They say that no good deed goes unpunished. And boy am I paying for yesterday’s little treat of slacking off. A marathon seven hour session of packing and final motorhome chores. I’m well over it by early afternoon, desperate to take a break. With no regard to his personal safety, Chris bullies me into finishing and comes periously close to the release of my baser personality. You know the one. We keep that bitch locked in the basement.
He and I run to totally different body clocks – I would be perfectly happy packing well into the night. It’s when when I do my best work actually, but he’s twitching until it’s all done on his timeline. Leaving me with the day lost and the night totally free.
To add insult to injury, it’s the first gorgeous day we’ve had in ages. Glorious blue skies, not a drop of rain. Teeth gnashingly frustrating to lose it to chores. But at long last it’s all done – Dobby is once more a free elf by late afternoon.
In a belated act of self preservation, Chris drives me to Pentewan, near St Austell.
It’s a tiny village set on a disused harbour, now silted over, no longer connected to the sea.
Once a beehive of activity with a busy harbour and a narrow guage rail, Pentewan was a mining and shipping port for china clay, used in the production of ceramics. The village has a history dating back to mediaeval times and was at various times a centre for fishing and tin mining as well as providing around a third of Cornwall’s china clay production in the 1800s.
The light is stunning but I do wonder by this stage, whether we will ever see any of Cornwall in anything other than late afternoon light.
On the drive home, we stop for a final dinner in Truro. It’s a delicious meal, but my good humour deserted me hours ago. I’m tired and truly over the day.