For Bridget

Hello readers..remember me? It's been so long. Most people know what I think of West Barbary so, given that and the 15000 words I've written for my course, you will not be surprised that the old blog was put on hold. But, like Chris Rea, I've driven home for Christmas and feel that I must publicly respond to Bridget's latest email. The lovely Bridget is a great fan of Cornwall so keeps sending me suggestions of places I should visit in order to see a better side of things. For example, St Ives. Been there.

I met a man in St Ives. No idea whether he had seven wives or a number of cats in sacks. They weren't with him at the bus stop where I met him wearing a jumper with RNLI embroidered on it. He was..not me. We were waiting for a bus because St Ives is situated on the side of a mountain with the car park at the top. Actually, the bus was already there; had been for some time but the driver said he didn't fancy going just yet so all the smokers disembarked. I mentioned the weather to the RNLI man. They have a lot of weather in Cornwall, none of it particularly pleasant. The RNLI man said I should consider myself f****** lucky not to be on a boat. I agreed. He then told me a very interesting story about the latest body he'd dragged out of the sea. Do you meet these people Bridget?

I went to Tate St Ives but didn't understand the pictures. I went to the Hepworth studio and gardens but didn't understand the sculptures. I sat on the quay and had a coffee whilst watching six men dragging a large boat along the prom. They all stood around and discussed possible ways of making it move more easily. There was no consensus. I couldn't help but notice the sea in the background of this pleasant vista. Probably too obvious.

Bridget thinks I should turn off the A30 and visit Minions. Minions. Where should I start? Sadly, I've also been to Minions. I'll tell you briefly because the memory is too painful. Minions was where our mini-bus parked when we went on what was euphimistically referred to as a writing field trip. I borrowed some waterproof trousers and invested in a rainproof coat and proper walking shoes. I borrowed a rucksack. We virtually ran past the Hurlers which I would like to have looked at and yomped up to the Cheeswring. It rained icy rain all day. We went up three tors and slid amongst wild horses and sheep. We walked eight miles. The only time we stopped in five hours was for our packed lunch and I felt so ill I couldn't eat because I couldn't breathe. We did no writing because it was too wet and no-one could talk on the way home because, largely, we were dead. I couldn't walk the next day. Any more bright ideas Bridget.