I have wine. I have beef and noodles in broth, and a new spoon and bowl to eat it with. I have West Wing (series three, for Manchester Parts I and II). And I may knit.
All these supervisory problems over there in the corner. I ignore them. I sweep them under the carpet. I pretend they no exist.
It may have rained for most of August, but today was just one of those days in which Cornwall proves that it can, in fact, beat the Mediterranean’s clubbing-happy little ass.
Today, after watching some of the barnstormingly loopy modern pentathalon (drawing lots for horses, wtf?), I stole the Maternal Unit’s car and free parking ticket for Land’s End and made a getaway for the coast for it was sunny. Sunny sunny sunny. Everyone else in the world seemed to be headed for Land’s End and Sennen too, but they were not doing what I was doing, no. They were going to sit on the beach, or go to the tacky exhibitions at Land’s End. I was going to park at Land’s End (free, lots of it), as opposed to Sennen (expensive, tiny amounts) and then walk myself along the coast path between the two to have lunch at the Sennen Beach Cafe and watch the surfers. It was lovely. There were a other people out on the coast path, but not enough to constitute serious traffic. There was an inshore breeze, smelling of salt, and the ferns were doing their nice sunshine-after-rain scenty thing, and there was a little bit of heather, and it was so so clear that you could not only see the Longships, but also the Wolf Rock and the Isles of Scilly out there on the horizon.
Sennen Beach was rammed with people and their windbreakers/deckchairs/tents (and when did people start taking so much stuff to the beach? I swear back in the day it was a towel and a book, and mebbe a flask of something to drink, I am so old, clearly), but the Beach cafe wasn’t too busy, so I got a seat out on the edge of the deck with a view over the beach, and ate fish with salsa and chips, and drank Cornish ale, and read a bit of We Need to Talk About Kevin in between watching the sandcastling going on below. After lunch I went for a paddle and took some photos of the surfers and skimboarders (regarding which, I totally want a skimboard now, it looks so much fun, and doesn’t require surf, so could be done in St Andrews). And then I wandered back, and had Roskillys (best ice cream ever, result of my definitive, world-wide survey).
It wasn’t blazingly hot, and the sun may not last more than one day, and there wasn’t any glamour or pavement cafes, and there won’t be any “fun” clubbing in the evening. But it was better than all of that. Yus. It was just simple and lovely.