Truro and beyond

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Truro and beyond



It was time for a dry house. A wee cottage beautifully decorated and cutesy, quaintsy beyond belief for those who don't know about little English cottages. Tiny stairwells, low doorways and uneven floors. My ex-sister-in-law had offered to give us some respite from the rain and we were soon cosy inside with a fire going at the end of June. Incredible but there it is.



The rain lifted enough for us to take a crazily happy Labrador for a walk up the small grass-studded lane through a field where cows took rather too much of an interest in our perambulations. I have always blithely stepped through fields of cows, not paying too much attention to them, but a recent article in The Guardian about some poor fellow who had nearly been crushed to death by an angry cow made me rather wary. He surmised that Mad Cow Disease might be affecting cows in a rather different way and that they were in fact getting aggressive.



One in particular, a benign grey and white colour, played Grandma's footsteps with us as we hurried the dog through the meadow. Only the cow didn't know how to play. Every time I turned around she didn't stop coming after us, she slowed somewhat but certainly hadn't learnt the concept of personal space!



I was happy to get through the gate at the other end and leave the bovine beasts ruminating and contemplating their next crazy stalking.



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'You must take Graeme to see Truro,' said the sister-in-law and so we did. The rain showered on and off. We dodged the wet by meandering through the Farmer's Market, purchasing spices and saffron buns. We ambled into the cathedral, a magnificent building built only in the early 20^th century.



Two fire engines reversing into the small plaza in front of the cathedral took our attention. No panic, just a family fun day to raise money for charity. Children flocked and parents and indulgent grandparents bought an obligatory fireman's hat or logo emblazoned football. Some shy children cried and hid their faces. Parents and grandparents more keen than they to be photographed in front of the engines.



During a blowy walk along the clifftop at the beach to the South of Newquay, watching surfers in a competition, Graeme reiterated his lack of desire to be amongst it all. Lack of wetsuit, lack of board and lack of sun and warmth all seemed to play a part. I think the lack of a good wave might also have played a role. For those used to great surf I'm afraid the English beaches just don't come up to scratch.



We spent an evening in the charming local The Hawkins Arms in Zelah eating good food and listening to the Belfast Busker. We joined in the songs we knew, grimaced at the ones we didn't and waited for him to finish. We kept waiting ..and waiting. One last song; seemed to go on forever.



Wending our windy way to the next stop at Padstow we camped right beside the estuary. At least I think we were, difficult to see the water with all the sea mist and oh, the rain. Perhaps we could ride the Camel Trail the next day? For those who don't know England this is not as exotic as it sounds. Nary a camel in sight. Just an old railway track converted into a cycle and walkway all the way from Padstow to Bodmin. We were only venturing to Wadebridge. All we needed was a little break in the weather.







Coffee in the town seemed to be a good alternative and off we went. Actually the quest was for a bar which showed the final of the Euro cup. What did it matter if the rain poured down? The football was great with a distinct lack of dives and fouls. Not usual for Italy, that's for sure.



And how about Rick Stein? Didn't go near him or his restaurant but did buy two delicate lemon sole from his food hall and pan fried and grilled them, turning up their tails so they fitted into the miniscule cooking pan! Squeeze of lemon, new potatoes and spinach salad. Who needed overpriced meals?



I poked my head out of the tent and it was only drizzling. Wadebridge or bust! Donning the wet weather gear the intrepid cyclists set out along the trail. Certainly not much competition for space. Wadebridge didn't grab our imagination and we set off in the rain again back to Padstow. The mobile rang. 'Have you found a holiday, yet?' the holiday broker asked. 'I have a cancellation in Crete. It's really good, a quiet place and I can throw in the transfers and the luggage allowance.'



I brushed the raindrops off my face, handed the phone to Graeme and said ,'We can pay with your credit card!'

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Photos

Stop for coffee
Padstow harbour

Benches
A lot of people like this view!

Comments

[RENanDREW]

that mobile phone call...
what a happy call! looking forward to your crete blogs :)