the effect of convincing the lead car on the other side that the lights were in fact working and he would wait for a further period of time. (Actually, I only thought of this in retrospect, darn it.)
Obviously, I am a law abiding citizen – I may not go quite as far as saying, ‘and a gentleman’ - I am completing the tail end of this Diary while waiting at the red light. I am still there, even now. Honest, guv.
By some miracle of smoke and mirrors, I somehow found myself back on my sofa with my feet up for what remained of the afternoon. The second such afternoon in two days, so I am beginning to get the hang of this time off lark. I did have to stir myself to take the girls out in the late afternoon which required the wearing of full metal jacket waterproofs. Later, when I went across the road for my very important Lifeboat Operations Team meeting and again when I took the girls on their last run, it was merely mucky and mizzly.
Such an improvement in the weather should be celebrated, so I did just that by taking myself to bed. It was the right thing to do, and I have work tomorrow, oh, and the first gymnasium in over a week.
November 9th - Monday
There, I managed to fit my entire day into the morning. At least it felt like that. It reminded me of the movie saying, ‘never give a sucker an even break’, for some reason best known to my subconscious.
Before the packed day got underway, the very first thing we noticed when I stepped out into it was that we were very nearly blown up the road by a very robust easterly howling along the street. Fortunately, it was a good bit more sheltered down on the Harbour beach where we headed. The other thing I noticed was that the air blowing at me was not all that cold. Either I had suddenly become accustomed to our nine degree temperature or it was no longer nine degrees. When I checked the Land’s End weather station later in the day, the ambient temperature had indeed increased some, to thirteen degrees, however the stated wind chill had it at eight degrees. I do not wish to argue with data, but I definitely was not as cold as I was yesterday.
First order of the day was to cram in some breakfast before I had to dash out to meet my appointment at the optician that does ears. I had taken some Vivian Olds’ hogs pudding out of the freezer with the intention of cooking it and consuming it before I went. When I looked at my timing, I would have time to cook it but not eat it, so I gave up on the idea and will have it tomorrow.
One thing it did highlight was that I could not exactly recall the time of the appointment. I thought that it was twenty-five minutes past ten o’clock, but I had only got as far as putting the ten into my smart mobile telephone calendar and was interrupted. I had never got around to going back to correct it. I also could not find the card the very pleasant but disbelieving lady at Camborne had given me. Actually, I knew exactly where it was on the counter in the shop but could not be fagged to go and get it. I assured myself that I was correct with my first guess and aimed to arrive then.
I left in plenty of time for the appointment. I like to leave sufficient time for contingencies such as temporary traffic lights and getting behind a slow car on the journey in. I therefore felt very smug as I waited at the temporary lights at New Shop and as I sat behind the slow driver I picked up after the Buryan turn. I still arrived in Penzance with plenty of time to park and pay my £1.30 with a credit card because the much maligned council car park machines do not take cash anymore and divert to the bottom of town to the electrical shop. The Missus had requested ten rolls of white insulation tape because she could not get it at the national chain store outside Penzance. The independent shop at the bottom of town had the very thing and in abundance and at a reasonable price.
Toting my weighty bundle, I made my way back up to the optician that does ears at one minute before the appointed time. Here, I was roundly chastised for being ten minutes late, and rightly so it seemed. The very pleasant optician that does ears told me that the appointment was for quarter past ten o’clock, which I really do not remember it being but I am sure he would know better than me.
I had never seen it so busy in the optician and optician that does ears shop. It was fair buzzing with activity. The optician that does ears told me that they were only there on Mondays in Penzance, although it was not clear if he meant for ears or eyes or both. Even so, I have been there on a Monday before and it was never that busy. I apologised for my tardiness, and he very quickly set up the new model false ears. I did look later and although it was not very clear because the previous models are made expressly for the NHS, the new ones are commercial and worth at least £1,100 per pair. The difference was exceedingly clear from the moment they came online. Buy cheap, buy twice, NHS – or in my case about eight times, I think.
My next task awaited so I hurried up the high street back to the car park trying to mask out the sound of all the people around me and across the street breathing. I was really not all that pleased when a lady up by the corner rustled a sweet wrapper and fair near deafened me. I would have to tune the false ears down a bit when I got home.
The next call was the builders’ merchant up on the St Just moor. They really are an excellent bunch, and I had a happy welcome when I arrived, like a prodigal son. How they recognised with without my DIYman suit on, I do not know. They had all the items I had been requested to order on behalf of the shooting club, and it will be delivered tomorrow first thing. I had been concerned that I would have to describe the location to them, but they had already delivered materials during the build, so no problem. I agreed with them that I would meet the driver up there at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. The gate will be locked, so I have to be there.
That had been a lot easier than I imagined, even if they did make an awful racket clattering the keys on their computer keyboards. I only had now to detour over to St Buryan to deliver the small loaf of bread that Mother had left behind when she left yesterday.
I was just about to leave when my telephone rang. It was the pallet delivery driver bringing the greetings card display unit that I had ordered before we closed. I had asked the Missus to keep an eye out because I knew the delivery was due, but she was at the back of the flat and did not see him. I called her and by the time I came back, the pallet was sitting on the shop floor. I noted that there were parts missing – two, two metre posts are reasonably obvious by their absence however they are wrapped. I assumed they were coming later and, as it transpired, I had time for a sit down and a cup of tea before another van arrived.
This one had another unpost-like box, which was disappointing. The only notifications I had was for two deliveries. Just then, another van pulled up behind the first, which was incredible timing, and this one did have the posts and another box. I was not sure whether using three different couriers for the same order was spreading the risk of losing the delivering or increasing it. I have not checked the component but must do so by the end of tomorrow.
As I was waiting for the second delivery, I took time to gaze out on the big beach. It was wide and resplendent under a cover of mid-level cloud, so it was reasonably bright but not sunny and just the sort of day for a stank down there with the girls.
Thinking that we would start my walking season off early, I determined that we would just walk to the end of the beach and back again with no fancy detours. As soon as the last delivery had come, I seized the opportunity to make ready. Had I sat down again I almost certainly would have procrastinated and with the tide already further in than I would like, a further delay would have ruined the walk entirely.
Our first impediment was a geet wall of oar weed that we discovered at the bottom of the OS slipway. The girls would have made light of it but for human feet it would be treacherous it being very slippery and not knowing where the rocks were under it. I elected to walk through the car park and down the slip under the Surf Lodge bar. There, the path was clear and straight down onto the soft sand.
Spring tides are just coming on, so the sand at the back of the beach is dry, soft and tough to walk along – good for the quads no doubt. There is also a lot of it. Like the year before, or was it the year before that, there is a geet pile of sand at the back of the beach probably twenty metres above the rest of the beach that stretched out from the bottom of a steepish slope. The sand there has been eroded to a degree which is evidenced by the new telecommunications cable that is now exposed at the bottom of the slope. I cannot imagine that they buried it all that deep to start with, so the erosion may not be as severe as it looks.
As we reached the middle of the beach, the girls went up to examine the exit of the stream that runs through The Valley, Vellandreath. This appeared to have almost dried up and what was left flowing down was disappearing into the sand at the top of the beach leaving a yellow residue along its terminus. Had the river been in spate, I can imagine a great gorge being carved out of the sand as it made its way to the sea, so perhaps it was best there was not much of it.
We walked out along the top of the sand and back more along the tide line that was being squeezed by the incoming tide. It was a very simple walk but entirely pleasant and we got to chat to others on the beach as we passed along. We returned the way we had come, up to The Beach car park and back home. I shall keep an eye on the weed at the bottom of the OS slip. The likelihood is that the spring tide will deal with it but if not, we made need to put the Tooltrak to use clearing it because that is the contingency route if we cannot launch the Inshore boat from the Harbour.
I took the rest of the day off when we returned. It was the first opportunity to do so since the shop closed. When I eventually roused myself, the weather was changing and rain was starting to arrive. That will be most unhelpful tomorrow if it is still there.
Smooth seas and heading home.
November 8th - Sunday
All that running around and standing around yesterday must have fair worn me out and I slept particularly well – other than a brief thinking spell at three o’clock in the morning. Clearly, running the shop does not require any especial thinking as I cannot remember the last time I had a three o’clock thinking session. I did, thankfully, get back to sleep again shortly before ABH decided to wake me up at just ahead of five o’clock.
I had arranged to spend the day at the range today. If you recall, dear reader, it was razed to the ground by a wildfire that started in the roadside hedgerow opposite the entrance to the Chapel Carn Brea car park. In the last several weeks, work has been ongoing, clearing the site and rebuilding anew. This weekend was the first that I could throw in my lot and lend a hand.
It has been some while since I had spent an entire Sunday up there and I had quite forgotten that I needed to take sandwiches and a flask of tea. There was much scrabbling around – I know a lot about scrabbling, thanks to the Aged Parent –getting food out of the freezer the previous night. I only remembered flasks of tea this morning and had to dig them out from under the sink.
I had decided not to go up as early as a range day, but when I got there, the team was there ahead of me and already working. Although I had taken my DIYman overalls, I still found myself on the backfoot wondering what I should be doing. I was given a pointer and felt my way from there, stapling in a damp proof layer and following up with the weather shield for the OSB that was still being put up on the frames.
Much work had already been done, and all the new buildings had taken shape, and all had roofs. While I was there, the last of the roof cladding was going on the clubhouse building while I worked my way around the walls. I had to wait here and there while OSB walls were put in place before I could continue. I had been advised that I did not need to take tools and sure enough there were plenty there already. The tool I was most ginger about were the gas powered nail guns. These are big, scary lumps and fire 4-inch nails through thick timbers with hardly any effort at all. I felt I would need some practise on something unimportant before I was let loose with one of those.
I was quite amazed at the pace of work. The club house had two skinned walls when I arrived and when I left, all four were complete. The roof cladding was finished off and all but one of the windows installed. One thing that was immensely useful was seeing how the professionals put the walls together. One of the jobs I have at The Farm this winter is exactly that.
I did not take too much notice of the weather first thing other than to note that it was sharply cold and there was condensation on the truck windows when I went to take it to the range. I keep telling myself that nine degrees is not really cold, it is just that we are not used to it. It has been nine degrees for a week, so I am now wondering how long it will take before we are accustomed to it and it no longer feels all that cold.
Yesterday, for the football match, it was very warm in the direct sunlight but as soon as the sun went away, it was instantly cold. Almost overhead, but in reality, at least six miles to the east, geet dark cumulus nimbus hung like threatening ogres. I had looked at the rain radar and subsequently we had confirmation from those arriving from Penzance that it was heaving down there. I had also noted that the rain had conjured up over the land from strong thermals rather that being blown in from anywhere. The rain could have popped up anywhere, so we were lucky.
Today, there were no such threats, although we did not have quite as much sunshine as yesterday. Up at the range, I was in shadow most of the time and consequently cold especially as I was not putting in quite the effort that everyone else seemed to be. I think had I been up there from the outset of the work, I would have had far more confidence to just pile it. I also would have learnt a good deal more, which was a real lost opportunity. Not that I could have done anything about it as the shop was open.
Mother had stayed from Friday to look after the girls while we went about the weekend activities and was going back home today. I detoured to St Buryan to turn her heating on when I left the range. It has been a while since I have been over there – I do not get out much – and surprised that I found it. I was a little weary when I got back home and nearly immediately took the girls around the block. Thankfully, after that I was able to sit on my behind and do very little.
I have another full morning tomorrow. I have my false ear appointment in town where I hope to be issued with false ears that work for more than a fortnight. I also picked up a task at the dinner time meeting up at the range and have to drop into the builders’ merchant up in St Just and the Missus added an errand as well. I have scheduled in a day off in February. but I suspect the date will be fluid.
November 7th - Saturday
There seems to be an unwritten house rule that I must be the first one up in the morning and ABH was this morning’s enforcer. It is not like she wants to get up; she curled up in the warm part that I had just vacated. It is probably predicated on the history that she had tried in the past to wake the Missus and failed miserably. I am a much softer target. I might feel that a family meeting should be in order to discuss the issues, but I cannot see anyone discussing anything other than me.
The Missus had indicated last night that she wanted to be in town by half past nine o’clock. The boys organising the football benefit match up behind the school had failed to organise a cup to be presented to the winner. The Missus had stepped in and told them she would get one in the morning. I very successfully managed not to scoff at the half past nine o’clock target but inwardly felt that I could have done in retrospect when we eventually got into town at around half past eleven.
There was no need for me to go too just for the cup, but I wanted to drop into the hardware and everything store in Causeway Head to see if they had a humane mousetrap.
Oh, sorry, did I not mention the mouse. Yes, we have a mouse in the, erm, flat. Clearly, having a rat would have been poetically more convenient but probably a lot less acceptable. Not that having a mouse in the flat is in any way acceptable, even if it were a pet but it is there, nevertheless.
The Missus found it. She was extracting her bag from the cupboard under the stairs – not that we have stairs, but the cupboard is the sort of cupboard that people with stairs have under them and contains coats and bags, the vacuum cleaners – yes, we are a two vacuum cleaner household, don’t cha know – and the 30 litre water heater. It is probably the latter that makes the cupboard such an attractive place for a mouse to find itself because it is the warmest place in the flat.
She was getting ready to go to the party – the Missus, that is, the mouse was not invited, as far as I know – and needed her occasional bag, or whatever it is called. She had placed her hand inside to rid it of some collected detritus when the mouse presented itself. It is hard to tell which of them was the more surprised but at least the mouse maintained some decorum and did not let out a loud cry of alarm. It was this loud shout that occasioned me, some moments later, to stop doing the washing up and to enquire if she was alright.
So, long story short, I was shown the cupboard floor where the mouse – field type, I would hazard a guess – had made its hasty escape. I was then charged with rifling through the upturned contents of the bag to ensure that there were no further rodents waiting to leap out. A little later I was also asked to retrieve a pair of boots from the cupboard and to search them thoroughly - with hand inside, not just squeezed from outside – to vouchsafe their emptiness.
I did question the girls. ‘What use are you two?’ I asked, but they slunk off looking disinterested. I did not think we would get much help there.
Clearly there was nothing to be done that evening and we would have to live with our diminutive friend until we could do something a lot more permanent about it. It did occur to me at some point later on that we had ultrasonic deterrents at The Farm where we had indeterminate results with them. We could have the same indeterminate results with them in the cupboard, but they might be psychologically comforting, at least. I suggested this but was told that it might frighten the mouse out of the cupboard and into the bedroom. Nothing short of bringing the head in on a plate – we do not have silver platters – would do as proof positive that the beast was no more. I should add that the head on a plate was merely figurative, and a humane trap was expected. I should also add that I did not raise the possibility of more than one mouse. That is best left unsaid.
So, in the bustling Causeway Head, the Missus went off to fetch a cup, and I went off to fetch a humane mousetrap. The Missus was a lot more successful in her quest; my hardware and everything shop only had rat traps and mouse traps of the more terminal sort. I would have to order them online which would mean waiting a few days. I might try the hardware shop in St Just but if humane traps were not available in soft Penzance, the likelihood of them being available in St Just is slim indeed. Merely asking for one in St Just might call into question my status as a man. If word got around before I got to the relative safety of the truck, I might well not leave town at all. Rumour has it they still keep a wicker man at the rugby club.
We were not hanging around in Penzance either. We went back into the hardware and everything shop because I had forgotten the raffle books. The boys organising the football benefit match had accumulated quite a haul in prizes for the raffle but had inexplicably forgotten that having tickets was an integral part of the operation.
The last thing before we went off to the match was for me to fetch a table from The Farm. I also needed my wellies as I would be off to the range on Sunday and at the same time, I could give the girls a run around up there.
It would have been very easy to spend the rest of the afternoon up there. The morning had been quite chilly with no breeze at all. The skies had been clear for a good part of the day and under the direct sunlight it was roasting hot up there – particularly as I was still wearing my thick woolly jacket. I did have a mooch about to see what the Missus had been up to all summer. She had cleared a large area to the back of the greenhouse, and laid cardboard and anti-weed matting. It looked impressive and pointed to many happy hours shifting earth up there to cover the matting and creating growing areas during the winter.
Soon enough, with time pressing I returned home, picked up the Missus and we headed to the playing field behind the school. The teams were already up there in their new kit sponsored by several local businesses including our own. There was a small gathering of supporters over on the far side of the pitch but around the community centre doors it seemed a hive of understated activity. I had to venture in where the venerable ladies of the village were holding sway, busy setting up tables and preparing, erm, things.
The table that I had been asked to fetch from The Farm was covered in earth and I found myself amongst the ladies in the community centre kitchen washing it down while they whirled about me with purpose. When I emerged, tables had moved, shiny tablecloths were in place and seeming endless boxes of cake and teacups and various paraphernalia were emerging.
During my absence, the pitch side had filled some more, and more cars arrived on the other side parking up and spilling still further people onto the scene. By the time the game started, half the village had crowded around the one side with still others around their vehicles on the other. Inveigling themselves into this crush came a small band of disparate and determined thieves, cunningly disguised as purveyors of tea and cakes, raffles tickets sellers and someone selling squares a spot-the-ball type game. Between them they fleeced the assembled company of nearly £1,000 by the end of the game.
I had made myself scarce from early on, mingling the crowd and blending in. The Missus did not take long to discover me, and I was charged with tracking down the roving robber with one of the raffle books to bring back the stubs. On finding the lady in question, in became apparent that removing the stubs was not a field operation and I took it back to the raffle table. Here, I was entrapped for the remainder of the game, selling tickets and helping with removing and tearing up the stubs,
There was an atmosphere of village fete all about me and in the background whoops and cheers as a leather ball was kicked about the field by players who probably should have known better but did it anyway. As far as I know, there were no shouts regarding the shrouded pastimes of the referee.
The game ended, five goals to two. One side had five goals and the other two – I was certain there might have been names involved but I have not idea what they were. The teams and the supporters gathered in a loose crush in the car park by the entrance and the cup was awarded and the raffle drawn. There were smiles and I am sure some hidden tears, but the whole weekend had been dedicated to one man, and an entire village had mobilised to say they cared.
I headed off to the truck with the table, now finished with, and left the Missus to say her farewells. We returned home to run the girls out and enjoy a quiet evening – with some cake for supper the Missus had while there was still some left. Some others had headed to the F&L to do it all again and some of the players to put off the aches in muscles they had not used for such youthful purposes in some time. We wish them well.
November 6th - Friday
I appeared to have got my timing just right this morning. I made myself ready and packed away my few simple belongings alongside the more numerous complex ones, of course, and was ready downstairs for my excellent breakfast at the appointed time. That was the very last of things going smoothly until I had got home.
In fact, I was rather ahead as I headed to the railway station to meet my 09:35 hours train leaving from platform two. I would have taken the 10:25 as preference but this is the train that had been cancelled in advance due to Soil Moisture Deficiency. This would have allowed me time to run up to the top of the hill to bid a fond farewell to the Aged Parent ahead of my trip, which was truly a disappointment that I could not.
Breezing through the ticket office, I made my way across the footbridge only to examine the electronic noticeboard dangling above the platform to discover that the earlier train I had elected to use was also cancelled, due to a signalling fault. Since the next train had already been cancelled, this would mean at least a two hour wait for the train after that and clearly there was no certainty that would be running either.
I returned to the ticket office to make enquiries. The very pleasant but exceedingly unhelpful lady the other side of the ticket office window confirmed that there was indeed no certainty that the 11:35 would be running. So, I asked what remedy the railway was putting in place to get me to my connection at Exeter. Perhaps there was a replacement bus service planned.
I was informed with a certain level of disinterest that all the buses were engaged on the school run and there was no hope of diverting one of those. Taxis, I suggested. Not a chance, there are only two taxi companies in Sherborne – a fact I had been made keenly aware of on a previous visit when I tried to secure one in the evening for the Aged Parent – and, surprise, surprise, they would be all engaged with the school run. Since I was clearly not going to get any help from the only representative of the railway on hand, I asked where I would have to get to in order to resolve my problem. Yeovil Junction, I was told. Maybe five miles away.
There was no point in further annoying myself by continuing with the engagement, so I stepped outside to consider possible solutions to my predicament. I had only set about considering it for a moment when a taxi pulled up right in front of me to deliver a passenger to the station. It was a licensed cab that could be hailed, so I duly hailed it and the very pleasant taxi driver agreed for a small – well, reasonably large donation to his taxi fund – to take me to Yeovil Junction.
If I thought that my troubles had been left behind at Sherborne it did not take long to discover that they had followed me. The train that I was waiting for was the train that would have come through Sherborne had it not been cancelled. Apparently, it was still running through Yeovil Junction even though it was cancelled at Sherborne. It was most confusing. It had either been reinstated, which I doubted, or it had been rerouted to avoid Sherborne, which was more likely. Whatever the case, it was late and that meant I had missed my connection at Exeter.
In the meanwhile, the Missus had done some digging on the schedules and discovered that there was a noon express from Exeter direct to Penzance. There is always a noon express in the cowboy movies and we are in the West, although maybe not so wild, so it was most appropriate. The timing was such that I would have had just enough time to get a cup of tea at Exeter and meet the express. Unfortunately, there was a fearful queue at the café meant I had to abandon my cuppa and head for the platform. Having arrived there, a few minutes later, there was an announcement saying that the express was delayed and I would have had time for my tea anyway.
There was, however, a huge benefit in having a direct service to Penzance. I had until that point expected to change at Plymouth. Quite why the previous service was interrupted in such a manner, I will never know. The fact that I could now travel straight through meant that I would not have to further try my patience which by that point had become wafer thin.
I sent a message to the Missus when we arrived at Truro, and she met me in a timely manner at Penzance station and to home to the cup of tea I missed at Exeter. Except this one did not cost me £3.60.
The day from far from over. There had been a fundraising party arranged at the F&L for our pal who is a brae bit poorly. Actually, he is a fair bit more that a brae bit and the community and his friends from far and wide are piling in to help. Ostensibly, this party was arranged by the Lifeboat Station so the Missus, being Events Organiser, organised it which meant her turning up early doors to shake a bucket at the door and to rinse even casual passers-by for the odd shekel or five. Since the Missus was my ride up there, it meant that I also would be attending early doors.
My days of five-hour drinking sessions are long over, I suspect. I admit that I have not tested this hypothesis in recent years, but I would be, at the very least, severely out of practise. It should have come as no surprise that there were already a fair few having a run up at it crowding around the hallway inside. We stopped for pleasant conversations and proceeded to the bar. Very quickly indeed, the place filled to capacity with still more arriving all the time. The band struck up and the place descended into an unruly mass of bodies jostling for space and squeezing by each other to find new parties and old conversations yelled in each other’s ears. I, of course, could hear very little other than a general cacophony of noise.
Two and a half hours and on a rare third pint later, I was in fine condition – in my head, at least – to make through to the end and, by that time, easily beyond. Just like riding a bicycle – including the falling off at the end bit. However, reality intervened. Mother was looking after the girls and she would want to be heading to bed and the girls would need walking – and I would have to face up to the fact that my enthusiasm to continue was most probably based on an illusion conjured by the preceding beverages and would most likely end in tears.
I spoke with the Missus on her return. ABH had come to wake me up to say she was back. The event was hugely successful and had raised a phenomenal amount of cash that will be presented to the boy in question at the charity football match the following day. There, I should have stayed, after all.
November 5th - Thursday
After another very peaceful night I awoke much refreshed. Given the quiet it would be very easy for me to think that I might have gone deaf in the night… oh. Well, I imagine that it what it might have been like for someone who can hear.
I enjoyed another sumptuous breakfast that I could very easily get used to and headed up the hill with the expectation of another round of crosswords and scrabble. I seemed to have just happily slotted into the Aged Parent’s routine and we sat and discussed great matters until tea was brought along. It was shortly after that that we decamped to the communal room for the crossword.
Today, there was a different assistant on hand. While the lady yesterday was ordered and concise, the lady today had an opposing style, guiding us through the crossword in a more haphazard manner. It was difficult to follow at times but no less entertaining than the previous day and we completed the puzzle only having to cheat twice. Head coach of AFC Bournemouth anyone? Quite obviously a German chap called Marco – oh, come on.
The aftermath of the crossword descended into a freeform discussion very loosely centred around the theme of ‘on this day in history’. Obviously, the dominating event in 1605 was the gunpowder plot which it is likely some around the table remembered more keenly than others. This spawned discussion on fireworks in general and naturally gravitated to ‘the youth of today’. I certainly would not criticise, as the hour we spent chatting was hugely entertaining. I was handed the opportunity to extoll the virtues of St Ives, which did not take very long at all, so I migrated to extolling its deficiencies instead that took much longer.
I was then back to the hotel for siesta and managed to catch up with one or two things. I had time on the way back to look more closely at the buildings in the high street and they are very interesting and very old most of them. Several of the shops have those mosaic entrance paths spelling out the shop name that once occupied the property. There is a museum at the bottom of town, and I decided to have geek on my way back up later to see if they had any illuminating documentation on the history of the high street.
The museum looked very interesting, but I had left it too late to investigate it properly. I purchased a booklet on the origins of the stone that was used – fossils have been found in the facings of some of the buildings – but it did not adequately explain the origins or use of the more interesting ones. For instance, there is a building tucked in amongst the others that has a curved frontage and a portico and is currently a shop. What was that previously and why does it look so much different from the other buildings I wondered. I was pointed at some historical society that I cannot now remember the name of. I will get there in the end, I am sure.
I purchased some cake for the Aged Parent to enjoy, quite forgetting that he had told me he had gone off sweet things – apart from me, obviously. I would have solved the problem for him, but we were hard upon the next entertainment and had to dash. We duly set off for the downstairs communal area and poetry and music for the next hour or so.
The event was very well attended. Sadly, none of the attendees, other than the Aged Parent had brought examples of their attempts at verse. It was left to the assistant to read from two books that she had brought with her and the internet that threw up a few poems upon request. On the basis that it was near Remembrance Sunday, there were a fair few war poets invoked. The Aged Parent read out a couple of his poems which he had been encouraged to write over several years of attending such events. He told me later that the sessions used to have far more engagement from several residents who had, by and by, shuffled off.
It was disappointing, especially as the Aged Parent’s contribution was very good indeed. He had rested his pen for the last few months, which I now understand why, but had in the last few days started again. I do hope he persists with it.
We retired to his room for a last chat this visitation. It would be useful to live a bit closer and to visit more often but you have to wonder if that would devalue the visits that we have.
I have resisted eating at the hotel where I am staying. Not only was it apparently expensive, but it also looked very complicated. I asked to see the menu while I enjoyed my breakfast earlier in the day and, almost reading my concerns, the writer had added some helpful instruction at the top of the menu. A couple might choose three options from the menu to share. Being on my own, I chose two. These turned out, not only to be exceedingly well presented and toothsome, but perfectly adequate for a lone diner. And, yes, it was expensive but well worth it for a last evening meal.
I must also commend the hotel on offering a naturally friendly welcome and an excellent service on the accommodation side as well. They have made my stay exceedingly comfortable with seemingly no effort at all and I would highly recommend a stay at the Plume of Feathers if you ever find yourself in this neck of the woods.
I am off now to hopefully finish off the completely awful thriller I am watching. Did no one tell them that killer giant squid went out with Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea in the 1960s and fake Irish accents and poor acting really do not add anything to the performance. The Missus asked why I persisted to watch it until the end and I really have no idea – pure obstinacy, perhaps. Also, it does make many of the other offerings look so much better.
November 4th - Wednesday
The rooms that I stay in are deathly quiet; you cannot hear a sound. It sits above the restaurant courtyard which at this time of year is unused. It also sits atop the restaurant and kitchens, and I cannot hear any sounds from there, either. Living in a place where there is the constant sounds of the sea, or the breeze or both or seabirds, it is most disconcerting to hear nothing at all, zilch, an absence of sound, utter silence.
I feel the constant urge to make some noise, play some music or have the television on but I just cannot make myself do it. It would seem a bit rude.
It is a very comfortable bed and I had trouble tearing myself from it. I also had no assistance from small furry creatures. I still woke up at sparrow’s though. Just cannot break myself of the habit.
The breakfast was a sumptuous and quality feast. They meats were from the butcher in Wincanton that we have frequented when the Aged Parent lived there. The vegetables were from a noted local greengrocer, and it was quite delicious.
I made my way at a leisurely pace up the hill. I think that I have pulled a muscle or something alongside my false knee and it does not seem to want to go away. It has happened previously and goes away after a few gymnasium sessions. This time it is hanging in there for the long haul and is not helpful in the least.
The Aged Parent had not long finished his own breakfast, so my timing was impeccable. We chatted for a while until he told me that usually on a Wednesday, he gets to meet a bunch of children from the local playgroup. Someone at some time thought it a jolly idea to get a host of four year olds and throw them into a room full of octogenarian and nonagenarians to see what happened. It must have met some success criteria that we simple folk are not privy to because it happens once a fortnight. Who was I to stand in the way of such progress and delight – though whose delight we are talking about is open to debate. So, girding my loins with a double gird, we headed for one of the communal rooms, which I was horrified to note had only the one door, making a subtle escape impossible.
The room was suspiciously quiet, so I allowed myself to open my eyes. The room was empty, except for a lady sitting at the table with photocopied crossword puzzles in front of her. She explained that for some unknown reason the playgroup visit had been postponed a week. I sincerely hope that my distress and disappointment was not at all obvious. If it was, the lady with the crosswords pretended not to notice.
So, instead of being overrun with small children, a small group of us sat around a table and completed a crossword, which was actually most enjoyable. As we were finishing, we were joined by another resident who I learnt had come along to play scrabble. Deep in my heart I had hoped that this was the point at which we left but as no one, including the Aged Parent, moved I thought it a tad rude to demure. I think that I should mention if anyone breathes a word about me sitting there for the next hour playing scrabble with three representatives of the union of parlour games collective and an assistant, there will be trouble. I came second, incidentally.
I left the Aged Parent to his dinner and a snooze and returned to the hotel. I had thought about a snooze myself, but someone had organised a Lifeboat exercise for tomorrow evening, and I set to with the rotas. That did not take all that long but before I knew it, it was time to return. On the way down I had purchased a woolly hat as the air had turned chilly and it was required. I already had a hat but because I spent the entire summer forgetting to wash it, the darned thing was unwashed and very loose. I had also gone to the trouble of investing in a battery pack to recharge my telephone. It is getting a little long in the tooth and the battery does not last as long as it once did. The previous evening my in bar entertainment was sharply curtailed when my smart mobile telephone ran out of power.
The Aged Parent and I spent the afternoon not engaged in any entertainment other than jovial and convivial conversation. We were pleasantly interrupted on occasion by someone bringing tea and biscuits which is all very jolly. Tea, of the meal variety, is provided at five o’clock or thereabouts so I bowed out to find some of my own.
The previous evening, I visited the very excellent Digby Tap, a proper alehouse at the bottom end of the town. It is so welcome to visit a proper public house that I went there again this evening and shall most probably visit there again tomorrow. They sell beer at less than five pounds a pint, too, and appear to be busy every night. Most of the eateries and drinking establishments are down there with some more at the top of the hill connected by a high street full of shops and scaffolding. There is so much scaffolding down one side of the street it is impossible to walk any more than a few yards without having to step out into the street.
Halfway up on the scaffolded side, or halfway down if you prefer, is a new eating establishment with a trendy name. I briefly surveyed the menu on my way up in the afternoon and decided that it would be worth a visit in the evening. It was not.
It is a vast barn of a place with a bar the length of one side and the remaining floor area supplied with tables of varying sizes and capacity. The sign at the door asked the visitor to pick a table and be seated, which, after some consideration, I did. My pause concerned the number of large parties seated at random positions and I though it best to avoid their raucousness lest buns were thrown later and I was caught in the crossfire. About half the other tables were occupied but I managed to find a table for two near the window.
I sat and perused the menu expecting that at any moment one of the serving staff would descend upon me to take my order. I had already slightly regretted my choice as the menu was full of ‘crushed’ items, ‘hot honey’ and ‘smashed’ things. I felt this entirely unnecessary when there were other words that had been used for the same things for decades. Nevertheless, having perhaps deciphered the menu and made my choice, I continued to wait to be noticed by a waiter. I had already noted them arriving at the group tables and taking orders, so I assumed they were busy. I also noted that those orders were being fulfilled with frightening speed which made me wonder about the cooking arrangements.
After twenty minutes, I thought to forced, the issue and went to the bar to ask whether I should have ordered there. I was told that there was a sign on the table that told me where to order or, indeed, there was a QR code, and I could have used my smart mobile telephone instead. I pointed out that the waiters had taken orders at the group tables but, apparently, that was different, and I should have known that. Did I want the bar person to take my order? No not really. I told her that, like her, I could not be bothered, either, and I would find somewhere where my pathetic custom might be more appreciated.
I did too. The Italian place where I have dined before, welcomed me properly, served me attentively and provide a first class dining experience along with a very palatable meal. It really is not that hard.
I retired to my rooms with a very fat malt whisky and continued to watch a serial thriller on my computer which I really should have dispensed with as it is awful. The whisky quite the opposite.
November 3rd - Tuesday
When the shop is open, at least from the end of May, I have the newspapers to tell me which day of the week it is. Clearly, without them I am utterly lost. I had a keen belief that today was a Wednesday at one point, of which I was violently disabused or perhaps reminded in a less than gentle manner.
I was up with the lark. It had, perhaps, a bad night because it was later in the morning than it had been the morning before. ABH decided that it was high time that I got out of bed and having done so, burrowed under the covers that I had moments before coveted for myself. I bore no malice, or at least no more than normal, and went about my morning exercise routine having first extracted BB from the living room and confined her with the other one.
We headed for the beach again in the broadness of daylight and I attended to the administration on my return – which included deciding which day it was. By the time I had finished it was so close to the appointed leaving time that I had to hurriedly pack the remainder of my travel things and go and fetch the truck and, more importantly, the Missus who would be driving it, and me, to the station.
In all my planning I had quite forgotten the four-way traffic lights that had been installed at Drift. These kept us interminably on red and when they eventually did turn to green to let some traffic through, turned red again before we got there. Nevertheless, we still made to the station with time to spare to discover that the inbound train was delayed.
Fortunately, it was not by much, and by my reckoning, it actually left on time. I had already been informed that my connecting train at Exeter had been cancelled due to the dreaded SMD, so I was aware that I had 40 minutes to kick my heels at the station café. Ironically, the inbound train that I arrived on was on time. For the past two years it had been late, and I had missed the connection and ended up with a later train anyway.
It left me arriving at Sherborne in the late afternoon and after booking into the hotel, the one I stayed at in January, I went directly to see the Aged Parent.
I had booked the room on the Internet because they do not take booking over the telephone. It was at least their own booking system, which I find much more convenient. The room I had chosen was accessible at ground level, although there were stairs inside, and was cheaper that the others because the wet room was down a flight of stairs. I had no problem with that and the idea of a wet room where I did not have to drag my false knee over the edge of a bath was attractive.
When I arrived at the appointed time I was heartily welcomed and, oddly, remembered from my previous visit at the outset of the year. I wondered what I had done that made me so memorable. I imagine it was my youthful demeanour and stunningly boyish good looks. I was then show to my rooms which were approached up a set of outside iron steps and across a worryingly lofty gantry. When I express my surprise and told the very pleasant lady it was not the rooms I booked, she suggested that I must have been upgraded. She did go and check and confirmed that I had indeed been ‘upgraded’ into the rooms up the iron steps and across the worryingly lofty gantry and the bathroom – with a bath – on the same level as everything else.
It was a bit of a disappointment but the rooms, like the one I stayed in previously, are perfectly comfortable, clean and simply and adequately furnished. If I were to point to one disadvantage it was that the building being old, very old indeed, that it suffers a lack of electrical amenities such as spare sockets and somewhere to plug in my electric toothbrush.
There was no time to waste with further investigation as I had to make haste to the top of the hill to visit the Aged Parent.
It was only a brief visit as evening was pressing in and we shall have more time tomorrow. I found him hale and in good humour and, having run out of suitably sized stones, has ceased to throw them at the neighbours and passers-by as men of a certain age sometimes will. There is time yet to dissuade him from pinching the bottoms of visiting nurses and I am sure that one day soon he will acknowledge that I am his offspring and not creeping around to steal his lifesavings, although I suppose that he has a point that the two are not mutually exclusive.
I jest, of course - mostly. We often worry that we will have little to talk about but we soon fell into gentle conversation about this and that. It remains to be seen if we are still doing that at the end of my extended visit but I can always go and visit the abbey if we run out of things to say.
November 2nd - Monday
Alright, alright. Calm down you lot. Having been flooded with berating messages, I am now painfully aware that I got the day wrong on yesterday's Diary - and also dropped off Sunday. I am very sorry that it spoilt your, erm, enjoyment and clearly upset your equilibrium for the entire day. I am obviously very grateful that you both took the time to point out the error of my ways. Order has now been restored,
However, they may be further disruption in the days ahead as I venture into lands where electricity is in short supply and access to simple amenities is tenuous, I have heard.
I was thinking that I might have swapped the weather today with yesterday’s until I noted that it was a couple of degrees cooler and the wind had veered to the northeast. It looked sublime, however, without a cloud in the sky and what fooled me, of course, was that I was sitting in my seat by the window instead of behind the counter with the cold breeze coming at me.
For the first time in a while, I was able to let the girls loose on the beach first thing instead of running around the block in the dark. I had cancelled my wake-up alarm and woke up when it would have gone off. I managed a further 45 minutes’ slumber of sorts before I nagged myself out of bed. I had half expected the girls to nudge me since we had gone beyond normal walking time, but it seems they could not give a fig unless it was bright daylight, I assume. I still had to drag ABH kicking and screaming to go out when we did.
I was in and out of the gymnasium before I would have even thought of calling the Missus to relieve me in the shop. I arrived before any of the day crew got there and enjoyed an entirely peaceful blistering session. I must confess to being slightly distracted as I was looking forward to my first scrambled eggs on toast in seven months. They were bleddy ’ansum, by the way.
Shortly after I got back from the gymnasium, the Missus was preparing to take Mother home. She had stayed the weekend after coming along to the auction on Friday. It took me a minute to remember why she stayed; it seems so long ago, now. The Missus was gone for some time as she was helping to make beds for the arrival of the in-laws, I think. I was quite keen for her to come back as I need to drive up to Camborne on an errand, there being few other reasons that I could think of for wanting to go there.
While I waited for her to come back, I took the girls down to the beach again. The tide was not long about going out and was still trying to come back in on occasion. BB rather insisted that I play throw-a-stone for her which involves getting quite near the unstable water’s edge. I had to be right on my mettle to avoid getting my feet wet. I took them around the block after that. It was safer.
Yes, the trip to Camborne. My left false ear has ceased to function again. Mother went to the optician that does ears there and had her unit fixed while she waited. As I am seeing the Aged Parent tomorrow, I felt it best that I was able to hear, else we would end up shouting at each other and the entire neighbourhood would know what we were about. The shop in Camborne is part of the same franchise as the one in Penzance but, being bigger, they have an optician that does ears there permanently.
I set out on my doomed trip as soon as the Missus came back from Mother’s. You may well ask, dear reader, how I knew that the trip was doomed from the outset – well, almost. I knew because as I was going up the hill for the first time in months, it struck me that I had left my false ears behind on my desk and had to go back for them. I may as well have stayed there.
It was also portentous that when I arrived and parted with a king’s ransom to park the truck in a much maligned council car park, I could not immediately find the shop I needed. I was looking in the correct direction it transpired but could not see the sign for the life of me. I collared a passer-by who immediately told me she was not a native of that town – I guessed that because she spoke to me – but she pointed out the shop which was in plain view. Since the optician that does ears has a tag line in its advertising that suggests that the sufferer of poor eyesight should have gone to them for assistance, it was quite apt. I would have laughed out loud but did not want to draw unnecessary attention to myself.
Although the spectacles part of the shop was very busy, the false ear section which was upstairs was empty and I was seen straight away. I explained that it was a repeat and known issue and the very pleasant lady took the offending false ear away for someone to have a look at it. I would have much preferred that they listened to it, but when the lady reappeared, she told me that there was nothing that they could do immediately and I would have to make an appointment.
If that were not disappointment enough, she told me that the unit was indeed working. To demonstrate, she rubbed her finger along the microphone and said she could hear it in the speaker. Trying desperately hard not to reply sharply, I said that sadly, while listing to a finger scraping across a microphone was, I was quite sure, soothing, I really needed to hear what people were saying and that was the required function that was inoperative. I appreciate that they must have people who complain about nothing quite frequently. However, I thought that my records would show that my reports were in earnest and that we had got over this stage of disbelief. I decided that I should not respond when she said that she knew that ‘I did not get on’ with this brand of false ear. It is not that I do not ‘get on’ with them it is because they keep failing to bleddy work.
Unfortunately, I shall now have to conduct difficult communications with the Aged Parent. Perhaps I should take a notepad, just in case.
The final insult was that I could have got away with only paying for half an hour in the car park instead of a full, expensive hour. When I tried to leave, I discovered that Camborne was reluctant to release me from its clutches and threw some one way streetery at me and some confusing road markings. I had to reverse out of the blocked road and take a turn that I was not expecting. I have never been so glad to see signs for the west and freedom.
When I got back, the Missus was still in the shop carrying out Operation Winter. I had thought that her plan had been to simply rationalise the freezers. Had I known she was going the whole hog and moving the furniture about, I would have got in there first and marked their positions on the floor. In order to squeeze everything in, all the furniture and stands have to be precisely placed else they do not fit or customers cannot get past. I have found it immensely useful in previous years to have the positions marked on the floor so they may more easily be put back. Still, ’tis done now.
I repaired upstairs to recuperate from my traumatic visitation east of Penzance. It was good practise for tomorrow when I shall be going much further. I thought to go through the accumulated messages and discovered one from the Laurel and Hardy Newspaper Company. It told me that they were hugely disappointed that I had cause for complaint and they would be passing my concerns to the relevant department. Unless the company had employed an army of clairvoyants, I was not sure how they had determined that I had a complaint as the last one was back in the summer when I had asked what an acronym meant, which I now cannot remember. True enough, they had not replied to that, but I thought it unlikely that was it.
Still perplexed, I continued through my other messages and discovered one nested under an automated response from the Laurel and Hardy Newspaper Company recycling service. It was a response to my request to terminate the service due to the shop closing. The message had acknowledged the request and told me to expect a telephone call from the relevant department – I thought it was the relevant department but never mind – within 24 hours. The message also contained a reference that matched the reference of the ‘complaint’ response. I am not sure that requesting termination of a service is a complaint but for a company that must get a lot of complaints, I suppose it is easier to treat every request as one because the odds are it will be correct.
True to their word, the telephone rang late in the afternoon, and a very pleasant man asked what they could possibly have done to offend me to the point that I felt I had to terminate the recycling service. He was genuinely surprised when I told him that I was very happy with the service, thank you very much, but, as with the previous two years we had used the service, should he wish to check his records, we had terminated at a similar time of year. So completely used to receiving complaints, I imagine, he asked again if there was anything wrong with the service and I had to spend five minutes reassuring him that it was simply that the shop was now closed. Had the very pleasant man not been on the Indian sub-continent as I suspected, I would have asked him around for tea, so that I could give him a comforting hug and reassurance.
It was quite an exhausting afternoon, so I decided that since I could I would sit on the sofa with my book and feet up and perhaps even have a bit of a snooze. I had just started to nod off when ABH decided that another trip to the beach would be a spiffing idea and that since she would not see me for a day or two, we should go immediately.
The tide was a good deal further in than it was on our last visit. We lingered for a bit and walked around the block again. Had it not been sufficiently late in the afternoon and having things to do ahead of my excursion tomorrow, I might have taken them further. That will have to wait until next week now.
Just before we leave the Harbour beach, I should note that the volume of sand had changed dramatically over just a few tides at the weekend. We had made the transition to neap tides but clearly the change had been at the end of the large springs. Where before we could only pass through one arch of the short slip to the other side, now the top two arches have so much sand that the rocks that prevented such passage are almost completely covered. Even the rock pool that the girls like to dip into under the second arch down has been filled in. A more obvious indicator is the car tyre that has been suspended on a rope from the long slip by some daring youth. It swung free for the entirely of the summer now rests on the sand, inert.
I must now away and pack my toothbrush for my sojourn into the unknown – all supposing the trains run and are not subject to SMD or COD or DFG or any other impeding acronym.
November 1st - Sunday
Radio Pasty had us shrouded in mist today. Pah, I say and, what do they know. We have a long history in the Far West of not doing what we are told. We park on pavements, let out dogs on beaches when we are not supposed to and surf on beaches when the red flags are flying.
Today commenced in much the same vein as yesterday except our high cirrus cloud had been replaced by much lower cumulus clouds that hung about the sky in fluffy white clumps. The breeze, however, had backed to the north and it felt much cooler because of it. It also did not help that it was much cooler which would have helped in making it feel much cooler. There, I am glad I made that clear.
The wind direction was far less kind to the surfers today and there were far fewer of them out there. The ground sea had almost completely gone; I do not recall any waves breaking over the Harbour wall this morning. The waves heading into the beach in the middle of the day were all in a bit of a rush and were quite flat and lacked substance.
Talking of things sea related, we sold a lady’s bikini today. A young lady stopped by in the middle of the morning and asked if we had any. I did try very hard to look as if we sold such things this late in the season all the time, but I rather think I could not entirely hide my surprise. Her partner came in shortly after and explained that they had booked a session in the sauna. I had not heard very much about the sauna since the excitement of its installation had calmed down. Early in the season, the attendant was dropping by now and then to purchase oranges. Apparently, they offer them as a complementary refreshment after the session – or possibly half time - and would occasionally run out. I still have no idea how successful the operation has been this year, especially in all the heat, but I presume as they are still there, it cannot have been too bad.
Business was expectedly patchy throughout the day with some notable grocery spends that were very welcome. There were a few people passing through just to wish us well during the off season, which was very good of them. It warmed the cockles of my heart which was the only thing about me that was. That northerly draft was keeping down the temperature in the shop. I did not even have the pasty warmer (sorry, MS) on to keep me warm, so I nestled in the corner until I was needed at the counter. I must blend in behind the counter because a number of customers walking in took fright when I said, hello. Of course, finding a grumpy shopkeeper behind a shop counter when you walk into a shop is the last thing you expect, I am sure.
What did not warm the cockles quite so much was being asked if we had any closing day bargains – the very cheek of it. As any regular customer will tell you, all our everyday prices are so reasonable that every purchase is like getting a bargain. Breaks me bleddy ’eart, so it does. Anyway, I felt that they must have been joshing with me so I told them all that they would be looking a long time if they expected especial bargains just because it was our last day. I would rather give it away after we closed than sell it at a discount. The horror; the horror.
I did have that conversation with a friend and neighbour who could not assimilate my intransigence. We had talking about milk, specifically semi-skimmed that we do not use. I did not say it at the time but essentials like milk do not overly affected by price – unless in competition. A customer either wants it or does not. They are unlikely to buy it because it is a bit cheaper today or more of it, so dropping the price would not sell it any quicker or more of it.
I did manage to do something useful and finished off inputting the invoices that had accumulated in our last week. There will still be a few more to come but most of the grind is now complete. All I have to do is file them and I can do that in the comfort of the flat another time. The Missus seemed keen to wrap up too and took one of the store room freezers apart. She did tell me that some of the content had gone into the near empty shop freezer. I did not quite compute the implications until a customer – thankfully, a neighbour – told me that the bag of frozen chips she just took out had a hole in it. She had picked up a bag of chips we use at home. It was late in the day, but I put a suitable note on the freezer door to ward off other customers. That did not work either because our last customer of the day almost did the same thing.
There was not a great deal of additional work to do to close up on the last day. We generally leave the closing down of fridges and freezers for the next day or during the week. All I really had to do was to clear the magazines which, thanks to the Laurel and Hardy Newspaper Company cancelling most of them, took an additional ten minutes on top of the newspapers. I had already counted the vouchers and prepared the paperwork. There were no changes to make because we had not taken any more tokens, but I had to leave it until the end of day just in case.
Having calculated the final total for the tokens I was able to average it out over the last several weeks since the last token submission. It told me that from the end of September until the middle of October we were making around 15 percent profit on selling newspapers each week. Since we were not selling very many, it was hardly worth the aggravation. Delivery costs were around ten percent of the retail value. In the last two weeks, our profit had fallen to ten percent and delivery was 25 to 30 percent. It is not great reading, so perhaps I should not read it. Ideally, I would stop newspapers at the end of August but stopping is harder and less acceptable to customers than not starting and, besides, there is the cardboard recycling to consider.
I then had the longest hour in history to wind down to the unceremonial season closing of the shop, the lowering – or in our case removing entirely – the shop flags and playing the last post on cazoo. There was not a dry eye in house, I am sure. Well, they might not have been had anyone in the house been paying attention to the pathetic mumblings of a soon to be redundant grumpy shopkeeper.
Then, when I least expected it, we had a five minutes to closing rush. I had to delay publication of The Diary while I had an independent adjudicator ratify – no, really -that having one person turn up at 17:58 could be counted as a five minutes to closing rush. I am very pleased that it was allowed as it very nicely draws a line under the whole shop open season thing. You can now look forward, dear reader, to being bored senseless with grumpy farming for five months.