It's been some considerable time since I last wrote...or it feels like it here in the hinterlands. Rather than being a solitary female, hated for stopping off for a glass or two of Shiraz on the way home, I am now accepted as a singular eccentric...so no change there....but part of a universally despised gang of four. Reason? We are the quiz team supreme! The recently eloped Lindsay and Ian, now residing in the piggery, the hair-laden music student, Josh, and myself are an unlikely trio, largely because there's four of us. But a mix of age and background is essential for victory. Last night, we were greeted in the Seven Stars with hardly suppressed groans of dismay. They don't remember our faces from one Sunday to the next but as soon as we appear donned in useful outgoing gear and replete with torches, they know we've just yomped over the dark fields and circumnavigated the spooky churchyard in order to thrash them. Result? We won the steak dinner for four (again), the Sunday lunch for four and the two bottles of wine. Well, we students have to eat.
Bingo starts on Wednesday....the ever-resourceful Lisa having loads of ideas to 'get the village in'. Last time they had bingo in the pub, the caller dropped the number 29 ball behind the cooler from where it was forever irrretrievable. Henceforth, every game has to commence with the punters marking off number 29 from their cards. Ian's parents are arriving from Cambridge tomorrow and won't be going to bingo so it might have to wait as there's no way I'm walking across those fields alone. Being civilised, they've told their son they they're driving into exile. I know what they mean. It feels as if you're driving off the end of the map when you come here. When you arrive, it's another country. Literally. They all have the Cornish flag flying: it's a bit like France with pasties. Strangely, it's starting to grow on me.
Someone I knew, long since gone, enjoyed a summer holiday in Cornwall so much they upped sticks and went to live there. Joy was unconfined - until their first winter. They had discovered why the few trees that grow lean at an angle of 45 degrees, in the same way inhabitants of the fen country walk at that angle even on the infrequent occasions the wind has stopped blowing.
ReplyDeleteThey upped sticks again and moved to Rushden in Northamptonshire. If you have ever been to Rushden you will realise how bad Cornwall was in the winter.