It’s over 40 years since I last visited Cornwall, but I remembered how much I’d loved it as a child, despite the fact it rained for most of the time I was there.
Late September I booked a tiny cottage on the coast of the Lizard Peninsula, less than a mile from where I stayed with my parents all those years ago. We didn’t arrive at our destination until tea-time, but I quickly dumped our stuff and dragged husband out to see my little secret before it got too dark.
I was a bit wary as to what my husband would think of the little fishing cove, just half a mile or so from where we were staying. I took him to the tiny harbour I’d remembered from all those years ago and made my way to the slender gap in the tall rocks. “Where are you going?” said hubby in a panic stricken voice. “Follow me” I said, before scrambling my way in darkness through the tiny nook and along the 100m passage to paradise.
A few slips and trips later, we appeared the other side of the harbour and onto the small, but perfect beach, which is hidden from view. “Well, what do you think?” I nervously asked hubby. “It’s beautiful, it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful” my husband said, over and over again. And he was right, it was beautiful, just as beautiful as I remembered it from my childhood.
Crikey, what holiday we had. Perfect weather. A sun tan in October!
We’ve walked coastal paths with views that take your breath away.
We went out to sea.
We dossed on the beach.
And then the desire to swim got to be too much, so we bought ex-hire wet suits and a snorkel and spent too long in the Atlantic. When I say ‘too long’ I mean the tide came in whilst we were engrossed in the wonderland under the sea and all our belongings on the beach got swept out to sea. There was a mad scramble whilst we tried to grab our floating stuff… one of my boots went awol, but thankfully we eventually found it and apprehended it on its maiden voyage to the USA. What a pair of idiots we must have looked, dragging our soggy, sand covered stuff back through the little harbour and up through the village. I can imagine the Cornish fisherman smirking as we did the waddling walk of shame in those wet suits that clung in all the wrong places.
I have a head full of Cornish ideas to paint in the coming weeks and months and hope the happy memories will bring to life the artwork I’ll be doing.